Page 87 of Plentywood
Charlie dipped away from me and moved to the corner of the stage furthest from me. “I was there for him when Mark died,” he said, rocking unsteadily on his feet. “I wanted to be his husband. Me! It was me! Not Mark!” He glared at Ben, who now stood behind Jill and Lance. “He’ll use you too, doc. Does he fuck you good? Does he?”
Charlie sat down on the edge of the stage. I turned toward Smitty and held an imaginary finger phone to my head in a plea for him to call Agnes Brewster.
“I fucking loved you!” Charlie screamed. “Fucking loved…”
Charlie bent his head over and sobbed. His agony overcame his ability to speak. I stood motionless on stage while all eyes turned from one to another. We were too stunned to react. I was ashamed of myself even though something similar had happened in the past and the town knew I was sorry for my part in all of it.
Suddenly, Ben came around Jill and Lance, walking slowly toward the stage. All eyes followed him, their bodies tense with anticipation and dread. He kneeled in front of Charlie and held his hands. If it hadn’t been for the microphone still in Charlie’s hand, we wouldn’t have heard the quiet exchange.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting, Charlie,” Ben said, speaking level and very calmly. “We all face things that are hard. What can I do to help you right now?”
The crowd gasped. Charlie lifted his head to face the unexpected person in front of him. His face was wracked by pain, tears flooded his eyes as he stared at Ben.
“It hurts inside,” Charlie said, touching his heart. “I wanted my chance.”
“I understand that,” Ben agreed. “I bet you want people to know how much you hurt, right?”
Charlie looked around at the assembled crowd, tears flooding his eyes to the point I doubted he could see them. “I do,” he mumbled. “I wanted my chance, too. I wasn’t really sad when Mark died. I acted like I was, but I wasn’t.”
Another gasp from the crowd. “You don’t really mean that, Charlie,” Ben soothed. “And it’s okay to have thoughts like that when you hurt. It is very normal to feel those things.”
Charlie fixated on Ben’s face, mere inches away from his own. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked, hiccupping and taking short breaths.
Ben rested his hand on Charlie’s knee. “Because I’ve been here too,” he admitted. “It sucks when stuff hurts.”
“Yeah, it does. My whole heart hurts,” Charlie whispered, looking around the bar. “I’m a fuck-up, but I want love too.”
“I understand. Let’s take you home,” Ben said. “I’ll take you home, Charlie. Will you let me do that?”
I stepped forward to protest, but Ben waved me off, holding his hand out for what I assumed was my truck keys. Whatever Ben was doing, he was in complete control of the situation.
“You… you’ll… you’ll help me home?” Charlie asked, snot coming out of his nose as he fought more hiccups.
“I will,” Ben said. “And we’ll do our best to help each other out the next time we hurt. I’m probably going to need your help one day, Charlie.”
“Okay,” Charlie agreed, attempting to stand.
Once again, I stepped forward to assist, but Ben waved me off. “I have him,” he said.
Ben moved Charlie’s arm around his neck and the crowd parted as the two of them shuffled toward the door. Something told me not to intervene, despite an overwhelming need to take control.
Whatever concern I’d had about Ben’s possible involvement with Charlie while they were in Missoula had evaporated. Ben saw Charlie as someone who needed help and compassion. I hated myself at that moment, but I knew I was in love with Ben.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: Benedict
After the Charlieeventat Smitty’s, Hunt and I shared several heartfelt conversations. He was disgusted with himself for how he’d treated Charlie, but I reminded him that, like Charlie, he was hurting at the time as well.
Hunt admitted he used Charlie for sex to cope with the loneliness. He hadn’t stopped to ask if what he was involved in was healthy for either of them. It wasn’t, but I assured him that his own mental state was shattered. While not an excuse, it had happened, and he needed to forgive himself.
As far as Charlie went, I called him several times a week and checked in on him. I promised Agnes that I wasnotgetting involved with him inthatway. She revealed her concerns regarding her grandson’s need to be loved. She didn’t want to hurt Charlie, but she understood that any attempt by him to be with me was just a chance to get at Hunt.
She said that Charlie had loved Hunt his entire life. Charlie had even tried moving to New York City to get away, but the draw he had for Hunt was just too much for him, and he returned home. After Mark’s death, he obsessed over his chances of being with him, convinced he’d finally get that chance. His chance didn’t happen, and the results were catastrophic to his mental well-being.
I told Hunt that I intended to help Charlie and to be his friend. I noticed the grave look on his face and him swallowing a bitter pill, but he held his opinion inside. For us to succeed, someone had to be the bigger person and solve the Charlie issue. I felt I was best prepared to do just that.
I heard Hunter’s SUV in the parking lot. I peeked out of the second-story window of the clinic. Hunt looked up and caught me looking out. I waved and let the warm rush of affection run through me. I hadn’t revealed the news yet, but I loved Hunter Copeland. In fact, I might tell him today.
“Thank you for this, Hunt,” I said, pulling myself into the Tahoe. “Is the Tahoe a good idea for this visit?”
