“You left.” Thomas stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Ben took a step back, holding up his hands. Thomas’s face blanched and he retreated, pressing his back against the door. He looked like Ben had slapped him.
“Of course, I left.”
“Why?”
Ben scoffed. “Why? Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“I ruined your son’s marriage,” he muttered, embarrassed to admit the truth of the matter. “After everything you told me you went through with your ex-wife, I went and put your son’s husband through the same thing.”
He turned away from Thomas, unable to face him.
“Are…” Thomas sounded confused, and his footsteps slowly approached. “Are you serious right now?”
Ben whirred back around, finding Thomas much closer than he’d expected. He was far worse for wear than Ben’s initial inspection had led him to believe, and it was reflex alone that had him trying to pull Thomas’s shirt back together where the buttons had gone missing.
“He cheated with me.” Ben rolled his eyes. “I remember thinking that he was cheatingonme, but it had been the other way around all along.”
“And you think that’s somehow your fault?” Thomas balked, grabbing Ben’s hands and holding them against his chest. “My son lied to you.”
“I should have known.”
“How would you have known?” Thomas asked.
Ben shook his head, turning Thomas’s hand over in his and examining the wounds on his knuckles. “What happened to you?”
“I would have put Dakota through the wall of that restaurant if it wasn’t built so well.”
“What?”
“Ben.” Thomas’s mouth hung half open and his eyes scanned his face, his expression marred with confusion. “Do you really think that it’s your fault?”
He did think it was his fault, even though the thought of explaining why made him feel childish and silly. Of course, it was his fault. Whose fault would it be if not?
“Dakota thinks it’s your fault,” Thomas went on, drawing out Ben’s biggest fears. “He told me that you never asked if he was married.”
“I didn’t,” he confirmed.
“It’s not a standard getting-to-know-you question.”
“Can I clean this?” He tapped his finger softly against Thomas’s bruised knuckles.
“You don’t have to.”
“Right. But can I?”
Thomas swallowed and nodded, following Ben into the bathroom. Ben closed the lid of the toilet and Thomas sat down, shoulders sagging like the weight of the night had just caught up to him. He slumped forward, forearms resting on his thighs. Ben grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and arranged himself on the floor between Thomas’s feet.
“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine,” Thomas said.
He squirted peroxide onto Thomas’s hand, drawing a grunt out of him. “How is it your fault and not mine?”
“Because you aren’t his father. Because it wasn’t your place to teach him better. It was mine. Or Jennifer’s.”
“Seems like he watched her more than you,” Ben murmured, patting at the scrapes on Thomas’s hand with some gauze.
“Her fault then.” Thomas sighed. “Hers and mine. Not yours.”
