Page 84 of Every Good Thing
“Situations like that escalate.”
“He doesn’t need a talking-to. He means well, but… is there any way you might dance with me?”
“No.”
“Ben, I’m not asking you to enjoy it,” she grins, “just help me out. If he sees me with someone more… impressive… he’ll get the hint and back off.”
I nod, reminded of Rowan Mackey and her similar trouble once. Lauren pulls me toward the stage, and music echoes through my hearing aids like I’m in a cave. Trapped. My hands find her waist but barely hold on, as if that makes this better.
The determined man detours when he sees me, confirming her story. It’s Lauren Riley, after all. Unwanted suitors must be a daily problem.
“Thank you.” Her hands slide up my chest and circle my neck.
“Can we stop dancing now?”
“Another minute, please.”
“Obsessive men are a problem for women,” I say, trying to be conversational. “I see it often. It’s a wonder women still tolerate men at all. Evolution should have done away with us by now.”
She laughs, though I don’t mean to be funny.
“Be direct with him next time,” I advise. “Tell him you’re not interested. He could be emotionally disturbed and should be taken seriously. A friend of mine settled for a man she considered decent, and he turned violent. She has facial scars from a burn injury she sustained as a teenager, and he used them to manipulate her self-worth. Now, she’s with someone who loves her as she is.”
I shut my mouth—I’m talking too much.
Lauren huffs, her pained irises drifting toward her feet. “I fucked up, Ben. You don’t have to remind me.”
Shit. Scars. “I wasn’t.”
“I’d do anything to change what happened.” Her voice is stern but shaky. Her glassy eyes find mine again. “Anything.”
I don’t like the desperation in her eyes. I don’t like many things about this. My hands fall off her waist like freed weights. Stepping on this conversational landmine was not my intention—explaining Rowan’s situation was meant to encourage her not to fall into the same trap. That’s all.
But I see the unfortunate parallel between our stories and wish I’d said nothing. This is why I don’t talk much.
Lauren’s soft gaze tugs gently on the tight locks that keep the past contained. Her expression is identical to the first time I kissed her. I’d been nervous, but she made it easy with the same sweet, wanting, and patient look she’s giving me now.
She read me like a book she never wanted to put down.
That was the best thing about Lauren—she was easy. Not in a derogatory sense, of course. Just in the way that I became the axis on which she rotated, and she never required anything of me except my attention. She hung on my words, clung to my arm, and devoted herself to my happiness. Completely uncomplicated.
I thought she was it for me.
That’s why what happened to us destroyed me with such totality—that memory slips through the locked door, too. To her, I was broken. And my love for her shattered with the cold wince of her eyes. The IED taught me pain, but Lauren wounded me.
Wounds I’m now grateful to have endured since they led me to Lena.
“It can’t be changed, and I’m exactly where I want to be,” I finally say, hating how the memory still tightens my throat. “Excuse me.”
“Ben, I’m just—”
Her voice disappears as my attention diverts to the crowd. I look for Lena’s green romper and catch a glimpse before she moves behind a food truck.
Several minutes later, I find Lena and Ruthie sitting under a sprawling magnolia on the far west side of the party, opposite the Rileys’ camp. Ruthie munches on a hot dog while Lena stares off, pensive and bothered. I don’t know if she saw me dancing with Lauren—God, I hope she didn’t. But she’s upset. Shit, she probably did.
She doesn’t look at me when I sit beside her.
Ruthie holds up her hot dog. “Dogs are pretty good, Dad. You should get one.”
