Page 29

Chapter 29

Benji Morrison

I woke up with a deep stretch under the covers. My morning wood throbbed against the mattress. I gave a sleepy groan and pushed down against the firm pressure.

Boyfriend. He can help.

I rolled over and expected to throw an arm around a snoring Eli but was met with empty space. That’s when I remembered him mentioning his audition this morning. It was the first audition he’d been to in a while, and he had sounded nervous when he brought it up. I told him I’d go with him, but I guess he didn’t want to wake me.

Hmm. Not great.

I didn’t like the idea of him being out there alone. We still hadn’t made all that much headway with Nomad, and the fact that they were bold enough to break into Eli’s apartment didn’t bode well. This person was growing more and more desperate for his attention.

I reached for my phone. Lucky stirred, lifting his head and watching me as I sat up on the bed. It was already ten thirty in the morning. What time had Eli said the audition was? Ten? It should have been over by now.

I sent him a text. He always kept his phone on silent, so I wasn’t worried about ruining his audition.

Morning stud. Hope you’re killing it at the audition. Text me when you’re done.

Swoosh . The text was sent. I set the phone down and threw off the comforter. My cock was still rock hard and throbbing. We’d fucked three times last night, and I was still horny for him. Fuck.

Beyond the sex, last night went so much better than I had thought it would. Sure, I might have stuck a foot in my mouth by prematurely announcing my love for him, but thankfully, the stinging embarrassment only lasted a minute or two before Eli eased over the situation with his “boyfriend” proposal. I wasn’t upset that he couldn’t say it back, either. In fact, I respected Eli even more for being truthful. It’s what this relationship had to be built on. A foundation that would carry us together no matter what pressure or outside forces were exerted.

He gave me hope and optimism, two things I’d need in spades if I wanted to successfully complete that thirty-day program. It was an anxiety-inducing prospect. Even the idea of it made me want to open up the minifridge and see if they had any tiny bottles of vodka I could down. But that was exactly the point. I’d become dependent—addicted—to the numbness that alcohol brought with it. I’d fallen down the same black hole my mother fell into… Was she still falling?

Her struggle had been a long one. I didn’t understand it when I was younger. I took it personally. Felt as though if she couldn’t stop drinking for me, then I must not have meant enough to her. But knowing what I did now, it had nothing to do with anyone else. Alcoholism was a nasty disease with insidious claws that sunk deep into the victim before they could even realize it. It was a literal fucking toxin.

I didn’t know what got into me. Maybe I was still riding the high and thrill that came from making Eli mine last night. I grabbed my phone again, unlocked it, and went straight to my contacts. I tapped the M button and, without another thought, called my mom.

It started to ring, and my heart started to hammer. This was a mistake. She wasn’t going to answer. She probably didn’t even recognize my number. I should have done this sooner, should have reached out years ago. What if she needed my help? What if?—

“Hello?”

I sat in a brief moment of stunned silence. My mom’s voice. Shit. I hadn’t heard her in so long.

“Mom, it’s Benji.”

“Benji!” My mother’s voice came through the phone, slurred and disoriented. Guess that answered my questions about how she’d been doing with her drinking problem. A sting of disappointment hit me directly in the chest. I guess I’d been hoping a different version of my mother would pick up my call. “It’s been—God, how long? What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay? Wait—hold on.” The clink of a glass bottle echoed through the phone. My heart sank even further. Flashes to being a kid and finding empty wine bottles all over the kitchen as I made my own breakfast before school, Mom passed out cold on the couch. She’d get angry when the noises of me getting ready for school would wake her.

“I was just—are you drunk right now? I can call back.”

She hesitated, her breathing turning ragged. “Don’t—don’t start. I’m fine. What’s wrong?” Her voice trembled like she’d shatter if I pressed any harder. The warmth I’d been hoping for turned bitter cold. This wasn’t how I imagined it—how I wanted it to be.

“Mom, listen. I called because…” I didn’t even know why, exactly. To reconnect? To forgive? To try to understand what my own recovery might look like? “I just needed to know if you were alright. I wanted to?—”

“I’m fine, Benji,” she cut in harshly. “I’m always fine.”

Her words pierced straight through me, an old wound reopened, blood still fresh. I’d heard this same tired refrain so many times before, and it hurt just as much now as it ever had. She was never truly fine, and her lying to herself only ever brought more pain and trauma.

But maybe I’d been coming at this wrong the entire time. I’d developed a thick shell to try and deflect some of the mental and verbal blows she’d give me. It had turned me cold toward her. What if warmth and understanding was all she needed? I could at least offer her that.

“You don’t have to pretend,” I said softly. “We both know?—”

She cut me off with a scoff. “You called to lecture me?” Her voice sharpened. “Don’t you have your own life now? Your own problems to worry about? Do you need money—is that what this is about?”

My chest tightened painfully. This wasn’t the conversation I’d hoped for, but it was the one I should have expected. “I don’t need money.” I need my mother. “But that doesn’t mean?—”

“I can handle myself, Benji. You’re not my parent. You’re my child .” There was a silence, filled only with our strained breathing.

