"She was furious that I never told her who my father was," Ben concluded. "That I never mentioned Dad's involvement with the Bryson cases."
"But you did tell her who your father was," Brianna said.
"Yes, I told her he was Sheriff Seth Reilly from Harper. I just didn't go into the famous cases."
"Did she ask?"
"No."
"Then what's the problem?"
Ben rubbed his forehead with his free hand. He needed a couple of Tylenol and a large glass of water.
“Her father made her feel stupid for not knowing. And then she took it out on me."
"Ah," Brianna said, understanding evident in her voice. “You were handy, so you got the blame.”
"Something like that." Ben shifted on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position. "I need your perspective on something. When do you typically tell people about your dad? About your past?"
Brianna's answer came without hesitation, firm and clear.
"Not for a while. Not for a long time. I have to trust them first. Some people never know. My neighbor, for example? Not a clue. The last guy I dated? Nope. The one before that? After about two months, and even then, I felt weird about it. The fact is, we don't owe anyone an explanation about our trauma unless that trauma is currently affecting them. I don’t give a shit about other people’s expectations. I’m not here to entertain them with grisly stories of my dad’s, or your dad’s, heroics.”
"I don't have your trauma," Ben protested, the words coming out before he could stop them.
He regretted it immediately. Comparing pain wasn't something the Reilly family did. His Uncle Logan had made sure they understood that early on. Everyone's experiences were valid, even if they weren't identical.
Brianna's laugh was short and without humor, instantly dismissing his claim.
"All of us have trauma. It isn't a contest. We grew up with a shadow over our homes. Our parents didn't know if we were safe all of the time. It made them parent us differently, and that made us different from our friends. You don't owe her an accounting of that."
Brianna's assessment was uncomfortably accurate. Their childhood had been normal in most ways. Little League games. School dances. Family dinners. But there had always been that undercurrent of vigilance. The way his father checked the locks twice before bed. How his mother insisted on knowing exactly where they were going and with whom. The code words they had in case of emergency.
At the time, Ben hadn't questioned any of it. It was just how things were done in the Reilly household. Only later, when he saw how other families lived, did he realize not everyone grew up with that level of caution. Other families didn’t live under the threat of possible revenge for sending someone to prison.
"There's something else," Ben admitted reluctantly. "Kelly and I slept together last night."
The silence on the other end of the line stretched for several seconds.
"And?" Brianna finally asked.
"I wondered if that changes things. If being intimate with someone means you owe them more information about yourself."
"No." Brianna's response was immediate and strong. "Did you have awful nightmares and terrors, waking her up with your screaming? Get the sheets all wet because you’re covered in a cold sweat from terrifying dreams.”
Ben recalled the peaceful night he and Kelly had shared. There had been no nightmares, no flashbacks, nothing to suggest that his family history had left him with the kind of scars Brianna carried.
“Nope.”
"Then you don't owe her," Brianna continued, her voice growing more forceful. "You told her about your dad being a sheriff. Does she want to hear all the stories? Like the time Uncle Seth broke up that bar fight the night of the big snowstorm? Nope, she only wants to hear the juicy shit. Well, fuck that."
Ben winced at his cousin's bluntness. Brianna had always been the most outspoken of the family, even as a child. She said what others only thought, consequences be damned. It was a trait that had landed her in trouble more than once, but it also meant you always knew where you stood with her.
"You've gotten even tougher since the last time we talked," Ben observed.
"And you're still too nice," she replied, but there was affection in her voice. "Don't forget that you're tough too. You survived Wall Street and your business partner screwing you over. You're not some helpless puppy she can kick around because she's mad at her daddy."
“How did you know about my partner—” He broke off, suddenly exhausted. Brianna took vigilance to a whole different level than other people. She probably had intelligence about her friends, neighbors, and prospective dates. “Never mind, I know you have your ways. Do my parents know? Do your parents know?”
