Velvet Midnight - Max Walker Page 0,7

‘keep in touch.’ It’s interchangeable.”

He kicked at some imaginary rock on the ground, his gaze flitting from me to the field behind me. “A lot’s happened since we last talked. Since Costa Rica.”

There it was. The trip. A life-changing trip that altered the course of my happiness and opened my eyes to what I truly wanted. I had temporarily escaped my dad’s oppressive shadow, and with Benji’s help, I found myself.

It only took me a few days back home for me to lose myself all over again, losing Benji in the process.

And it seemed like time hadn’t healed this wound, not with the way he looked at me. He was angry. Same way I felt with how things shook out.

“How about you?” Benji asked.

How about me. “Where do I even start…”

“Let’s start with why you’re here.” Benji crossed his arms. His biceps bulged with the movement. Since when did little Benji turn into built Benji? I remember the day we first met, back when we were teens, and I thought I’d have an impossible time telling the difference between him and Dusty. They were the same exact lanky build with the same dimpled cheeks and bright eyes.

Not anymore. Sometime between our trip to Costa Rica and now, Benji must have found a passionate love for protein shakes and bench-presses, changing him from a twink to a twunk—the muscular version of his formerly skinny but still small-framed self.

I shrugged. “It’s a messy story.”

“My favorite kind.” Benji narrowed his gaze and kept eye contact.

I didn’t want to talk about it. The shit hit the fan only two days ago. Everything still felt fresh, like my cuts were all still bleeding. I went from feeling like I had the world in the palm of my hand to having my entire world thrown into a trash disposal. One second, I was living in the most expensive building in all of New York, and the next, I was staring at a negative bank account and wondering where the fuck I was going to sleep that night.

“My dad and I got into an argument.” And the gold medal for oversimplification goes to… me. “I needed a place to lay low for a little, and your brother offered the guesthouse.”

Benji arched a brow. Ever since we were kids, he had an innate ability to cut right through whatever bullshit I was serving up on a steaming plate. Was he going to dig further? Would I have opened up more?

Didn’t matter. He shrugged and turned, leaving me there with my jaw half-open. “All right,” he said, not even turning around. “Hope things get sorted for you.”

“Hey, wait up.”

Although the view of Benji from the back side was something I wouldn’t mind memorizing, I wanted to talk to his front.

He stopped at the entrance to the stable. The wind whipped with a renewed vigor here, stinging at my ears and nose. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and looked down into Benji’s eyes, wondering what thoughts swirled behind them. He’d always been a difficult one to read. As a politician’s son, I’d met a shit-ton of different people and learned how to get a good read on most everyone within a few minutes of speaking to them. Were they there with ulterior political motives? Were they trying to dig for information, or were they genuinely interested in conversation?

I couldn’t get anything on Benji besides he’s pissed. And he was pissed at me.

“Benji, listen, it’s been years since Costa Rica—”

“And?”

“And, I wanted to say—”

“Sorry?”

Damn, he’d gotten way feistier over the years.

“Actually, I wanted to say that I’ve changed.”

He rolled his eyes walked away. Fuck. I sped up and matched his pace as he strolled down the brick path that led toward the main house. Ashley’s mouthwatering lasagna must have been on the menu tonight judging by the intoxicating scent growing stronger.

“I’ve changed, Benji,” I said, continuing my train of thought. “I’m not the same kid anymore, and neither are you.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Huh?”

“You still can’t apologize for shit.” Benji stopped in his tracks, turning to me. His expression twisted in disappointment, and I immediately regretted everything I had said.

Still, I was a stubborn motherfucker, and “sorry” had always been a very limited word in my vocabulary. Especially since what had happened between us wasn’t exactly a cut-and-dry situation. I held a thorn in my side from how shit went down, and part of me wanted to hear Benji be the one to say sorry.

Maybe that was my