Page 3 of Need Him
Money is a scary subject for most people. They hide the details behind closed doors, not wanting to show the depletion of their coffers or the mystical ability to duplicate coins. But, here and now, I will explain what I’ve come to realise. Money is scary. Having money is scary. Having no money is scary. There doesn’t seem to be an in-between because when you have money, you’re scared you’ll lose it, and when you don’t, you’re scared you’ll not be able to pay bills. For me, money is important for one reason only. I need money to be able to take care of my boy, to keep a roof over our heads, to keep food in our stomachs. It all boils down to needing it for my boy. And isn’t that the scariest thought of all?
He read the entire article and sent it over to Victor for editing before he posted it that weekend. It was pure luck that his next-door neighbour was an editor. He hadn’t known what the guy did for a living when they’d bumped into each other at the club they both frequented. Their surprise meeting at Bound had been fortuitous for many reasons. Victor was a boy looking for a Daddy, but their personalities didn’t allow for a relationship between them. They were looking for different things, but it didn’t stop them from becoming friends instead of the usual nods of greeting whenever they saw each other in their gardens in passing.
Gareth rubbed at his chest, the ache deepening when he thought of the gap in his life. A visit to Bound was becoming necessary, but he knew he wouldn’t find what he was searching for. He never did. He had to try, though, because he refused to believe he would be alone forever. That wasn’t possible. His boy was out there. He just needed to find him.
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Chapter 2
Ben
Ben Mycroft stifled a third yawn in as many minutes and scratched his head. The spreadsheet in front of him didn’t make any more sense after his jaw cracked. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Sleep was what he needed, but he didn’t want to set foot inside his house until it was absolutely necessary, and—he checked the clock on the computer—ten-thirty at night was not late enough to avoid his parents’ questions. The time was coming when he would need to sit at the table with them for dinner because they only went a short time between updates about his life and work. After all, according to them, they were the reason he had what he had, weren’t they?
Ben wasn’t sure, but he knew their social standing made it necessary to keep up appearances. It was the only reason he agreed to the dinners, which were only between the three of them, thankfully. He had no siblings to help him shoulder the weight of being a vision of perfection, and the weight continually pressed down on him.
He pushed his paperwork to the side and leaned back in his chair, the squeak of it irritating him, staring out of the large windows and into the darkening sky. Summer had well and truly arrived, and with it, the lighter nights. In one way, it helped Ben get more work done because it felt like it was earlier than it was, but it also meant his parents stayed up later entertaining their guests. How they got away with paying for it all, he didn’t know.
As expensive as their taste was, they did not have the money to back it up. Behind the scenes, his father, Martin Mycroft, was an investor, but he wasn’t good at it. They certainly hadn’t been able to afford to send Ben to university, as his student loan could attest. Somehow, though, they always scraped through their lavish lifestyle and kept their poise and standing within the community Ben wanted nothing to do with.
He stood and did a circuit of the office, then sat again, pulling the printout closer to him. He refocused on the numbers and lost himself in his job, barely remembering to turn on the light when it darkened enough to need it.
Groaning, he stretched his back out after having been bent over the papers for the last two hours. The figures looked good, and he put them in a pile to finalise the following day. He never signed off on reports late at night. He always waited until he’d rechecked them in the light of day.
He switched off the computer and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, slipping it onto his shoulders. Snatching his bag from the floor, he strode for the door, scratching at his rough, scruff-covered chin. He would’ve preferred to sleep at the office, but he’d done that enough times this past week. Too many times in a row, and people got talking. And not the good kind of talking.
Unable to stop the need, he strode for the shop floor, though he knew his assistant manager was more than capable of dealing with the supermarket during the night hours. The squeak of wire cages being emptied by the night staff, the bump of boxes being stacked and the occasional voice interrupted the quiet of the shop floor. Night shifts at the supermarket were lonely, from what Ben could tell. Employees worked on different aisles at the same time, making it nearly impossible for them to converse.
