Page 9 of Every Hidden Truth

As he came to a stop in front of me, he studied me with an unfathomable expression. “Asking is the scariest part.”

My courage wavered under his intensity, and I turned toward the window, exhaling to release the tension. I leaned my elbows on the windowsill and said, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Ben mirrored me, his elbow touching mine as he leaned into the window and gazed out over the park. We didn’t speak at first, and I studied my clasped hands, searching for something to say. I wasn’t good with words, with feelings, but I wanted to bridge the distance. More than anything, I wanted him to know me.

So I said, “I told my mom in this tower—that I didn’t think I liked girls, I mean. It was before she left. She seemed okay withit, like it didn’t change anything, but then she picked up and left a couple weeks later.

“It was her choice to go, but sometimes, I wonder if I’d been, I don’t know, normal, then maybe she would’ve stayed, you know?” I blinked away the emotion threatening to choke me. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

“It’s not stupid.” Ben touched his shoulder to mine, sharing the warmth and strength of his body as I fought to keep control of my emotions. “Parents aren’t always who they’re supposed to be.”

The words ringed with familiarity, even though I couldn’t name why, but it was the raw pain in his voice that made me ache. His mom was dead and his dad, from what little I’d gathered, hadn’t been top-notch. I wanted to know the full story, especially now that I felt so exposed, but I wasn’t sure if I could ask.

We stood on unstable ground, and if we pushed too hard, it might crack and crumble beneath us.

I took the chance anyway. “Were your parents who they were supposed to be?”

He didn’t respond at first. I waited. He’d tell me when he was ready. If tonight wasn’t the night, that was fine.

“No. No, they weren’t,” he said after a long, tense moment. “My father was mean, and my mother… I loved her more than anything, but she was weak. She didn’t protect us.”

My heart writhed at the agony etched on his face, and I slid my hand into his until we were palm to palm. I waited for him to jerk away or shake me off, but he didn’t.

“After she died, he got worse. She wasn’t there to stand in the way anymore, and I was too afraid to fight back.”

I wanted to say how sorry I was, but they were just empty words. So I twined our fingers together until they fit snugly. Hedidn’t look at me, but his muscles loosened. Sometimes, words weren’t needed. Maybe Ben was rubbing off on me after all.

“Then, one night, everything just blew up.” His eyes glazed over with memories, and I squeezed his hand to keep him grounded in the present. “I snuck out a lot, when he’d been drinking the most. I usually went to my neighbor Jackson’s house, but that night, Dad caught us. He saw us kissing at the fence, and he came after me with a liquor bottle. Said he didn’t want a cocksucker for a son. Jackson ran for it, but I…”

Ben released a shuddered breath, and I aligned my body with his until every inch of our sides touched. I forced myself not to overthink his revelation about kissing a boy. That wasn’t what this was about. Not right now.

My cheek met his shoulder, and he cleared his throat.

“Jackson’s parents called the cops, and they got there before he did too much damage. Cracked my jaw and busted a rib or two, but, uh, I lived to tell the tale.

“It’s why I was in foster care for a couple years. Aunt June was battling cancer, so the state deemed it better to keep me in the system. The moment I aged out, I came here.”

“Your dad?” I asked timidly, not wanting to make it worse but hoping the bastard got what he deserved.

“Jail. Still there as far as I know.” His tone hardened, and I squeezed his hand again.

I tried to communicate my feelings through the touch of our bodies. I hoped he understood. I sucked at the whole comforting thing, but maybe this was enough.

For the first time since he started his story, he looked at me, his glassy blue eyes filled with ghosts. I leaned in until my forehead touched his jaw. His hand in mine tightened as the other circled the back of my neck.

Why he was comforting me, I’d never know. I was trying to makehimfeel better.

“I want to say sorry, but I know it’s bullshit,” I said.

He angled my head so he could look down at me, and I inhaled sharply at his proximity. His thumb rubbed my cheek as he held my gaze. I was at his mercy, and he refused to set me free.

Did he feel this? Did he feel what I felt when he touched me? After sharing this, I hoped he did.

He admitted to kissing a guy, but that had been several years ago. Maybe it was just a phase or pure curiosity. Was I reading this all wrong? Was that real desire I saw splashing in the turbulent waves of his eyes?

“We’re both pretty fucked up, you know that, right?” I spouted to fill the expectant stillness between us.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he said as I leaned into him, bringing our heads closer. He mimicked me, inching us nearer until his lips hovered a hair’s breadth from mine. “But there’s a certain beauty to brokenness, don’t you think?”

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