He doesn’t reply at first, jaw clenching tight as he grips the steering wheel of his truck. “That was my dad I was talking to earlier. I called to let him know what was going on.”
I nod, returning my attention to the road as he exits the interstate and pulls up to a red light. I wait, giving him the space he needs to say more or nothing at all. “He, uh…” He exhales a long, frustrated breath. “He didn’t take it well.”
A sense of longing stirs within me. I’ve always been envious of Benson’s relationship with his parents. He used to tell me stories about his childhood. He has a huge family. Five brothersand one sister. It was chaos as he once described it, but a home filled with unconditional love. They’ve always been supportive of him and his siblings, no matter what. They’ve always been there when they needed them. One call and they would drop everything.
I’ve never known unconditional love like that, certainly not from a parent.
His gaze shifts to mine, softening. “But he can’t, because my mom is sick.”
Emotion tightens my throat. “What do you mean she’s sick?”
“She’s been struggling with her health for several months now. They’ve run dozens of tests, but they can’t figure out what’s wrong with her.”
I don’t know what to say. Tears sting my eyes at the worry and agony on his face.
Benson turns right into a subdivision and then pulls over to the side of the road, killing the engine.
“We’re still waiting for some more test results, but I’m fucking terrified. We all are. We can’t lose her. I—my father won’t survive it,” he says, his voice cracking. “Wewon’t survive it.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt, leaning over the console to wrap my arms around him. He buries his face in my neck, and a quiet sob breaks free.
“Shhh… It’s okay,” I try to soothe him, rubbing my hand up and down his back.
I hold on tight, offering him the comfort he so desperately needs. His vulnerability is jarring. I’ve never seen a man cry before. My father always told me crying was weak. He never tolerated anyone’s emotions, especially not mine.
He releases me, sitting back in his seat, and drags his hand down his tortured face.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice raw and hoarse. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s okay.” I caress his forearm. “I’m here for you, Benson. Whatever you need.”
His eyes hold mine for several long seconds before the raw emotion vanishes. His walls are back firmly in place. I remove my hand from his arm and sit back in my seat. A tense moment of silence passes before he clears his throat and starts the engine.
A few turns later, we’re parked on the street in front of Gainey’s house. It is a two-story brick home with a two-car garage and a dozen outdoor toys littering the front yard. There is a Ford pickup truck and an SUV sitting in the driveway, and an American flag flaps in the wind on a post at the front of the porch.
Upon exiting the car, we make our way up the path and knock on the front door. “Do you think anyone is home?” I ask, peeking inside a window, but it’s too dark to see anything.
“Should be. Both cars are here, and Gainey’s shift isn’t until later.” His brow furrows. “His wife is usually home during the day with the kids.”
“They’re not in school?”
“The oldest is, but the youngest is still in diapers, I think.” He moves to peek inside the other window. “I can’t see shit.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Once,” he says. “For a cookout.”
“Should we check around back?” I ask.
He nods.
We enter through the wooded gate leading to the back of the house and make our way to the patio. Benson cups his hand to look inside the sliding glass door while I scan the backyard. “Why would Gainey compromise all of this—his family, hishome, his job? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I keep asking myself the same thing,” he says. “Something’s not right here.”
“Yeah, something definitely feels off.”
Benson tugs on the sliding door, and when it pops open, his eyes meet mine, glinting with a silent command. The quiver in my stomach has me on high alert. I nod, draw my gun, and keep it low at my side. Benson mirrors me.
