Page 5 of What We Had

Rapid blinking again. “Get home safe, Connor.”

Bennett turned and left me with the ghost of what he could have answered. I watched him retreat in my side-view mirror. Short stature, but jacked like a bull. My favorite body type. My favorite anything, really, making his slow retreat back into the UFO of harsh lighting. His flashing blues turned off, followed by the high beams. He pulled out from behind me, banged a uey, and sped away.

Weren’t they supposed to wait for the driver to leave first?

I stayed in the same spot while my mind raced to replay our entire conversation as if I could divine a hidden meaning in his words. Maybe he gave me a sign that I didn’t recognize at first? He didn’t give me a ticket or a citation. Was that like a wink? A double raised eyebrow to say, “We’ll be in touch?”

Somewhere in my mind, the last moments of our deep history waited in the wings, like the proverbial long hook for someone bombing on stage.

Hestopped talking toyou, I told myself. My deployment, his time at college. Scheduled visits cratered. Communication held strong at first, but eventually faded. Then my injury, when everything changed. And Bennett simply stopped talking to me, as if he didn’t care. As if I didn’t lie in an infirmary bed with a shredded leg thinking of himevery second of the day, my thoughts for him more vital than an IV drip.

I navigated the back roads to my house by rote. How many times had I taken out the 1962 Thunderbird my father had left me and driven with Bennett to our secret spot along the Sudbury? How many times had we almost crashed that precious car because he slid to the edge of his seat to get handsy with me?

God, that had been the best summer of my life. Nothing had ever compared since. Not even being nominated for an Emmy. Not for being given a starring role in a hit television show. Nothing came close to touching what Benny had meant to me in those months.

Of course, he crossed my mind every so often. I became very adept at avoiding anything by Fleetwood Mac. Anyone with too-blue eyes was a trigger. I should be ashamed to say I would sometimes jerk off thinking about that summer. There had been other men since Bennett, but they were closeted in Hollywood like me. All cloak-and-dagger trysts, careful to avoid watchful eyes. Nothing lasted beyond a month or two until they became regulars I could interchange when I got horny.

I made it home just as my dick stiffened the more I thought about Bennett. He was an excellent distraction, if nothing else. The headlights of my car shined up the slight incline of the driveway. A bronzed sign was briefly illuminated, the mark of historical significance of the Colonel William Clarke House built in 1823. The two-story structure sat like a fortress at the top of the short hill. At night, the buttery yellow siding appeared less obnoxious, and the white trim, as well as the black shutters, looked freshly painted. Dual redbrick chimneys poked out from the gabled roof like stunted horns from a giant.

The driveway curved around the left side of the house and terminated at a four-car garage that was built sometime in the 1960s by my grandfather. The leftmost bay contained my father’s Thunderbird, and I parked in front of that one. A floodlight flickered on as I put the car in Park.

I grabbed my carry-on duffel bag from the trunk of the Discovery and fished in one pocket for the set of house keys. Fifteen steps brought me to the side entrance of the house, a wide but shallow porch with a door leading into the mudroom. I pushed my way inside after unlocking the deadbolt and quietly closed the door. The primary suite was on the first floor, albeit on the other side of the house.

The first whiff of familiar air made me pause. Twelve years since I last saw Bennett. Eight years since I was last home.

Eight years.

The place still smelled the same. Lavender potpourri mixed with cedar. A stillness embodied the space around me as my eyes targeted all the old familiars. The long table along the hallway with pictures of ancestors. A half bath to my right with the door slightly ajar. A long, rectangular rug dominating the wide plank flooring. A floor lamp at the end of the hall had been on, though dimmed to its lowest setting to cast muted light in a kaleidoscope of colors through the colorful glass shade.

I advanced down the hall, my sneakers creaking the floorboards in all the spots I used to avoid when sneaking back inside as a kid. “That’s your entrance, darling,” my mother always told me. Her driver usually dropped her off at the front door. I don’t think I had ever seen her behind the wheel of a car.

Down the hall, I made a right where two pass-throughs gave me the option of heading into the kitchen or the family room. I chose the family room, an uninhabited space made up of sofas, a fireplace, and windows bedecked with white curtains that overlooked the spacious back porch. I think I had sat four times in this space. No television down here, so why did I care as a kid?

The family room led into yet another hallway, this one with a study on the left and a library on the right. (What are the differences between those? Hell if I know. That was my mother’s space.) A bend at the end brought me to the final hallway, a narrow passageway with a table and a lamp before a double door. I quieted my breathing and put my hand on the brass knob, turned, and pushed the right door a fraction inward.

A nightlight warmed the space inside and I saw Cordelia Clarke lying atop what I could only describe as a luxury hospital bed. The damn thing had a wooden headboard, too. She lie with her head slightly raised, her lips parted, and head wrapped in a silk, lilac scarf. I watched until I could see her chest rising and falling, then closed the door and went upstairs to my old room.

Nothing much had changed since I joined the army the summer after Bennett. No dust bunnies hid in the corner of my room and the bed appeared to have been freshly made (thanks, Rachel). I dropped my bag by the bureau and plopped onto my bed. New mattress, I could tell that much at least. I toed off my sneakers and fished behind the nightstand to plug in my charger. I’d inventory the rest of the room when I woke up and let nostalgia carry me back to better years in the morning. For now, I needed to give in to a curiosity that had been nagging at me since Bennett drove off.

Electric lighting shined on my face as I leaned back into a set of stacked pillows and looked at my phone. I smashed the button for my contacts and felt my heart rate kick up. I didn’t have to scroll very far to find the Bs, and located the name I was after.

BENNY CELL.

Benny Cell. I chuckled. My flip phone only allowed one contact method back then, so I named the contact after him and his means of communication.

I pressed Benny Cell. His contact page winked up, and I stared for a moment. I looked at the empty rows of information except for his number, and then a notification asked me if I wanted to update his contact information. I clicked yes.

I felt my pupils dilate, felt my heartbeat in my throat. The blank profile snip that had been “BC” just a second ago was replaced by a recent Bennett selfie taken in a car. I selected it immediately and widened with my thumb and forefinger. It didn’t surprise me to see him not smiling. But damn if he didn’t look stunning in the sunlight. Handsome, stoic, perfect facial symmetry.

I closed out of the picture and saw that we shared the same smartphone brand. Nothing else updated, except for the option to video chat. So, he still had the same cell phone number. Mine hadn’t changed either. I wondered…

What? Text him right now? “Hey, wanna take the T-Bird out for a spin like the old days?” Sure, that’ll go over well.

And why was I even bothering taking any of this into consideration? He basically dumped me while I writhed in agony because of the frag grenade. He had clearly lost interest in me and there I was, chasing the apparition of what he used to be.

I gave his profile photo one last glance, then plugged in my phone and dropped it on the nightstand. Shrugged out of my t-shirt, stripped down from my jeans and socks, and slithered beneath fresh linens. I was out cold within seconds.

I dreamed of Bennett.

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