FH: Just Found Heaven Ch. 04: Ben

*I always appreciate getting feedback! It helps with becoming a better writer and it's always an ego boost, so feel free to reach out via comment or email. I will always respond, but that's easier to do if you don't post anonymously!

*This isn't a stroke story because that isn't ever my style. I'm a porn with plot writer. HOWEVER, this story literally has only ONE sex scene and it's toward the very end, between the 2 characters, (Max and Roman) who will have their own story in All in Balls Out. If that's not your thing, or if you want hot, sexy man love every few paragraphs, please skip my works for your own sanity.

* I wrote Halos and Heroes YEARS AGO, for a small publishing house that closed and almost 4 years ago, I completely rewrote it to the length and content level I wanted, and it was received well here. I'd planned an entire series (Finding Home) and I'd also planned to immediately publish the second book, All in Balls Out, but I decided to write a "short" segue leading up to it, because the main characters in that one (Max and Roman), weren't talking to me clearly. Someone had suggested writing a short, wedding piece to tie into Halos and Heroes so I thought, cool, I can do this! It'll be short and sweet! Ahem... As any writer knows, characters sometimes decide to write themselves and this story did. It's taken me a long time to finish because I wrote it on and off. More off than on, due to changing jobs, Covid and a lot of medical issues including a recent diagnosis of MS, though I've had symptoms for years. SOOOO, all that said, this is a direct tie-in taking place AFTER Halos and Heroes so if you have read or decide to re-read it before reading Just Found Heaven, it'll make the most sense. HOWEVER, it can be read as a standalone in the sense that this story is composed of A LOT of flashbacks from Halos and Heroes, as well as a buttload of new content. That being said...

*This story takes place on Sam and Ben's wedding day and 2 of the chapters are told from Sam's POV. Each of the other chapters is told from the POV of each of the other major characters in Halos and Heroes who will eventually have their own stories, provided my sanity and health hold out! Each character's chapter helps move the day along, and it has A LOT of "flashbacks", most of them NOT in Halos and Heroes (Max, Roman, and Tara's POV are all brand new content. So is MOST of Ben's, though some is directly from Halos and Heroes, but told from his viewpoint instead of Sam's) so if you don't like multiple viewpoints, or flashbacks, please skip it for your own sanity. For those that choose to read it because they enjoyed the first story, you're going to get A LOT of new insight into the characters; why they are who they are and do/did what they did. I think it's a good setup for upcoming novels, but again, you DO NOT have to read this to understand All in Balls Out when it eventually comes out sometime in 2024. FYI, the italicized text between the *** breaks are flashbacks.

*To make it very clear, since a lot of people complained about chapter length last time, as well as how long chapters took to be published, ALL OF MY STORIES ARE COMPLETELY FINISHED BY THE TIME THAT I SUBMIT! I try and see my vision to fruition, and then it's off to the Literotica team and just a waiting game. They get TONS of submissions folks, so I have ZERO CONTROL over how long it takes for chapters to get published. The last time for Halos and Heroes, it took over a month if I remember correctly, and right now it's the holidays. Also, all these chapters have A LOT of intense formatting situations due to the flashbacks, so it may take a while for everything to be okayed. So, if you're one of those folks (like I am) who want to read a story in one sitting, just wait till all the chapters come out to once again, keep yourself sane! As far as the length of the chapters, I write each one until I feel that everything I want to be said in it has been. Most are long, and some are longer than others. If page length is a true issue for you, again.. please skip.

*Although references in this novel may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are complete works of fiction. They are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental. I began this series during the Afghanistan war, but I skip around a lot timeline wise in the sense of mentioning movies/songs/events that are sometimes more recent. I try and keep it subtle, but sometimes you might have to suspend belief a bit, so bear with me and my creative license. In an effort to do the United States Army justice, and to show my respect to my country, I have applied all possible efforts to merge fact and fiction to entertain, while portraying the military, and the hardships and achievements of soldiers, with respect, dignity and accuracy to the best of my abilities. It's my hope that I've done you all justice, and that all of the creative licenses taken with this novel are understood to be the efforts of imagination, and not any judgment or disrespect against the U.S. military. Thank you all for your service.

*Finally, to those who have followed and supported me and have bene waiting for me to publish something new, I hope you find it worth the wait. Thank you!

