Page 203 of His White Moonlight
“I thought you wouldn’t eat anything here.”
“Why?”
“It’s not your level.”
“I didn’t know I had a level.”
I snorted.“You wear tailored suits, Bennett, and I’m guessing you make seven figures a year, easily.”
“Wrong on the second part,” he said with a smile tugging his lips.“High income is the way to pay high taxes, so I’m paid in stocks instead.”
I rolled my eyes at him.
“Either way, your net worth does not equate to dive-dining.”
“But it equates to you, and you like dive-dining, so that’s what I like.”
“What are you going to do about Miranda?”I asked, preferring to change the subject so I could watch him eat his words once the food was served.
“Give her a raise and hand you my card so you can take her shopping.”
I lifted my arm.“Nothing for this?”
He raised a brow.“Should I give her more?”
“Seventeen stitches, Bennett!Is she even my friend?”
He started to lean back in his seat in his borrowed clothes, thought better of it, and leaned in toward me.
“She did what I couldn’t, what Mom was afraid to do, and what Dad would have had to do if Miranda hadn’t stepped up.None of us wanted to see you hurt, Wrenly, but Miranda was right.How she hurt you is better than what would have happened.”
My thoughts veered to what Grandma had told me about Bennett seeing me on TV and saying I would disappear forever if they didn’t bring me home.
“Maybe you’re right.Maybe the hell-school you sent me to saved me from something worse, too.I still hate you for sending me there, though,” I said before I could stop myself.
He flinched, and his mask slipped into place.
“That is a mistake I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”
I shrugged and looked down at my arm.
“I have a lot I’m regretting too.”Like coming home, I thought silently.“It’s not going to be fun trying to type with this.”
“You can take off as much time as you need.”
“From work, maybe, but I have my summer course I need to keep up with.”
“I’ll help you turn pages, type, anything you need.”
I glanced up at him and saw the yearning in his gaze.For what, though?To make up for the cut?To be with me?For my acceptance?
Rather than figuring out the answer, I realized just then that Bennett probably understood some of my suffering.At least, more than anyone else.He knew exactly what it felt like to be unwanted.Why did that make me hurt for him?
I looked away again, watching as the waitress grabbed our plates from the cook.
“I wish I could hear your thoughts,” Bennett said.
“It’s mostly a confused jumble that would land you in a padded room within four hours.”