He wandered around, checking each of the aisles for problems before returning the way he came and bumping straight into an employee who had come around the end of the aisle at the same time he did.
“Sorry! I didn’t see you there.”
Ben frowned at the guy, not recognising him. “Who are you?”
The guy raised his eyebrows and continued folding the empty box he had in his hands before holding it against his chest. Ben had to look down slightly but immediately noticed the almost golden hue of his eye colour, along with laughter lines bracketing them.
“Gareth. Tremain. I started on Monday.”
The name didn’t ring any bells with Ben, but he wore a uniform and appeared to be working, so he let it go. Ben nodded, transfixed by his eyes. He couldn’t remember seeing the colour before. His gaze roamed the man’s face, his five o’clock shadow thicker than Ben’s was but matching the colour and scruffiness of Gareth’s hair—brown with streaks of grey. Gareth’s forehead creased, and Ben thought it matched the deep lines beside his eyes.
“Mr Mycroft? Is everything okay?”
The man’s voice broke through his daze, and he repeatedly blinked, trying to get his brain to fire on all cylinders again. A tricky feat for that time of night.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, fine, thank you. I’m heading home. Have a good night, Gareth.”
The name on his lips felt strange, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. He curled his lips in some semblance of a smile, nodded and hustled off, keeping his gaze ahead of him instead of over his shoulder like he wanted it to be. He must be more exhausted than he thought. He scraped his fingers through his hair and checked in with Felix before leaving him to it and heading for his car. Throwing his bag into the boot, he climbed in and set off for home, hoping his parents were in bed or at least enclosed in their room and Ben could sneak past them to his own room in the furthest part of the house.
He parked in the front of the house, lowering his beams to stop from advertising he was home, but the crunch of the gravel was loud in the stillness of the night. Grabbing everything he needed, he closed the car door quietly and aimed for the front door. The house was a three-storey detached building with six bedrooms, five bathrooms, three receiving rooms, a dining room, a large industrial-sized kitchen, a large conservatory and a triple garage. It was another reason his parents struggled for money because they refused to part with the house, though it was entirely too big for the three of them. Luckily, the house itself was paid for by Ben’s grandfather, who was no longer with them. The only thing his parents had to do was keep the house afloat.
He kept his sigh to himself as he went in, locking the door behind him. Slipping off his shoes, he crept up the stairs, avoiding the steps he knew creaked. By the time he was safely behind his closed bedroom door, exhaustion had claimed him wholeheartedly. He stripped, throwing his clothes into the washing basket and, without even bothering with a shower, dropped into bed.
His phone alarm woke him not enough hours later. He rolled onto his back, groaning with the effort and feeling like he’d been in the same position as when he’d first fallen asleep. He threw a hand over his face and laid there waiting for an energy flare he knew wasn’t coming. When his alarm blared again, he pulled himself upright and leaned his elbows on his knees, rubbing at his face until he couldn’t stand the pressure against his skin any longer.
He blew out a breath, trudged to the shower and made the water just a shade above cold. It was the only way he knew how to get him awake and ready to go in the morning. Going through the motions of his morning routine, he let his mind wander to what needed to be done that day, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. It might have something to do with the less than five hours of sleep he’d had.
With it being early, he knew he wouldn’t see his parents and took a detour to the kitchen once he was dried and dressed to grab some fruit and a croissant, which he made quick work of while he drove back to Market Foods. As he parked the car, he stared at the building he’d made his career off.
When he’d been nearing the end of his university degree, he needed to find a placement for his final year, and Market Foods had been hiring for an assistant. He’d applied, and they agreed to take him on. He’d worked his ass off for the company and had climbed the ladder quicker than anyone else they’d ever employed, according to his previous boss. After thirteen years of working every part of the store, including all the office jobs, he’d been given the opportunity to take over as the manager when his boss had taken early retirement. Ben had jumped at the chance to prove what he was capable of.
