Page 65 of A Box of Wishes
Ryan’s face turned ice-white, and he finally met Ben’s eyes. “You can’t possibly believe I have anything to do with that!”
“Can’t I? We’re suspicious bastards, us coppers.”
“You’re nothing of the sort.”
“Then why haven’t you told me about losing your flat? About sleeping here. If you had nothing to hide, that is.”
“It isn’t like that!”
“No?”
“No. Remember how you said you didn’t want to take anything between us forward under false pretences? I felt like that. I didn’t want you to think that you were just convenient because my landlord kicked me out. I wanted us to have time to get to know each other.”
The mix of hurt and anger made Ben’s head spin. “That’s not the same thing at all. When you have nowhere to go you don’t pretend that everything is fine. You ask for help. You reach out to your family, or your friends. If you trusted me at all, you’d have askedmefor help!”
“Fine. Okay. You’re both right. I’m stubborn. I wanted to solve my own problems and I put my pride in front of everything else. Can’t you understand that?”
Ben thought of the mornings they’d spent quietly sipping tea in the nook. He thought of the evenings when he’d watched Ryan bake. He thought of Morris, of walking in on two men hitting Ryan, of Ryan in his bed. Had all of that been a lie?
The thought hurt so much, Ben couldn’t breathe.
He cupped Ryan’s cheek and ran his thumb over his lower lip. “No, I don’t understand. A relationship needs a foundation of trust. I believe that you have nothing to do with whatever is going on here. I believe that you don’t deal drugs. But we can’t build anything meaningful if you don’t trust me to have your back.”
He dropped a kiss on Ryan’s forehead, turned and left the coffeehouse.
Words
Coppers gossiped as much as anyone else. More so, perhaps, since many a tricky case had been solved by a nugget of information spoken without thought. Ben kept his head down as he walked through the station, not wanting to see the pity that’d be on many faces.
Not when he was still reeling.
Ryan had lied to him and had kept secrets. Memories of Keith reared their head, and Ben was too rattled to send them packing.
Ryan had lost his home. He’d lived in the backroom of his coffeehouse. And he’d kept that information from Ben, had pretended that nothing was amiss.
It made no sense.
Or did it?
Alastair had said that Ryan didn’t want to be beholden to his family. Not even the ones who wouldn’t take advantage. Had he been serious? Was Ryan spending all his time helping out because he was being pushed into it?
Then why hadn’t he asked Ben for help? Had Ryan been afraid that Ben wouldn’t offer him a place to stay? Or that he would?
Ben fell into his chair as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Despite what he’d said, he didn’t believe that Ryan was a drug dealer. That interpretation felt all wrong. Not the rest, though. He wanted to take care of Ryan the way Ryan was taking care of him, but Ryan didn’t trust Ben to have his back. And Ben had been an idiot to believe he and Ryan could build something solid from shared breakfasts and evenings in a coffeehouse. Their cosy conversations didn’t generate trust any more than a chat with a random stranger in a pub.
The thought had barbs. Its touch burned like salt and lime, and Ben had to swallow the lump forcing itself up his throat. It’d be him and Morris again, now, and dwelling on what he might have had would change nothing.
He started up his computer, opened the first email on his list and started reading.
His desk phone interrupted him just after lunch. “Ben, a word?”
Ben trudged to his chief’s office and sat when invited. The stint of focussed work had numbed the initial pain. Now all he wanted—
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“Sir?”
“I recognise that expression. You’re cutting yourself off from everything.”
