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CHAPTER 10

B EN

Meadow Creek Coffee Shop is almost as cozy and familiar to me as Pat’s Diner. I’ve been coming here every two to three weeks for the last seven years, meeting with the same group of guys. There’s five of us, all in law enforcement, and all of us committed to helping each other be accountable for living as our most authentic selves and dealing with our struggles head on.

Law enforcement is tough work, often only showing us the worst humanity offers. Lots of police officers struggle with depression, anxiety, and relationship difficulties because of the shit we see on a near daily basis.

And this group has helped me work through some significant stuff over the years. Hell, I even eventually told them about Trina—the one who got away. The one who I still can’t really let go of. But today, I’m in my head, worrying about everything going on with Trina.

“Ben, you with us?”

I’m pulled from my daydreaming back into the conversation as the guys all chuckle.

“Sorry, yeah. I got distracted. A little lost in my thoughts lately. I’ve got a case that’s worrying me.”

“Tell us about it. Sometimes we come up with some brilliant shit when we all put our minds together,” Jonah encourages.

“Yeah, I’m like the Sherlock Holmes of Meadow Creek,” Thom teases.

I sigh. “I’ve got a case where someone keeps sending flowers to a female… city employee. Once a week. The cards leaned toward the romantic at first but, by the fourth one, they took a more aggressive, physical tone. And I’ve got no leads. Her boss has blocked any further deliveries, but still.”

“Any threats?”

“Nothing overt. Only the innuendo in the last card.”

“Is the individual only sending flowers, or is there something else?”

“Just flowers,” I answer. “But every week for a month.”

“What aren’t you telling us?” Jonah asks, his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, I feel like we’re missing something,” Jim says, rubbing at his beard. “Do you know the victim or some?—”

“She’s not a victim,” I snap. I run my hands through my hair, a nervous habit of mine. I look up to see Thom with a raised brow, clearly seeing through me. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m… I’m a bit on edge. The woman is her.”

“Her?” Jim asks. His eyes suddenly widen and his jaw gapes. “Oh, her. That’s why you’re so focused on it.”

“Yeah, it’s Trina.” I answer. “And I have to make sure whoever this is can’t get near enough to hurt her.”

“Ben, man, you’re aware there isn’t much you can do unless the perp makes a move.”

I can only shake my head. I know it in my brain, but that doesn’t mean I have to accept it… or like it.

“Let’s talk about something else for now, okay?” I’m grateful when the guys all agree, and someone changes the subject.

A half hour later, when I’m on the way back to Elladine, I catch a flash of long blonde hair as I pass the Meadow Creek library, and it reminds me of Trina. I instinctively slow down and am shocked when I realize that the woman walking into the library doesn’t just look like Trina, she is Trina.

What the hell is she doing at the Meadow Creek library?

Before I can think better of it, I’m pulling off into the library parking lot and driving up and down the aisles looking for her car. When I find it, I pull up next to it and park, roll down my window and wait.

Fifteen minutes turns into thirty, so I pull up my book on my phone and start reading. When I’ve been waiting an hour, I wonder how long one woman can really spend at the library. And at an hour and a half, I climb out of my SUV and pace back and forth in front of it, arguing with myself about whether or not I should go in.

“It’ll certainly piss her off if I do. And how much can really happen in a public library?” I mutter to myself.

“Ben? What are you doing here?” I whip my head up to find Trina standing in front of me, a canvas tote bag on her arm with big plastic looking sticks poking out.

“Um…” I didn’t think this far. How am I going to explain to her I was waiting outside the library for her?

“Oh my God, did you follow me here?” Her tone is high pitched and incredulous.

“What? No! Of course not.” I can’t help but rub the back of my neck, then shove my hands in my pockets.

Trina simply folds her arms across her chest and tilts her head at me, one disbelieving eyebrow cocked up.

“I didn’t. I was already in town, and I saw you walking in when I was driving by. I was… I was worried about you being here alone with everything going on, so I pulled in and waited.”

