Rough Road (17 page)

“It’s old,” I mutter, “and pretty.”

“So, that explains the pity party.” His voice is cold and flat, and when I glance up at him, his gaze is equally so.

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, Eddie. I
know
you. You’re working so hard right now to turn your face to stone.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” I can’t meet his eyes as I say it.

“You finally realized at some point in the last year that the guy you’re carrying a torch for isn’t ever going to love you the way you want him to. I figured—at least I hoped—you’d get over it eventually, especially after we’ve been so—” He swallows and looks away, the stark vulnerability on his face breaking my heart as much as his words piss me off. “Apparently not.”

“You don’t understand. It’s not like that.” How can I explain twenty-something years of
Ben
to a twenty-four-year-old without sounding like he’s not old enough to get it?

“The fuck it isn’t. It’s exactly like that. You would move mountains for that man. You keep a room for him in your house. You turn down pain medicine after a car accident. You answer the phone no matter what time of day or night he’s calling, no matter what you’re doing, and no matter
who
you’re doing it with. He’s in love with someone else. And even when you congratulate him on his upcoming wedding, you’re still calculating how
you
can be better
for him
.”

The vehemence in his final words stuns me for a moment, and I stare at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“That’s . . .” I gasp, pain flaring in my chest, sudden and sharp. “It’s
not like that
.”

“Eddie. I can love you when you’re being self-absorbed. I can love you when you’re mouthing off to me to try and get me to spank you harder. I can love you when you’re distracted by work or town politics or what have you. But I can’t love your insistence on martyring yourself for this guy. I get it: he’s your best friend and you’re absolutely fucking blind with love for him. But it’s killing me to see it and wonder what it would take to get you to care like that about me.”

“I care about you.”
Love. He said love. And he said it a lot.

“Not enough to move a mountain. Not even enough to move a boat dealership.”

“This tantrum is about the
roads project
?”

He throws his hands up in the air. “Let’s face it, that’s the real reason you’re opposed to it. You’re protecting Ben. Because he always comes first for you. Even when you’re both with other people. He comes first.”

“He’s
family
.”

It’s
totally
the wrong thing to say. I know it the moment it comes out of my mouth. His face gets harder, turns red, his eyebrows drawing together.

“And I’m just a regular source of kinky sex.”

“Now you’re putting words into my mouth,” I protest. “It hasn’t been just sex between us since that night at Keith’s club, and you know it.”

“I wish I did. I really want to believe that—”

My phone ringing cuts him off. The Dead Kennedys. I reach to pick it up, and he covers my hand with his own, his face and voice pleading.

“Don’t answer it. Let us have this conversation without
him
interrupting.”

But my mind flashes back to a night years ago when Tina called me from Ben’s phone in a panic because she found him passed out and couldn’t wake him.

“I
have
to.” I start to lift the phone, and he holds my hand down. “Do you
mind
?” I snarl, wrenching my hand out of his grasp.

“Hey, Ben, can I . . .” I drop my hand as Wish shoves away from the table, knocking his chair over.

“I’m done, Eddie. I can’t do this anymore.” The vulnerable expression is gone, his features crumpled in defeat. My stomach sinks.

“Wish, wait!”

“No. You keep choosing
him
. I won’t sit around and be your second choice. I deserve to be someone’s first choice.” He shakes his head and walks out of the kitchen. The front door slams and the realization hits me. I proved his point—he’s gone. And it’s my fault.

I put the phone back to my ear.

“Darling, I’ve fucked up. We need to talk.”

“How bad?” His voice is gruff across the phone line.

I stare at the chair tipped on its side and remember the way Wish’s face fell and his eyes got bright and glassy.

“Bad.”

“Come on over.”

Ben greets me at the door of his house with a somber expression. I know Ben better than I know anyone else in my life, but that expression is one I don’t recognize. There’s none of the deep desperation of his years fighting addiction. There’s none of the Peter Pan–like joy he exhibits behind a boat. He’s just . . . calm and sad. A part of me wants to fling myself into his arms and fall apart, to let him pick up the pieces the way I always have for him. Another, sharper, part of me wants to pick a fight, to
make
him take some responsibility for our codependent relationship. But I can’t do either of those things.

“Come on in.” He pushes the door wide. “Dave went out.”

“Out?”

“Out. To give us privacy.”

“Oh.” I send out a mental
thank you
to Dave, and follow Ben into the house—as familiar to me as my own. He flicks on a light with a remote control and we settle down on the sofa. It’s a far cry from the dark apartment where we had our last come-to-Jesus talk.

“Is this about the wedding invitation?” he asks, his normally gruff voice gentle.

“Only tangentially.” I can’t let Ben take the blame, so I choose my words carefully. My voice still shakes. “Wish showed up right after I got it, and he said some things. And then my phone rang—”

“Ah, Christ, Eddie. You have
got
to stop doing that. I can leave you a voice mail.”

Oh, now
that
stings.

“But what if it’s an emergency? What if you needed me?”

He digs the heel of his hand into his eyes, then squints at me. “Who would you call? If you had an emergency? If something happened to you tomorrow, who would be your first call?”

