Page 59 of What We Had

I pulled open the junk drawer where Bennett stashed the lighter for his candles. There, I found a notepad and an old pen that took several circles of writing to get the ink flowing. I could leave him a note. Explaining myself. Recognizing that he would need time and likely some space.

Yeah, this was a good idea. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I could get ahead of Bennett’s habits and show that I knew him well enough. That I could anticipate his methods and support how he approached conflict.

Just don’t sign it “love, Connor” you fucking idiot.

The kettle came to a boil. I poured out his tea and ran a plan in my head to gather my discarded clothing quickly from his bedroom. My keys and wallet were in the kitchen by the fruit bowl. I would drive home half naked. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Connor,” came Bennett’s voice. I jumped in place. Spilled hot water over my thumb. I shrieked out a swear and shook my hand. Bennett ignored it. “You can’t just say something like that so casually.”

I continued to shake my hand. Was Bennett…nottaking time to talk? He stood there in workout shorts, naked from the chest up. A trail of hickeys encircled his chest, his sleepy hair mussed. His hands hung straight by his side.

“You’re right. I know. It was stupid to say something like that in the way I did. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, and it wasn’t my intention to start our morning out like that.” I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth.

Fuck it. He’s here.

“But I meant it, Bennett,” I told him. Our eyes locked. Space between us seemed to vanish despite eight kitchen tiles running the length. “I meant it. I do love you. These past two weeks with you have been incredible and I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Silence, save for the rushing of blood in my ears. It was as if the director yelled “cut” after a horrible performance, everyone suddenly mute, waiting for the inevitable screaming. To his credit, Bennett wasn’t blinking rapidly.

Tell me you love me, too, I thought.That’s how you’re supposed to respond.

He did, didn’t he? How could he not? I caught him staring plenty of times, the lovesick look in his eyes when I said something sweet about him or to him. The way he held my hand when we sat together, wherever we were.

“N-no. Notthatpart of what you said.” Hesitation. Still no blinking, though. “I…” His eyes dimmed, and he looked at the floor, then back up. “You had said ‘fallbackin love.’ What did you mean?”

I replayed my words. Had I said that?

Yes.

Back in love. He was asking if we were in lovebefore. We never said it that summer. But oh, I felt it. Especially the day I had lain in a hospital bed halfway across the world.

My next words came to me as clearly as if I had memorized them before the cameras rolled. “I fell in love with you fourteen years ago, Bennett. I never said those words and I should have. I was in love for years. It took me what felt like a lifetime to heal my heart after things ended the way they did.”

Of course this was when the conversation would happen. After our amazing night, the way we came together and connected.Of coursethis was the moment everything would come out in the open.

“I loved you then,” I said. “And now I love you again.”

His right hand formed into an accusatory finger that he pointed to the ground. His eyes hardened into ice. “Then why the hell did you stop talking to me?”

Stop… talking…?

My mind reeled. The hell?

I looked at him, as if seeing his face could make sense of everything. “Youstopped talking tome,” I said.

His head went back like I had slapped him. “Bullshit, Connor. That’sbullshit.”

“What?” My voice cut through the house, a clap of thunder without the lightning. Bennett didn’t flinch. Something solid had settled within him. Was this the face of the cop I met only briefly on the road at two in the morning? He wasn’t vulnerable anymore. He was determined.

“Fourteen years ago was the best summer of my life,” Bennett said. “Then I went to college in the fall. You joined the military and were deployed overseas.” He held up his other hand and ticked off his fingers. “I sent you physical mail. I emailed. Icalledwhen I could, which took an act of Congress back in those days.”

I advanced a pace. Eight kitchen tiles shrank to six. “Iemailed you back.Iresponded to every single letter you sent. And I sure as hell called when I could.” I shook my head, looked around. “Yes, communication slowed down. It was two years of trying to connect. Two years of only seeing each other twice after that summer. Communication slowed down but I wasnotthe one to let things die completely.”

“Yes you were!”

I couldn’t think straight. Was heattackingme? I had spentyearsin agony wondering why this man whom I loved stopped talking to me. And here he was saying it wasmewho cut him off? My grief from how he had treated me wouldn’t accept the words he spoke now. The two concepts wouldn’t reconcile in my mind.

So, I doubled down.

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