Where We Began (Stone Lake 2.5)

He’s been quiet tonight. It’s understandable after his run in today. I know that had to hurt him. I’m trying my best not to hold my resentment at the way he lashed out at me. That’s not easy for me, even if I understand. It wouldn’t be easy for anyone with my history. It does have me feeling unsettled though, I can’t lie.

“I like that too,” I finally whisper.

“What are you thinking about, Junie?”

This is it. This is where I decide to let Ben in past my walls, or if I should keep a safe distance. I don’t know where we are headed, heck I don’t even know if I’m ready for a relationship. But, I do know I like Ben, and he’s the first guy that’s treated me like I matter—with the exception of Gavin, who doesn’t really count because he’s my brother.

“Old ghosts,” I whisper into the darkness, mostly hoping he lets it go.

I knew he wouldn’t. He turns to his nightstand and turns on the light there. It bathes the room is a pale soft light and I’m glad. If it was bright, I’m pretty sure I’d freeze up.

He turns back to me, going up on his elbow and bracing his head on his hand, as he looks down at me. His other hand comes over and lays on my stomach. I watch that hand, not ready to look at his face. His beautiful ink shines bright against the stark white t-shirt—Ben’s t-shirt that I’m sleeping in. I run my finger over the ink, tracing it, memorizing it, and delaying the talk I know is coming.

“Tell me about your ghosts, Junie.”

“Just ghost really. My family was fucked up, but I hit the road early so they didn’t get a chance to leave their mark too deeply,” I tell him, glossing over my past. Then again, I’m going to gloss over Shred, too. Ben can fill in the blanks if he wants to, but I’m not talking about it. In my experience, if you poke at the past hard enough, it likes to rear its head and bite you in the ass.

“Okay, Baby, tell me about your ghost.”

“There’s not a lot to tell, Ben.”

“Fuck, I love when you call me Ben,” he says, his voice rumbling as he leans down and places a kiss on my nose.

I know he kisses me there because of the way I stiffen when he goes to kiss my lips. The fact that he’s trying not to pressure me and is handling me with care means something. I need to let go of the earlier argument. Ben had a rough day. Okay, he was an asshole and he was kind of mean, but he’s not Shred. Right now is proof of that.

“I called you an asshole tonight too. Did you like that?” I laugh.

“I believe you called me a dickhead, and I was, so yeah I like it. I like that you called me on my shit and didn’t let me get away with it. You’re a strong woman, Juniper Sellers.”

“God, I hate that name,” I groan.

“I think it’s beautiful, just like you.”

“There you go with your lines again,” I mumble.

“It’s not a line. None of it is. You are beautiful, breathtaking even. You’re also one of the strongest women I’ve ever met.”

“I try to be… I wasn’t always strong, so I made a promise to myself that I would never become the naïve kid I once was.”

“Is that where your ghost comes from?” he asks and I make the decision to leap and give him the bare facts.

“His name was Shred.”

“Shred? Jesus do people where you live ever hear of simple names?” Ben laughs.

I smile despite the memories. “His name wasn’t always Shred. It was Greg. He changed it.”

“He changed his name? What in the hell for?”

“He wanted to be rich and famous. Wanted to be the next George Strait.”

“Oh hell.”

“Yeah. I followed him to Nashville. I thought I loved him, but mostly I just wanted away from my crazy-ass mother.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen and as stupid as they come.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah,” I reply, feeling so stupid even now.

“What happened?”

“I got a job waitressing. Worked at night to get my GED. I didn’t mind it. Nashville was a good place.”

“What did dickhead Shred do?”

“Dickhead Shred?” I laugh, finally summoning up the nerve to look at him. He’s smiling down at me, his eyes kind.

“I decided he needed that name more than I do.”

I laugh, letting my fingers go back to tracing his ink.

“It fits him,” I murmur.

“I figured. So what did he do while you were working?”

“Wrote music, attended jam sessions to help get his name out there.”

“And did it?” Ben asks, and it’s comforting that I don’t hear judgment in his voice, especially when I mention having to get a GED. I hate that I quit high school. I’m proud of myself for what I accomplished though.