“Where, uh, where are you right now?” Damn. I didn’t even know where my own mother was. What state she was in, where she considered home. How had I allowed things to get this bad?

“I’m in Philly right now. Had an old friend out here. It’s been a rough couple of years, Benji. Can’t sugarcoat it for you.”

“I know, Mom. I know. I’ve been going through shit, too. Trying to fix myself now. I think maybe… I don’t know. I can check in with you more and push you to maybe do the same?”

“You mean, what, go to rehab?” My mom’s tone turned acidic.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

She huffed out a breath. “Look, I’ve gotta go. It was nice talking to you. Maybe call me again in another year.”

She hung up, leaving nothing but silence in her wake.

Silence and questions and regrets.

I should have reached out sooner. Should have been the bigger person and tried to bridge the distance that had grown between us.

But, well, I didn’t. I was too caught up in my own bullshit to realize how far away my own mother drifted. I hoped she wasn’t lost to the sea. This was only the start. I cracked open the door, now I just had to gently keep pushing it open.

I dropped my phone onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. I’d been stupid to think that one phone call would magically fix everything. But still, the motivation to help my mother, to help myself—it solidified into something solid inside my chest. A promise. I wasn’t going to become like her. I’d make the program work. And when I came out the other side, stronger and clearer, I’d help her, too.

With a heavy sigh, I rolled out of bed and went to get dressed. My cock had softened completely—nothing like family drama to kill the mood. My thoughts turned to Eli. It’d been nearly half an hour since my text, and still no reply.

A strange prickling ran down my spine. Auditions could take a little bit of time, but there was probably more time spent waiting than actually auditioning. He should have seen my text. Sent me a quick update.

I grabbed my phone, shot another quick message.

Brushed my teeth, pulled on some shorts. I refilled Lucky’s water bowl. Went to check my phone. Still no reply.

Something felt wrong. Deeply wrong. He must have left close to two hours ago. I could be overreacting, but what was the alternative? Lie in bed and wait around while Eli could have been in serious trouble?

That’s when I noticed Eli’s laptop, still open on the small hotel desk. I approached, glancing over the email he’d left open. The audition details were vague—too vague. A hot flash of anxiety rippled through me, my instincts suddenly screaming louder than ever. The location—downtown, in a seedy office building—felt completely off for any reputable casting call.

My pulse quickened, pounding like a drumbeat in my ears.

Fuck. Eli had walked straight into a trap.

Grabbing my keys, I bolted from the room, the address seared into my memory.

* * *

The building loomed above me like a crusted and gray giant, rising high toward the cloudy sky. It didn’t look as abandoned as the image I’d seen on the street view. There were even a couple of well-dressed actors walking out, still holding the lines they auditioned with.

That put me more at ease. This likely was just an overreaction.

A second thought crossed my mind: what if Eli was just fine and found me chasing him down? What if he thought I was stalking him? This was purely just for his protection, but I could see how the optics would get twisted.

The last thing I wanted to do was scare him away. Shit. I should turn back around. Give him some more time. He mentioned how it sounded like it was for a big project. What if I ruined his chances at his dream role because I made a bad judgment call and barged in there?

I started to turn around. He was going to know I looked at his computer. Read the email. Wasn’t that a break in the trust and guidelines we set up just the night before?

And still, something tugged at the corners of my psyche.

Don’t leave him. Just check.

I couldn’t risk it. He’d understand if I was wrong, and if I wasn’t…

I threw open the warped wooden door, the hinges screeching loudly in protest. Inside, the smell of dampness and decay assaulted me, the hallway stretching out before me like a sinister maze.

The rooms appeared to all belong to casting companies, which was another good sign. I almost turned around, but my feet carried me forward.

Second door on the right. It was cracked open. I pressed an ear against the door. It was completely silent. Odd. I’d think there would at least be some conversation happening. Or that I’d be able to hear Eli reciting his lines.

But then I did hear something. A pained and elongated moan. Eli.

Was it part of the audition? Could he be acting as if he were hurt?

Fuck it. I had to check. Had to make sure.

I cracked open the door. No one shouted at me to shut it. I peeked inside.

There he was, sprawled out on the dirty concrete floor, barely stirring. There was a camera, but it wasn’t even pointed at him. The tripod had the camera aimed at a wall.

No. This wasn’t right. I barreled inside, running to Eli, falling to my knees next to him. I lifted his head. His eyes fluttered open and had a difficult time focusing on mine.

“Benji…?” he slurred weakly, eyes glassy. “What, uh, what’s going on?”

“I’m here, Eli. It’s alright. We’ll?—”

“Watch out!” Eli’s scream shattered the quiet, his eyes snapping wide with panic.

Adrenaline surged through me as I twisted sharply, instinct saving me from the needle aimed directly at my neck. It missed by inches, the attacker stumbling forward with a frustrated growl and falling onto a couch, knocking over a tripod and sending the camera flying across the room.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I looked around, bracing for a fight.

Shock rooted me to the ground.

Standing there, eyes cold and filled with venom, a syringe clenched tight in his trembling fist, was someone I never expected to see. Someone who was toward the absolute bottom of my suspects list.

It was Zack, Eli’s best friend.