Page 23 of Man of Lies

I gave a short, bitter laugh and looked out over the rooftops. "This is just how I look now," I said. "You'd know that if you'd let me come see you."

Ben tipped the cigarette to his lips, inhaled deeply, and let the smoke drift through his nose. I could feel him watching me from the corner of his eye, gauging how far to reach. He didn't speak for so long, maybe that was all I would get. Then he admitted reluctantly, "I didn't want anyone to see me that way."

I understood that kind of pride. It was hardwired into our bones, growing up with nothing, spending half our lives proving we're more than the world said we were. But understanding didn't keep me from resenting how long it had taken for Ben to admit it.

"I wasn't there to judge," I said finally, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Just to see you."

"I wasn't there." He flicked the ash off the roof, following it down with his eyes until it disappeared into the darkness. "The man I was inside…that wasn't me, you know? You wouldn't have recognized him."

"You think I haven't seen you at your worst a dozen times?" I bit out furiously. "You think you could admit to anything that would shock me? You're still my brother, Ben. That's not something time or distance gets to rewrite."

He didn't answer, but I caught a muscle spasming in his jaw, the slow grind of molars as he stared straight ahead. The cigarette hung forgotten between his fingers, burned nearly to the filter.

"I just need a little time," he said finally. "Time to get my head straight and figure out where I fit."

"Fine," I said. "Take the time. But stop being selfish about it. You can't just cut your monitor and take off, not with Vanderhoff and the DA itching to get you back behind bars. You're an embarrassment to them. You get that? They played fast and loose with your conviction, and now they're justprayingyou'll do something to convince a judge you're a danger."

His eyes narrowed, and I knew he wanted to argue, but I wasn't finished. "The only reason you're out is because the AG's office opened an investigation long enough for Colt to shove a motion through. That judge didn't vacate your conviction, Ben. He agreed to a conditional release pending judicial review. You're a free man on paper and a felon in every way that counts. They gave you just enough rope to hang yourself. So don't."

Sullen color worked its way up Ben's throat. "I didn't mean to cause trouble," he muttered, eyes fixed on the skeletal outline of the schoolyard.

I snorted. "You're a Beaufort. Trouble's in the name."

He gave a small, humorless huff and offered a fist to bump. I knocked mine lightly against it. Some habits survived everything. Even prison.

"Next time you're feeling caged, give me a call. I'll take you for a spin on the Ducati until it passes. Hard to be mad at the world when you're screaming down the highway with your hair on fire."

Ben's lips twitched, and I could tell he liked the sound of it. Just like the old days, when I'd hotwire an old junker and we'd take it ripping through the cane fields.

"Yeah," he grunted wryly. "My babysitter would be real happy with that."

"He put a lot on the line for you. He's got a right to be pissed," I said, reaching out to deliver a light smack to the back of his head like I used to when we were kids, trying to knock us back into our old routine.

Ben recoiled before I could connect, catching my wrist in a grip so hard my bones creaked.

We both froze.

Slowly, awareness bled back into his eyes. The tension in his fingers released like a trap springing open. He dropped me and pulled back, putting extra space between our bodies.

"Reflex," he clipped out, still refusing to look at me.

"Yeah," I muttered, rubbing the sting out of my reddened skin. "I get it."

That damn silence was back, but it felt different now. More brittle. Neither of us rushed to fill it. A breeze had picked up, tracing along my collar and chilling the sweat on my neck.

Ben stared straight ahead, his face carved from stone. Then, like it cost him something just to ask, he said, "He still mad?"

I studied him in profile—the thick line of his jaw, the way his mouth pinched tight at the corners. Guarded was his everyday body language these days, but there was no defensiveness in the question. Just resignation, the kind that came from already knowing the answer but needing to hear it confirmed.

"I don't know," I said finally. "He didn't tell me what the fight was about."

Ben nodded shortly. He didn't offer an explanation either, and I didn't push. They'd both been locked up tight for weeks, and I'd run out of tools to pry them open.

"Whatever it was," I said, tired down to the marrow, "you need to deal with it. He stuck his neck out to get you here. I wish it was me. God knows I tried. I turned over every rock looking for that damn gun. But in the end, Colt's connections got you out. He put his reputation on the line, signing up as your designated custodian. He's holding the leash right now, whether you like it or not, so don't make it harder than it already is."

He didn't like that. I might not be able to read him like I once did, but he was still my twin, and I'd recognize that lowering of his brow anywhere.

"It's complicated," he said tersely.

---