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CHARLIE
Benji barely says a word other than to ask if I’m cold for the next hour while he drives. I can see the tightness of his knuckles on the wheel, the slow flex of his jaw.
I don’t know why I showed up tonight. When I saw THE HUB stamped on the license plate, I just felt a pull toward him. One that’s always existed between the two of us. The same pull that brought me to him all those times back then. Through his window, into his bed—even if back then I thought it was just a hopeless crush.
And now he says he meant what he said that night. That he wanted me, he’s always wanted me. It’s almost too much to process, which is why I sit quietly, playing over the night in my head. Changing details. The tiny ones that shouldn’t have mattered, but they change so much in the grand scheme.
My gaze wanders from the road back to him beside me. I’m about to tell him about Archer when he jerks the wheel, and we’re turning into a parking lot. The lights of the city have taken over from the stars.
“Where are we?” I ask, noting the old fashioned marquee above the entrance to what looks like a bar—Open Mic!
“Easton.” Benji throws the car in park.
Then he’s out of the car. I have to scramble to keep up with him, but then he pauses at the door, letting me duck beneath his arm and step into the college bar. There’s someone up on stage right now, playing a ukulele.
Benji all but groans at the poor guy, but then his focus shoots to the side of the stage. I grab ahold of his arm to keep track of him in the crowd, and then my fingers slide down and he wraps his around mine. It sends a thrill through me, being so close to him again, but it only lasts a second.
He swipes through a curtain hanging over a door into what looks like a tiny backstage area. A guy has their back to us, slowly turning until my heart drops out of my chest. Face-on, the shaggy dark hair leads to familiar brown eyes.
“Michael,” I whisper.
I’m not sure if he hears me or just realizes he’s not alone, but he looks up from a clipboard. He starts to smile at the sight of Benji, but then his eyes slide over to me, and his expression drops as fast as my heart did.
“Shit,” he says.
Benji steps between us, his back tense, neck muscles corded when he turns his head to look at me over his shoulder. “How you feel about violence, CJ?”
I swallow. “Uh…not a fan?”
Benji shrugs a shoulder. “Close your eyes then.”
Michael’s face lights in realization about the time Benji swings. He lands the punch in the side of his jaw, seeming to pull it at the last second. Michael stumbles back into the wall, grabbing at his jawline as Benji slips his hand into mine and pulls me back toward the doorway.
“It’s like that, huh?” Michaels shouts after us. “After how many years of friendship—”
Benji stops and turns. “We haven’t been friends in years, Mike. We both know it.” Then he licks his lips and drops a quick look at me beside him. “She was the best part of you.”
Benji releases my hand the second we’re out of the bar, leaving me to chase after him while he charges back to his car.
“Are you crazy?” I ask, trying to keep up. “You could have hurt him.”
“Doubt it. I barely hit him. If anything he’ll bruise.”
“How did you know where he’d be?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself to battle the cold.
“He’s run open mic nights around the campus for years. Not that hard to track him down on a Saturday night.”
Even with the frigid night air, a soft rain has started to fall. Benji jerks the passenger side door open and waits for me to crawl in, but I shake my head. Once we’re in the car, he’ll return to the silent treatment I’ve gotten since the club. When I cuddle deeper into my coat, Benji lets out a low sound, almost like a growl, and slams the door shut.
“He knew it was coming if I ever saw you again. We’ve had a deal since elementary. If one of us ever fucked over the other, the fucked got one punch.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “How mature.”
“We were eight. Mature as fuck for our ages thank you very much.” He spins around and leans back against the car, crossing his arms across his chest in a way that makes the material tighten on his biceps. “Care to explain why the hell I’m freezing my balls off right now?”
“Because this isn’t over. You think you get to just punch Mike and we’re suddenly fine?”
“Yes,” he says simply. And the matter-of-fact way of it has my hackles rising.
