Page 30 of Power Surge

“It is different,” I demand. “I'm messed up in the head. I'm doing her a favor keeping her out of this.”

“Her a favor, right.”

“She's got enough to deal with.”

“Yet all she wants is to help you.”

“She's the president of the free world,” I grit out. Again those fingers ball into a tight fist as anger at my current situation flows through my veins.

“Yet all she wants is to be with you.”

“Stop saying that,” I shout. My chest heaves. “I'm not the same person I was. One day I had a strong family name, I had money, status, her. Then the next I'm forgotten in a hospital bed while she makes a fucking decision that puts a target not only on her back but on her damn forehead without talking to me about it.”

I suck in a breath and slide my wide eyes to Tank.

“Holy fuck,” I say, slowly letting my held breath out.

“Now we're getting somewhere.”

“She thought I was too weak to tell me before she left for the press conference.”

“I'd go with it more being about the element of surprise, but that's my take.”

I nod. He has a point.

“What else?”

Now my quick breaths stem from excitement. For the first time in weeks, the weight sitting on my chest eases. “I loathe the fact that I have nothing to offer her now.”

“Did you ever?”

I shoot him another “fuck you” glare. “Not helping.”

“Benson, you're the same fucking idiot today as you were the day you met. Nothing has changed.”

“Everything has,” I say, my voice tight.

“Not the things that matter. Sure, her job has changed, she has a new title, but that hasn't changed who she is. She's still just as crazy, just as honest and good-hearted as she was when we dragged her out of that smashed-up limo years ago. And if you believe your family name, your money, hell, anything other than the unwavering support you offer her meant a damn thing to her, then you don't deserve her.”

“I'm afraid she'll see that now.” A sliver of the tension coiled around my constricted chest eases with the admission. “What can I offer her now that I'm this and she's that?”

The seat belt catches against my chest at Tank slamming on the brakes a little too hard after whipping into a parking space. The gear shift slams forward into Park, his palm engulfing the entire thing.

He rips the agency-issued sunglasses off his face and narrows his dark eyes. “You listen and you listen good, Trey Benson. You are not any less of a person, of a friend, or of a man to that woman because your parents are fucked in the head. Your money only mattered to you and those people who didn't matter at all. Me, Randi, Sarah, we all, for some unknown reason, love your scrawny ass without all that shit. Take away your last name, take away your money, your old life, and you're left with the man who wins people over just by being his own damn annoying self.”

I'm not crying, you're crying.

“And you know what else?” he adds on while pointing between my brows. “Yes, I love you, and these few weeks seeing you sinking has gutted me worse than knowing I set that kid up for failure. You're my best friend, and I will not let you lose that woman, the best thing that's happened to you since me, all because you're worked up about something that does not matter. She loves you, Benson, really loves you. The way Sarah loves me. Faults and all, those women love us to our core. I have no idea why or how it happened, but I thank the good Lord every night that she does. Stop thinking you're in this alone and have to figure it out by secluding yourself.”

I can't look away from my best friend. Thank fuck he chooses to not point out the unshed tears dampening my lower lids that he can no doubt see.

Clearing my throat, I shift in the seat. “Well, hell. Should we make out now?”

Lips twitching, he suppresses a smile. “We good?”

“We're good.”

“Good,” he responds as he shoves the heels of his palms to his lids. “Damn dust in my eyes.”

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