He risked a glance. A muscle twitched in Liam's cheek.
"But that was the excuse," Benson pressed on, hating the sound of his own voice. "The bigger truth is… I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to be married again. Not really. To anyone. To that level of… entanglement."
The silence stretched. The shouts from the lacrosse game seemed distant.
"To marry another man," Benson said, forcing it out. "I just don't think I can. It's not you. This has nothing to do with you. It's a line I don't think I can cross, for myself. Ever."
Liam's knuckles were white where he gripped the armrests of his chair. He kept his gaze locked on the game, but he wasn't seeing it. Not really. The quiet from him was heavier than any shouting match could have been. It was the stillness of a man trying not to break.
Liam finally turned. "You dragged me out here, to a place like this, to tell me what, exactly? That I'm still not enough? That I'm the one piece you can't stomach?" His voice was low, a dangerous rumble. "You did this on our turf, Ben."
"No," Benson said, shaking his head. “No. I've been thinking. A lot. About everything.” He set the glass down. "I want to try again. The three of us. A real triad, this time. No hiding. No half-measures. Eden's on board. She wants this. But it doesn't matter unlessyou'reon board."
Benson held his breath. He watched Liam's shoulders, his hands, the line of his throat. But Liam's body didn't soften. He didn't lean in. He didn't even blink. The tension in the chair didn't lessen. He just stared, making Benson wait in silence.
"There's one thing standing in the way of that happening," Liam said, letting go of the armrests. "And it's not me."
He finally looked directly at Benson, and the lack of anger in his eyes was somehow worse. It was just a steady, assessing gaze.
"It's you, Ben. Your inability to completely give yourself over to anyone. Probably since your first marriage." Liam leaned forward slightly, closing some of the distance between them. The air grew heavy. "You have to be all in. Completely open. Available. Not afraid of being ashamed or embarrassed by who you are."
He paused, letting each word land like a stone.
"Because even when you're surrounded by people who love you, who would die for you," Liam's voice dropped to a near whisper, "you're your own fucking worst enemy."
Benson took it all in. Every word. He felt the truth of it settle in his gut. His throat was clogged, a wall of unshed words and old denials pressing tight. He wanted to argue, to say it wasn't that simple. But it was. And the silence he offered was its own kind of agreement.
"So here's the deal," Liam said, the words quiet but carrying the weight of a thrown gauntlet. "Show me you've changed. Prove it. Until then, I won't agree to anything long-term."
Benson opened his mouth.
"And until that happens," Liam continued, unwavering, "I will fight for my right to be in Eden's life. Even if that means pushing you out."
A cold knot formed in Benson's stomach. He had to reach for something, anything to hold onto. "What about my apartment?" he finally managed, the words barely audible.
"That was me," Liam cut him off, a bitter smile touching his lips for a fleeting second. "Giving in. My inability to get over you. A moment of weakness."
He leaned back, reclaiming his space on the chair. The distance felt like a mile.
"And I don't think for two seconds," Liam added, his final word a soft, fatal blow, "it goes the other way."
The lacrosse players cheered in the distance. Birds chirped in the trees. But on the small balcony, a silent war had been declared.
“So, now you know my terms.” Liam got up. “I’m not getting sucked into your bullshit until you’ve shown me you’ve changed. I’ve already wasted one ventricle of my heart on you. I’m not wasting another.”
He left. Benson did not go after him. Instead, he sat and chewed on that.
Benson stayed on the balcony long after Liam's car would have left the gravel lot. The sun was lower now, forcing the lacrosse players to consider heading inside. The root beer was warm, forgotten in his hand.
I really loved him. The memory hit him with the force of a physical blow. Not just the idea of Liam, but the man himself. After the suffocating end of his marriage, after years of feeling like a failure, there was Liam. He’d found a man who understood him. A man who saw the jagged edges of him and didn’t flinch. A man who met his needs without needing a blueprint, who understood the quiet desperation for control and the equally deep need to surrender it. It had been a relief so profound it felt like surfacing after holding his breath for a decade.
And that was the problem. That understanding, that quick and effortless connection, had been their undoing. Because Liam, in his infinite, frustrating clarity, knew Benson’s limits before Benson himself did. He knew Benson wasn't ready to give him what he deserved.
Liam was not a man who would play second fiddle. He never had. He wouldn’t accept scraps of love, a carefully portioned piece of a whole. He deserved to be the main course, the entire feast, loved with a reckless, whole-hearted abandon by whoever was lucky enough to stand beside him. He deserved someone who would shout his name, not whisper it in the dark.
Benson missed him. The ache of it was a familiar, dull throb behind his ribs. But to admit he still loved him? To say the words, even in the privacy of his own mind? That felt like a concession, a surrender. It would mean admitting Liam was right. That he was, and always had been, his own worst enemy. And Benson wasn't sure he was ready to lose that war. Not yet.
I love him.
