The Square Peg (6 page)

once he was clean.

Questions he’d never have the chance to ask, never know the answers to.

The middle of the night was the worst time possible to get melancholy. Ben found

his eyes hot with tears, a painful constriction in his chest making it hard to catch his

breath. When he let the tears fall, it was for all three of them and what might have been.

He shoved the photos back into the box and put it away, out of sight.

Then he got back into bed and turned off the light, falling asleep without fear, a

measure of peace filling him, though he knew he’d wake with a headache.

It seemed a small price to pay.

* * * *

didn’t have to think about it. “Ben Lozier.”

“Benedict, Shane Brant here. Sorry to bother you at work. I won’t keep you; I just

had a quick question.”

It took long seconds for Ben’s brain to wrench itself from the task at hand to the

voice in his ear. “Shane. Yes, hello. Is Vin okay?”

“You’re far too young to think every phone call means bad news,” Shane told him.

“Yes, he’s fine, of course. I’m not sure how I feel about you letting him move into your

house, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“No, it’s not. You aren’t my boss, and you have no say in what I do unless the bar

is involved.” Ben tried to keep his voice pleasant, but Shane was rubbing him the wrong

way already.

“Vincent is an employee of the bar,” Shane pointed out.

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“Well, he’s not working at the bar when he’s at my house.” Ben leaned forward

and rested his elbow on his desk. “Look, this isn’t why you called. What did you

want?”

There was a short pause; then Shane said, reluctance clear in every word. “There’s

a bill due. Electricity. It’s not much, but I just paid a fucking fortune to the wholesaler,

and I’m going to go in the red if I pay this. Trouble is, it’s the final warning, so…”

“You want me to pay it?”

“I need the business to pay it,” Shane corrected. “Problem is, the business is you

and me.”

“Right.” Ben doodled absently on some scrap paper, sketching out a wall, solid

and high, each brick the exact size of the one beside it. “How much is it?”

“Well, they’re charging us interest, so it’s just over a thousand.”

Ben closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his legacy press down on

him. A thousand dollars wasn’t a lot as such, but if there was one unpaid bill, there

were bound to be more. “Why wasn’t it in the papers you showed me yesterday?”

“I was planning to pay it. It wasn’t something you needed to see. Then I went

online to check my balance and, well, yeah.”

At least Shane sounded abashed, but that didn’t stop Ben’s temper rising. “What

else is there in that dump you call an office you mistakenly think I don’t need to see?”

“Never mind,” Shane said, his voice clipped and sharp. “Forget about it. Sorry to

have bothered you.” Before Ben could respond, the sound of the dial tone was echoing

in his ear.

Swearing under his breath, Ben hit the buttons on the phone that would redial the

number Shane had called from and waited.

Shane answered after two rings. “If I’d wanted to talk, I wouldn’t have fucking

hung up.”

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35

“Yeah, well, if you didn’t want to have the conversation in the first place, you

shouldn’t have started it.”

“That’s the best you can come up with? Seriously?” Shane sounded both angry

and amused. “‘You started it’? I’d expect that sort of thing from a school kid, not a

grown man.”

“Coming from the man who just hung up on me, that’s pretty funny. I asked a

valid question, and since we’re stuck with each other—for the moment, at least—I’d

appreciate an answer.”

“I had a hard time hearing the question, what with all the nagging,” Shane said.

“You sounded like my mum. What was it again?”

Ben compressed his lips and controlled his voice, so his annoyance didn’t bleed

through. “The bills. How many are there?”

There was a long pause; then Shane said, “You saw most of them. It’s the electric

that’s the issue.”

“Yes, that’s exactly the kind of responsive answer I wanted.” Ben waited, but

Shane didn’t reply. “I’m coming over,” he said finally. “I want to see everything, Shane.

Do you hear me? Everything. How the fuck do you expect me to prepare any kind of

plan when you’re hiding—”

“Lozier? Is this a personal call?” Ben twisted around in his chair and met the

mildly disapproving gaze of the senior partner of Mulholland and Barnes, Justin

Mulholland.

Justin was well past retirement age, but he kept postponing the time of his

departure. Ben suspected once his ties with the company were severed, Justin would

have nothing to live for and would fade away, and Justin knew it. He had an incisive

mind, his ability to do his job undimmed by age. He was a kindhearted man on the

whole, but he expected a full day’s work from each and every one of his employees.

“It’s concerning my inheritance. Urgent matter I have to attend to.”

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Justin raised his bushy white eyebrows, his gaze flicking meaningfully to the

clock. Ben wasn’t expected to work nine to five—he wished—and his day could often

end alarmingly close to the time when the next day started. For Justin to cavil over a

few minutes spent on a phone call was infuriating given the hours Ben put in.

“Make it quick,” Justin said. “The Mallerton audit should be your top priority, not

this.”

Ben supposed that, from Justin’s perspective, a company that owned three hotels

and, somewhat bizarrely, a small chain of yogurt shops, did rank higher than a half

interest in a bar that was about to go under. But it didn’t rank higher from Ben’s

perspective.

He gave Justin a tight smile, and when the man had moved off, walking slowly as

if his body needed oiling, he turned his attention back to Shane.

Who’d hung up again.

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Chapter Four

“Vincent?”

“Yeah, boss?” Vincent was drawing a pint from the one tap that wasn’t leaking,

handsome as ever, and looking better for what Shane presumed had been a good

night’s sleep. Patrick was examining nails he’d painted a glittering pink, his pretty face

vacant. Shane would’ve fired his lazy arse a long time ago, but there was no denying

the customers liked him, and he responded well to direct orders with no possibility of

misinterpretation.