“You waited an hour and a half for me? And you just happened to be driving by?”

“Yes. And what are you doing here? There’s a perfectly good library in Elladine.”

Trina shakes her head at me. “Whatever. You’re being evasive and trying to change the subject. I’m leaving.” She walks to her car.

“Okay. Wait,” I protest. “How about we go get something to eat and I’ll explain what I’m doing here if you’ll do the same?”

Trina stops, but she fixes her stare on me for several uncomfortable seconds. Her eyes narrowed and searching my face as if she’s looking for any hint of insincerity.

“Fine. But I’m driving in my car. Follow me.”

Less than ten minutes later, we’re seated at a small Ma and Pop restaurant, perusing the menus.

“You’ve been here before?” I ask.

“Yup. They have the best pie.” I can’t help but chuckle. You’d never know it to look at her, but Trina Flynn has one hell of a sweet tooth.

After we order, Trina leans back in her chair and folds her hands in front of her on the table. “So, why are you in Meadow Creek?”

I shrug. “Nothing too exciting. I come here every two to three weeks to meet up with my men’s group.”

Her eyebrows furrow, and her slight frown betrays her confusion. “Men’s group?”

“Yeah, there’s five of us and we get together and talk about life, help each other see through our own bullshit. That kind of stuff.”

She’s intrigued now. I can tell by the intensity in those gorgeous blue eyes of hers as she leans forward, puts her elbows on the table and rests her head in her hands. “Give me an example.”

“Please?” I tease. I’m rewarded with a classic Trina eye roll.

“Please.”

“Well, I won’t betray any of their confidences, but for myself, they’ve helped with a few things. I guess the first major one was realizing why I was the way I was when I was in high school… and after.”

Our server comes over with our drinks and I nod in thanks.

“Geez, how long have you been meeting with these guys?”

“Seven years.”

Trina’s eyes widen, and she sucks in a breath. “Wow. So, it’s helpful?”

I smile at her, happy we’re having a civilized conversation. “Yeah. For example, they helped me realize that much of my personality and the choices I made when I was younger were rooted in insecurity. And when I sort of grew into myself and started getting attention from the opposite sex,”—I pause and make sure she appears fine with this line of discussion—“it fed my ego and made me feel like there was something special about me, too. And I went with that rather than deal with the feelings responsible for me acting the way I did.”

“Why did you say ‘too’?”

“Huh?”

“You said it made you feel special, too. Not just special.”

My face heats. Trina’s always paid such close attention to everything, so it shouldn’t surprise me she didn’t miss that detail. I take a long swig of my ice-cold fountain soda to buy me a second. If I ever want Trina to trust me again—and damn, I want that—then I have to be willing to lay all my shit on the table. God knows my pride has already cost me enough with her.

I smile at her. “It seems kind of dumb, now, as a grown man and knowing how lucky I was growing up in the type of family I did.” She focuses her attention on me and it’s intense, making my hands sweat. I stare down at the tabletop before I begin again. “For a long time, I felt like the oddball in my family. Everyone had something special about them. Jack was always an amazing athlete and an honor student. Shayna was so damn popular. Everyone loved her, and she got good grades. Shyley and Shannon were smart as whips. I was always kind of average. Ordinary. I started noticing it in sixth or seventh grade. And God, I was dorky as hell back then. But the summer between eighth and ninth grades, suddenly I grew into myself. So, when I got to high school and girls started paying me attention, I let that become my identity.” I glance back up at her. “I figured my ‘thing’ was that I was popular with the girls. It sounds stupid now…”

“You’re wrong.” There’s no hint of a smile or a frown on Trina’s face, but her eyes look heated.

