Page 66 of A Box of Wishes
“I’m sure you’ve heard what happened.”
Tarbert sighed. “I heard that you and Ryan had a disagreement.
“‘A disagreement’?” Ben wanted to laugh. Or cry. “Ryan lost his home. He’s been living in the coffeehouse for the last couple of weeks. And he didn’t mention it once! Not even the night he was attacked and stayed with me. That’s not a disagreement. That’s—”
“Ryan not asking for help when he needed it. I’m sure he had a reason.”
“Of course he did. It was a day ending in Y.”
“You would know.”
“What?”
“Have you forgotten how you kept all your troubles to yourself? Pretended that Keith wasn’t the lying, cheating sod he was? It took us far longer than it should have to realise you needed help—because of the wayyouacted, Ben.”
“I was—” Ben swallowed. His pride had been the only thing left to him at the end. It was also what had finally made him end things with Keith. “I was protecting my pride.”
“Is it so impossible to imagine that Ryan was doing the same?” Tarbert didn’t wait for an answer. “You look like hell warmed over, Ben. Take the rest of the day off, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Ben wanted to protest. Point out that he had plenty of work on his desk to keep himself occupied and bury himself in reports and actions.
He didn’t.
Neither did he go home.
He took the A5 south to Milton Keynes, trailed through a few furniture stores, and bought a dining table and chairs.
Ryan poured the cold tea down the drain before he rinsed the pot and set it into the dishwasher. Ben hadn’t returned to record the attempted break-in. Another officer had arrived to take their statements, and then several more had searched the coffeehouse. They made quick work of the front of house and were done before the breakfast rush started. The search of the rooms in the back had taken longer but had yielded just as little in the way of evidence.
Ryan hadn’t had even a glimpse of Ben. He hadn’t brought Morris. And—without Morris to collect—he hadn’t come around at closing time either, though Ryan had had tea, cakes, and sandwiches ready and waiting both times.
Maybe he should have expected that, though he’d only tried to be considerate.
“I hope he’s eaten,” Ryan whispered. “I hope he had a little time to himself.” Most of all, he wished Ben would walk through the door and give him a chance to explain.
Being different had taught him that if he wanted people to like him, he needed to give them a reason. People saw him if he reached out and offered help. It was as easy as that. And as complicated.
For years, he’d been content to reach out and ask nothing in return—until Ben had stepped into his coffeehouse. He liked Ben. Had loved watching the sadness fade from his eyes and the grey from his aura with every cup of tea and conversation they shared. He’d helped when Morris had been hurt and had been quietly grateful for Ben’s presence and support when he’d needed it.
He thought he’d made it obvious how much Ben meant to him, but all Ben had seen was reluctance on Ryan’s part, secrecy, and lies.
He should have shared his landlord’s message with Ben. He could see that now. Ben took care of people, as much as he did himself. Being denied the opportunity to help had hurt him more than Ryan keeping secrets.
Ryan took a step back from the sink, picked up a plate and threw it against the wall.
Destroying his tableware wouldn’t bring Ben back. Neither would it repair Ryan’s misstep.
Ben’s ex had lied. Ryan knew it, yet he’d done the same. He’d not lied outright, but he’d kept secrets.
“Gods I’m an idiot!” His voice echoed in the quiet kitchen, and that was another sore point. Most evenings during the last months he hadn’t been here alone. Morris would be there, and then Ben when he finished work. And why had Ryan never noticed how lonely the place felt when he was by himself? How many times had he told his mother that he couldn’t possibly be lonely because he had his coffeehouse? Now here he was, alone and more heartsore than he’d been in years.
If Alastair hadn’t come to check on him, his secret might have been safe a little longer. “Yeah, still with the idiocy, O’Shaughnessy! Ben would have found out eventually. And he would have reacted just as he had today.”
Ryan started the dishwasher. Then he took off his apron and hung it on the hook behind the door. Back in his office, he reached for his phone.
Alastair answered on the second ring. “Ryan. Are you okay?”
“You’re right,” Ryan said without preamble. “I need to get out of this place, at least for a night or two before I go stir crazy. Does that offer of your spare bedroom still stand?”