Terrible taste in men, though. Shane had lost count of how many times Patrick had

waltzed in, eyes sparkling, a well-fucked romantic glow about him, only to crawl

through the doors a few days later, crushed by a rejection he hadn’t seen coming. He

needed someone patient and steady, not the flashy posers he was drawn to.

“I’m going up for a bit of dinner. If that Benedict Lozier shows his face, tell him

I’ve gone out.”

“Okay.” Vincent’s tone was less than convincing. So it was like that, was it?

Loyalty bought with a bed and a hot shower. Charming.

Shane glared at his errant employee, ignoring Patrick’s stifled giggle. “Vincent.”

“Okay! When Ben shows up, you aren’t here. Got it.”

Shane made his way up the back staircase. The bar was quiet in the afternoons,

nothing Vincent and Patrick couldn’t handle. Benedict didn’t strike him as the type

who’d hang around waiting, and Shane had been careful to lock the office door, so

there’d be nothing to occupy him on the off chance Benedict did decide to wait.

He told himself he didn’t intend to avoid Benedict forever. He just needed a bit

more time to sort things out in his head. And it wasn’t as if this was his fault; he hadn’t

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realized what Craig had been doing behind his back. Maybe he should have known, but

he’d no idea. It made him angry at Craig for playing him a fool, treating him as if he

was a child to be coddled and protected from the harsh realities of life.

Treating him like…a son.

Shane froze in the middle of turning the door handle. “For fuck’s sake,” he

whispered, then went into the apartment and sat down on the nearest chair, which

happened to be half on the thin carpet that delineated the entryway and half on the

cheap linoleum of the kitchen.

It was starting to sink in that his life was about to change in ways he hadn’t yet

anticipated.

He was still sitting there when he heard footsteps on the wooden stairs—angry

footsteps. “Shane?” he heard Benedict ask. Then the man swung the unlatched door

open and stormed in. “You are the most annoying, high-blood-pressure-inducing

man…” Benedict’s voice trailed off, and he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“You… Your dad…”He couldn’t get any words out past the tightness in his throat.

He turned his head to the side and stared hard at the kitchen table with the wobbly leg.

It was smeared with butter and toast crumbs at the place he usually sat, and that

morning he’d had cereal, so he was a slob as well as totally fucking stupid. Good to

know.

Benedict touched him, his hand light as it rested against Shane’s shoulder. “You

want to blame him for all of this? You think it’s his fault?”

He shook his head, blindly staring at that sheen of butter, that random scatter of

crumbs. There was meaning in everything, a teacher had told him once. He couldn’t

think of what that messy table meant beyond the obvious fact that he’d put a knife

down on it when it should’ve been put on his plate, nice and tidy, the way his mum had

taught him.

“My fault.”

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39

“Maybe.” Benedict didn’t move his hand, but it felt heavier, not weighing Shane

down, but keeping him grounded. “Maybe a little. You let him take control.”

“Easier that way.” He was so detached from it all. Craig’s death, the threat of

losing everything… It retreated, leaving him empty.

Benedict’s thumb moved, a slow rub Shane could feel through his shirt. How long

had that hand been on him, touching him? With a surge of panic that he’d been so easy,

and rolled over for the guy without a fight, Shane knocked Benedict’s hand away,

snarling up at him, not needing words to get his message over.

He stood, the light, rickety chair tipping over to hit the ground, and squared up to

Benedict, his body finding a fighting stance automatically.

Wide, calm brown eyes met his. Benedict didn’t seem worried or threatened, and

the anger that had been in his step and voice when he’d come in seemed to have

drained away. He exuded patience, understanding. “Tell me what you want to do,”

Benedict said quietly.

Shane was trembling with adrenaline, wanting to hit something—or someone, but

he wasn’t going to hit Benedict. He’d hit plenty of men in his life, always, he liked to

think, because they deserved it. Benedict didn’t like this situation any more than he did,

hadn’t asked for this any more than he had, and something told Shane he’d forever

regret it if he let his fist connect with Benedict’s face.

He realized Benedict was still waiting for an answer. “I don’t know. I don’t—

God.” He exhaled shakily. “Turn back time. I don’t suppose you know how to do that?”

Benedict shook his head, his lips twisted ruefully. “You look more like you want

to hit something.”

“Who are you?” Shane asked, incredulous. “Sorry, just… One minute you’re

shouting at me, and the next you’re like this.” He made a helpless gesture with his palm

upturned.

“Like what?”

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“This. Nice.”

“Oh great. That’s the kiss of death.” Benedict looked at him steadily. “I don’t want

to fight with you, okay? I want to see if we can figure all this out. But we can’t if you

aren’t on board.”

“I am. I’m on board.” Shane looked around him, at the small rooms, the tatty

furniture and dingy paint. “This is my home at risk, not just a paycheck, and yeah, I

know it’s a dump, but it’s mine. It goes with the job, or it always used to.” He bit at his

lip, welcoming the sting as punishment, however mild, for being such a fucking

dickhead. “That’s probably not fair now, is it? Should be paying rent or something the

way you have to.”

“Possibly in the future it’s something we can look at, but right now, that’s the least

of our problems. We should be uniting to pay off outside debts not creating new ones

between the two of us. We’re a partnership. One unit, our interests aligned. We’re not

competitors.”

“Makes sense.” Shane nodded, every brisk, matter-of-fact word calming him. He

grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “I’d say it’s like a marriage, but in my experience