“I know it was wro?—”

“No. I didn’t say it was wrong. I said you were wrong.” Now it’s my turn to be confused. She takes a deep breath and grunts. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this to you. Sure, you were attractive, but that’s not what made you special. Even though I was two years older than you, I saw you. When you were helping Jeff Jacobs every day after soccer tryouts ended so he could try to get better at his skills and make the team, I saw. I saw you sitting with kids in the lunchroom no one else would sit with and helping freshman pick up their books when some douchey upperclassman knocked them out of their arms. You were always that guy. You were always special. You simply didn’t see it and you seemed to think your only value was in your physical appearance.” She shrugs and briefly lets her lips curve into a sad smile. “So, you were wrong.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat and gaze off to the side until I think I can speak without my voice cracking. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say to all that.”

Our server comes over with our food at that moment and sets our plates on the table. When she walks away, Trina shrugs. “I guess I could have saved you seven years of trips to Meadow Creek if I had spoken up sooner, huh?” Her tone is light and teasing.

“Not really. There’s been a ton of crap they’ve had to help me recognize and work through over the years. And they have to remind me every once in a while that my ego is an asshole when I let him get a foothold.” I grin at her and am pleased to see her smile. “Now it’s your turn. What made you go to the Meadow Creek library?”

Her cheeks flush pink, which is unusual for Trina, but she answers with confidence. “I was plarning. I do it every few weeks with a group.” She digs into her meal as if I have any idea what the hell plarning is and won’t have further questions.

I clear my throat, admittedly more exaggerated than necessary, and she looks up. Jesus, her blue eyes are so stunning.

“Care to explain what plarning is?”

“Fine. But don’t you dare make fun of me. Deal?”

I smile. “Deal. But I must have been a real dick when we were younger if you’re immediately thinking I’m gonna make fun of you.”

“I mean…” she teases. A chuckle escapes her, and it makes me smile that I indirectly had something to do with it. “Okay. Plarning is crocheting with plastic bags. I do it with a group a few times a month and we make sleeping mats and blankets for the homeless. Then, every two months or so, I make the trip to the city and deliver them to a few shelters to distribute. Sometimes a few of us take them to those not living in the shelters.”

My eyes must be huge and I’m aware my mouth is gaping wide open. “Wow. That’s… that’s fucking altruistic. I would never make fun of you for that.”

Trina looks down at her phone, tapping the screen a few times before she hands me the phone. “You can scroll through and see a few samples of what we’ve made.”

I take the phone from her and am in awe as I scroll through and see the product of her plarning. In the second to last picture, she and a good-looking young guy are holding up the finished product and her smile in the photo is radiant. I stop scrolling and my breath stutters when I come to a photo of her and the man standing next to each other posing, his arm around her shoulders. It’s dated today. Shit.

“Um. I would think plarning would be something only older women—and you, of course—would enjoy.” I hand the phone back to her with the photo still pulled up.

When Trina glances down at the photo, her face lights up, and I hate it. “Oh, that’s Darren. He’s my plarning partner. But you’re right, all the others are old ladies. Darren’s only been with us for a few months. His grandmother is one of our plarners.”

“Does he know…” I peer up at her, unable to finish my question, but I can see that she isn’t getting what I’m asking. I exhale. “Does he know you’re married?” I practically whisper my words, and Trina nearly aspirates on her soda.

After she finishes coughing to clear her throat, she glares at me. “Why would I tell him that, Benjamin?”

I shrug. “Look at the picture. The way he’s looking at you, it’s clear he has a thing for you.”

Trina snorts and swipes up to look at the photo again. “No, he”—her eyes bulge—“Oh. Huh. I guess I missed that.” She simply puts the phone down on the tabletop and goes back to eating.

Trina must sense my stare focused on her because she looks up at me and lets her head fall backward with a throaty groan. “Are you seriously jealous of my plarning partner? This is a fake marriage, Ben.”

Her words grate on my nerves, but I do my damnedest not to show it. It’s a long shot, but I really want to take any time I have with Trina showing her I’m a different man than I was back when we dated.

I have her full attention now.

“First of all, yes, I’m jealous. I’ve spent the better part of the last decade jealous of any man who’s been lucky enough to spend time with you.” I watch as her jaw drops. “Second, this marriage may have been unintentional, but let me be clear about one thing. To me, there is nothing fake about it.”