King of the Court

Ben sits up and leans back, and even though I’m watching him do it, he keeps right on inspecting every inch of me. He doesn’t even care that I’m observing him soak me in. There’s a confidence and a laziness to it, like he’s telling me he’s waited all this time and wants a good long look at me. I endure it, trying not to fidget. Finally, his brown eyes meet mine, and my stomach squeezes.

“How’s your nan?”

I wince and look away, surprised that’s his first question. Emotions, raw and tender, still live so close to the surface I can barely whisper, “She passed away.”

“When?” he says, sounding more distressed than I anticipated.

“Not long after you left.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few long beats. Birds circle each other, chirping near the fountain. Then finally, he tells me sincerely, “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, not quite up to the task of talking as I take a seat on my bench. Finally, the lump in my throat eases. “It was quick. Better than it could have been.”

“Still…”

He doesn’t have to go on for me to know what he’s trying to say. I finally peer back over, willing him to be less intimidating than he seemed a few moments ago.

Sadly, he’s not.

“How’d you know to find me here?”

“I didn’t, actually.”

I frown in confusion.

He looks between me and the building behind me. “I knew you had a class in the Cahill Center. I looked it up, but once I got here, I realized I couldn’t just walk in, not during the lecture. I was trying to figure out what to do—how to find you—when you walked out here.”

Genuine luck. We haven’t had much of that in the past.

“Well, you happen to be sitting in my favorite spot.”

He glances around the courtyard, assessing it with careful attention.

“It could use some love,” he notes.

Yeah, well, couldn’t we all…

“I like it,” I say, a bit defensively.

“So do I,” he says seriously, his gaze flitting back to me.

An unexpected pang of sadness and yearning settles over me.

God, why does it have to be like this?

I’d hoped I would run into him someday and get another conversation, maybe even one more night, but this isn’t how I imagined it would go. This isn’t carefree or fun. This isn’t one last hurrah between old lovers. This feels like I’m rubbing salt in an open wound. I realize now, to my chagrin, that my heart just doesn’t stand a chance against Ben. I’m right back in that diner dress, heart on my sleeve, desperate and hopeful.

I force myself to look away and sit up straighter, pretend to be okay so I don’t have to pick my dignity up off the floor later, after he leaves.

“If you’re wondering how I’m doing, I’m fine. Back in school, just like you wanted. Working on my master’s degree.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but that’s not the only reason I drove out here to talk to you. Yes, I wanted to check on you, of course, but…”

Nerves wash over me. I grip the edge of the bench, staring down at the worn path at my feet.

More silence reigns. We’re both squirming and uncomfortable, dragging out this awkward moment and making it worse. Why is it so hard to see him again? Why can’t I just treat him as I would a friend?

I swear I hear him curse quietly under his breath, and then he quickly asks, “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

My wide-eyed gaze darts up to him then shyly falls right back to my feet.

I shake my head slowly and gulp down a million questions.

Why does he care? Why does it matter?

Please, Ben, don’t do this to me again.

“Are—are you?” I ask after mustering an ounce of courage.

He shakes his head and I lean forward off the bench, hopeful despite all the warning bells blaring in my head.

“What about Shelby?”

He frowns. “What about her? She’s married.”

And then suddenly I remember the most important question of all, the question I’ve been dying to know the answer to for the last year and a half. “And the baby?”

He nods. “Caleb. My son.”

I smile, and for the first time since I recognized him here in the courtyard, I feel weightless. “Congratulations.”

He nods, studying me curiously. “Haven’t you looked me up online? You could have learned about Caleb. Seen him, probably. I try to keep him out of the public eye, but I’m sure people snap photos of him without my consent all the time.”

My stomach squeezes in anger. “I’m sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine what that must feel like. And no, I don’t look you up. I did…briefly in the beginning, but then I learned it’s better not to. There’s a lot of information out there about someone like you. A lot. Some of it is silly innocuous stuff, like which brand of coffee you prefer. But there’s other stuff too.” I can’t keep the sour expression off my face. “Things I didn’t like looking at, gossip about suspected girlfriends…”