Page 7 of His Temptation
He follows me into the kitchen, where I find a plate of leftover lasagna for me, thanks to Angela. I pull it out of the fridge and place it in the microwave.
“H-h-h-h-how?” he asks as he takes a seat at the table.
I wait impatiently for the food to warm up, feeling starved from the day. I didn’t even get a chance to eat lunch.
“The craziest thing happened to me today,” I begin. I tell him all about my run-in with Scarlett and having to run out to buy new clothes for the interview. I polish off the lasagna and kick off my heels under the table. “It’s going to change our lives, Benny. We finally have health insurance, and the pay is amazing.”
“Are—are … y-y-yo-you always g-going to work late?” he asks hesitantly.
Benny has had a stutter ever since our parents went missing. I haven’t been able to get him in to see anybody because we don’t have insurance. But now, maybe I can find someone who can work with him. He doesn’t really have any friends. He tells me they all laugh when he tries to talk, so he says as little as possible at school.
I sigh. “I don’t know, buddy. Maybe. I’ll do my best to be home at a reasonable time every night, but I can’t make any promises. But this is good for us. This changes everything. We can get a better place. I might even be able to put some money aside for college.”
He looks away quickly. “I’m too—too … s-s-s-s-s-stupid for college.”
I drop my fork on my plate. “Hey. I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself like that. A stutter has nothing to do with how smart you are. You are very smart, and you get good grades. You can do anything you want to. I’ll make sure of it.”
A small smile splays across his face, but I can tell he doesn’t quite believe me. He stands up and walks back to his room, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
That’s it. First thing on my agenda tomorrow, when I have a second of free time, is to get my insurance information and find someone for him to see. There’s got to be a way to help him get over his stutter.
I don’t want to see him suffer like this. It just keeps breaking his self-confidence, the older he gets. He should be outside, playing with friends. Instead, he stays in his room and reads. I’m all for reading a good book—sometimes, I even listen to them on audio—but I do think he needs balance in his life.
It dawns on me that my hours are going to be different now. With school being out, it was nice to get into work at five in the morning and get off at one. Ben would have only been up for a few hours by the time I got home. Now he may be alone all afternoon and evening. Something we understand is the hands we were dealt. He’s had to grow up a lot faster than most kids, learning to be on his own by ten.
It’s not always fair, but when you don’t have any other options, you have to accept it and move on.
4
LINCOLN
The first sip of beer goes down cold and effortlessly. It’s like instant relief that floods my veins and soothes the dull ache in my soul. Today has been a shit day, and I’m not much in the mood for company, but my buddies sent out a text to meet them for drinks.
They’re the only family I’ve got, aside from the real ones I was cursed with, so I try to make time for them whenever I can. Although Sawyer and Dean couldn’t make it tonight, so it’s just the four of us.
“What’s with the sour look?” Roman asks as he puts down his beer.
Roman owns a string of successful hotels around the world and is often out of town. I met him freshman year at Columbia University, as well as the rest of the gang.
I look over at Colton and Walker until I realize he’s talking to me.
“I have a sour look?” I question.
“More so than usual,” he replies. “What gives?”
I straighten my back and move my head to the left and then the right in an effort to relieve some of the mounting tension. “It’s work shit.”
“Gee, thanks for all the details,” Walker quips. “How about you elaborate?”
Walker is an attorney for a large firm in the city. He represents some powerful people nobody would want to mess with, me included.
“Why do you guys care so much? Work is always a pain in the ass,” I bite back.
“It’s called conversation,” Colton intervenes. “It’s literally the entire purpose of us meeting for drinks.”
Colton, out of the six of us, is the one I’m closest to. He is a doctor in oncology, and I admire his dedication to such an intensely vulnerable career.
Leave it to him to get me to talk.
