He took a drink of his Bourbon, feeling closer to his mom than he probably ever had. He got it now, the need to drink.

“No, you didn’t wake me. I don’t sleep.”

“Everyone sleeps.”

“Okay.”

“How are you?” she asked, the slowness still in her voice. Ben groaned.

“What did you call for? Friendly mother-son conversations are for other families. We don’t do that in ours.”

She sighed and he felt the familiarity in it. Her sigh softer than his groan but it was something the both of them often did.

“Your father...you know now isn’t a good time to act out. You know what his career means to him.”

Ben gave her a humorless laugh. Yes, he knew. She did as well. Why the fuck didn’t it bother her as much as it did Ben? “Children act out. I’m not a kid. I’m living my life.”

“You know that’s not what you were trying to do in that interview, Benjamin. You were baiting him.”

“And you’re defending him. Don’t you ever get tired of that? You bust your ass to be perfect for him and he gives you nothing you need. I don’t think he even cares enough to try. He took—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that,” she cut him off. “He didn’t do anything. What happened...that wasn’t his choice. It was no one’s fault. Not yours either.”

Not their fault? How could it not be? Bonnie had been sick. She’d cut herself over and over, just to watch herself bleed and none of them had done a thing. His father said she would get over it, yelled and screamed at her to stop but refused to get her help. How would it make him look, after all? So he’d kept his mouth shut. Ben and his mother had, too, and now Bonnie was dead. She’d taken a knife to her own wrists, and let herself bleed out.

It was almost as if Ben was the one that cut her. That’s what it had felt like when he found his sister.

The room began to spin. Ben’s skin felt tight, constricting, as though he didn’t fit inside himself anymore. “What would it have hurt...trying to save her? Wasn’t she worth it?” She’d been worth it to Ben. Still, he hadn’t done anything, had he?

His mom swallowed. What was she drinking, he wondered? Did she use it to forget, the way he tried with sex?

“You don’t... It’s not...you weren’t the only one who loved her. You don’t understand what it’s like. What I live with.”

“Because of your choices!” Ben’s hand came down on the table beside him. “Just as I live with my choices.”

He hung up the phone. Tried to breathe but couldn’t. His throat tightened and Ben used the rest of his bourbon to loosen it.

His fingers itched to pick up the phone and dial the number in California that he knew so well. Calling Tristan had always been his safety net. Tristan talked him down when he didn’t even realize he did it because he gave Ben something to focus on other than himself. If he was talking to Tristan or helping Tristan he didn’t have to think of his own life and his own screw-ups.

It was just like him, to pretend all these years that he’d called to be there for Tristan when really it was just as much for himself.

He couldn’t call him. Not anymore. Ben heard the pity in his voice when they spoke. He’d offer for Ben to go to California—for them to work together because he knew Ben was cracking up. No, because he owed Ben.

Asshole that he was, he’d used that in the past. You owe me a friendship, Tristan. He didn’t want to be a debt that Tristan had to pay off anymore.

So instead of calling, he went to his room. Thought about jerking off but doubted he’d even get hard. Instead he changed into his workout clothes. He had a gym in his building but Ben didn’t use that. He took a cab to a gym close by, hoping like hell he could work out his aggression on the punching bags.

He knew he was losing it. He’d explode soon, but he didn’t know what to do to stop it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dante wasn’t there.

Ben leaned against the wall, watching all the sex and play going on around him. Men tied to crosses and on benches and whips flying through the air. He watched as though it was nothing. As though he’d never engaged in the acts or as though they shouldn’t turn him on.

Should they, though? He didn’t know. He’d never lived the lifestyle. Didn’t have a problem with it. He had friends who were long time doms and subs alike, but he’d never played like he had the past few months.

That was new. So did it mean that it never should have turned him on? Ben wasn’t a fool. He’d been looking for a distraction. Something that could please him and potentially hurt his father. Something to replace Tristan. It worked for a little while.