I don’t even have to think about it. “Wish.”

“And my first call is to Dave.”

See, I
know
that. I know it, but a part of me still wants to protest it. “But what if you can’t reach him? What if he’s on a plane, or at a remote jobsite? And then I don’t answer?”

“Then I’ll call Tina, or I can call Wish looking for you, or Jerry. I’ll keep calling until I get someone. But you don’t have to be my knight in shining armor. It’s okay to let my calls go.”

“Wish thinks I’m in love with you.”

“Dave thinks you are too.”

I stare at him, and he holds my gaze. How can they be right and still be so wrong?

“I do love you.” I break the eye contact and start tracing a pattern on the sofa. “You’re my best friend. And I love you. And I think that’s normal. I don’t think I love you in a way that isn’t normal for friends.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I don’t want to be with you. I don’t want to have sex with you. I don’t want to marry you. My feelings for you are more . . . protective?”

“Controlling.” He snorts, and I laugh, but sober quickly.

“I like being there for you.”

“And I like knowing you’re there—but I want you to have your own life too.”

“So you really don’t need me anymore? You’re the only person in my life who has ever needed me.”

He steeples his fingers under his chin and frowns at me. “I still need you. I just don’t need . . . I don’t need you to take care of me. I don’t need you to be on call for me twenty-four hours a day. I am never not going to need my best friend to be a huge part of my life, okay?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak yet.

“And how on earth can you possibly think I’m the only person who needs you? When Wish’s friend had that accident, and Wish was all messed up over it, who did he call first? Out of everyone—his mom? His brother?”

I find my voice. “Me.”

“That’s right. He needed you. And when I called you a few minutes ago, what did he need?”

“He needed me to put him first.”

“And you answered anyway, in case it was an emergency?”

“It’s been us, as friends, for more than twenty years. The worrying about each other and checking up on each other—it doesn’t stop because you’re getting married.”

“Right. I feel the same. But listen—it’s okay for him to come first. It’s not taking anything away from our friendship for you to love him.”

But it
is
. Because answering the phone isn’t the only way I’ve put Ben first. It
is
going to change our friendship.

“This is going to be really hard for me to say. Because it affects you.” I have always put him first; Wish was right about that. And putting my needs first—specifically my need to make things right with Wish—is more difficult than I expected.

“Out with it, dude.” He pokes my knee. “We don’t do small talk.”

“There’s a good possibility the dealership is going to be closed. If the tax increase goes through. Election Day is a few weeks away.” I take a deep breath. “I’m not going to fight it anymore. It’s shitty as grand gestures go, but my boyfriend needs that roads project to happen. And I need to put him first.”

Ben nods thoughtfully. “That frees me up to help Dave start the wakeboarding camp and cable park he’s been talking about building. You should see some of his design ideas for obstacles. They’re sick. Hell, is
that
what you were worried about telling me? That I might lose my job?”

A blush creeps up my face.

“Oh, man.” He shakes his head. “Dude. I have savings. And besides that, I’m marrying a guy with more money than you. I don’t need . . . Come here.”

He pulls me into a rough bear hug, his chest heaving. I swallow and push my face into his shoulder, fighting back the tears that have been threatening ever since I walked in. He holds me for a long moment, and then lets me go.

“I love you so much. But you’re breaking my heart, man. When I said I didn’t need you to take care of me? This is exactly what I was talking about. Move the dealership, close the dealership, do what you gotta do, but don’t fight town hall over me.”

“You really don’t need my help.” I sniff, but it’s more wonder than sadness. Maybe, more than not being needed, I’ve been afraid I would be needed and wouldn’t be able to be there for him.

“Go make nice with Wish. I put his name on the invitation too, did you see that?”

“Yeah. He’s never been to Charleston.”

“Neither have I. So we can all do touristy shit down by the Battery together.”

“If he comes back. You know, guys his age are exhausting. All this drama.”

“He probably says the same about you, you ancient queen.”

“Forty-four is not ancient.”

“Says the guy who tried to use mascara to cover the gray in his beard.”

“That was a secret. If you tell anyone about that, I will—”

“Do something nasty to my spleen. I know. Go apologize to your boyfriend.”

“Why were you calling me? When I answered the phone?”

He grins. “To let you know I got the all clear to ride my board again. I thought I’d see if you and Wish wanted to come along with us. But . . . maybe I’ll just take Dave and Ridley instead.”

After a year of being afraid that this day wouldn’t come, that he’d never be able to ride again postsurgery, he’s got the all clear. No emergency, just happy news and he wanted to share.

It hurts to miss his first ride, but I realize the wisdom of letting him celebrate with Dave and Ridley.

“I think that would be best. Because right now, he needs me more than you do.”

I drive straight to Wish’s apartment from Ben’s house. I try to call him on the way, but of course he doesn’t answer. After our first fight, it took him days to cool down enough to talk to me. But I have the sinking feeling if I give him a cooling-off period, he’ll never speak to me again. I figure I can explain, and I’m fully prepared to beg him to listen if I have to. I take the stairs two at a time and pause to catch my breath a moment before knocking on his door.