Page 145 of The Rules
Ben froze.
That—whatever the fuck that was—settled beneath his skin like a burn.
He stepped back once. Then again. Put space between them because that’s what he needed to think. To breathe.
He didn’t leave, though.
Instead, he crossed to the armchair by the window and sat. His phone buzzed in his palm—emails, alerts, reminders—but he didn’t check them right away. He just watched the city outside. Cold lights. Quiet movement. Nothing like the woman asleep across the room who’d practically confessed she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Ben leaned his head back against the chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. The room was quiet, save for the occasional whisper of the city beyond the windows. Too quiet.
He exhaled. Once. Then again.
Not tired. Not really. Just... tangled.
This thing—whatever it was—it didn’t have a name.
He wouldn’t give it one. Names meant ownership, definition. Control.
And right now, there was none of that.
Another sigh escaped him, quieter this time. Frustrated.
Like the feelings themselves were some puzzle he couldn’t solve, no matter how many angles he analyzed them from.
He didn’t know what to do with what she'd said.
Didn’t know what to do with the way it hit him.
So he stayed where he was. Shoulders tight. Gaze on the ceiling. Listening to her slow, steady breathing across the room.
And wondering, for the first time in a long time, what the hell he was even doing.
Then, finally, he closed his eyes.
Not sleep. Not peace. Just stillness.
A moment carved out of chaos—silent, strange, and soft.
She breathed. He listened. And for once, there were no rules between them. Only quiet.
Chapter 36
Benjamin
Ben sat across from Joshua, his fingers idly tapping against the conference table. The afternoon light filtered through the blinds, casting thin bars of gold across the stack of files between them. He nodded occasionally, making appropriate sounds of acknowledgment as Joshua moved through the progress reports.
His body was present. His focus was not.
His mind kept drifting—back a few nights, to the image burned behind his eyes. Kath, asleep at her desk, curled beneath his jacket. The slow, even breaths. The dried tear tracks on her cheeks. The way she’d pressed her face into the fabric, chasing comfort without even knowing where it came from.
That was three days ago.
And somehow, the moment still lived in his chest like a splinter he hadn’t figured out how to pull.
"—and the Thompson deposition went better than expected," Joshua was saying, flipping through his notes. "We should have the transcripts by Thursday."
Ben made a noncommittal sound, eyes on the document in front of him, but seeing none of it.