FH: Just Found Heaven

Chapter 4 - Ben

"Don't keep your secrets in a prayer. There is nothing you can say or do

I won't cut you loose, no, so break the silence... We know that we can brave it all... If you're hoping we'll be home... Don't be afraid to ask for help.... It won't make me love you any less.. It won't make me love you any less... Don't hide behind me.... You're strong enough to face the fall... It won't make me love you any less... No shame, no hurt, nothing to lose... My love my heart don't need to prove... And there's nothing you can say or do... There's no one that can change my mind... It's not a weakness, we all have our crosses to bear... It won't make me love you any less." (Grace) -- Rag N' Bone

I smiled at my reflection in the mirror hung over the hotel room dresser as I securely fastened the clasp of the chain on the simple white-gold cross necklace that Sam had given me yesterday as a surprise, pre-wedding gift, around my neck. The modest cross settled just beneath my collarbone, and the patina of the precious metal gleamed against my tanned skin. I'd left off my clerical collar today, but my traditional suit tie would still conceal the chain when I knotted it at the top of the buttoned shirt collar. It didn't matter. I didn't need to see the thoughtful piece of jewelry to know that it was there. Just like I didn't need to be told that the unexpected gift was Sam's way of telling me without any of the words he still occasionally struggled with finding, that he loved me and was looking forward to today as much as I was. Through that gift he'd told me that each hard-pressed step we'd taken together to get to this point in our lives mattered as much to him as it did to me.

Sam was an easy man to fall for because he was kind, intelligent, and led by a steadfast heart. Loving him, was occasionally a bit more difficult because too often it meant convincing him that he was a better person than he himself believed. His self-doubt had always been the most difficult part of our relationship to navigate through. But as Roosevelt had once said, "nothing worth having comes easy." Getting Sam to trust me enough to allow me to love him hadn't been easy, especially considering how we'd met, but it'd been worth it because in less than an hour I'd have a wedding band on my left hand that matched his...

***

I'd spent most of the morning in prayer and conversation with one of my parishioners, an elderly woman who after 44 years of marriage to her husband, was now burying him after a massive heart attack had taken him peacefully in his sleep. She'd been steadier during our conversation than her slim, wrinkled body seemed it should be capable of, but her husband had been ill for years, and she'd told me that she found peace in knowing he'd found his. It'd been humbling to hear, and an affirmation that I'd chosen the right path by listening to God when He'd called. For years before joining the clergy, I thought that I'd been permanently, and unequivocally lost. But despite mentally putting my hands over my ears and humming whatever song popped into my head to ignore Him, God had patiently waited me out until I'd been ready to listen. Once I did, new paths had opened up for me, and helping others find some of that same serenity granted by pure grace had helped me find my own sure footing. It was a steadiness many people struggled with, including the man who'd bolted from one of the funeral home's private offices past me, after I'd come back inside after walking Mrs. Grayson to her car.

I'd gotten a brief impression of a tall, powerfully built male frame in jeans, and a t-shirt. His close-cropped hair could've been brown or dirty blonde. It'd been difficult to make out the exact shade because of both the buzzed haircut, and the fact that he'd been moving with athletic speed despite a subtly swaying gait like he was drunk. He hadn't seemed to notice me, his gaze facing forward as he made a hurried beeline towards the bathrooms and disappeared around the corner. A niggling feeling of recognition pricked at my brain through I hadn't gotten a good enough look at the guy to know if he was someone I'd met at church, or in another aspect of my life. I didn't have time to flip through my extensive mental Filofax though, because even if I couldn't place his face, I'd seen that kind of shell-shocked look before on my parishioners who'd recently lost loved ones, as well as on the faces and mannerisms of the people in the grief support group that I'd begun hosting about a year ago. The man might've been moving like he was drunk, but the quick glimpse that I'd gotten of his strong, handsome features had been that of someone completely broken. Considering we were in a funeral home, it made sense.

After a long moment of internally debating whether I should give him space to break privately or to interfere in the way most of the people who knew me well would testify was my usual MO, I went after him. I'd been to the funeral home so many times over the years since moving to the area, and taking over the pastoral duties at our church that I knew my way around it like the back of my hand. I made it to the bathrooms with a shorter legged, but much smoother stride than my soon to be rescued mystery man. When I reached the bathroom, I paused just outside, and then carefully pushed the door open to move inside. I let the elegant wooden door close behind me with an audible enough sound to deliberately announce my presence. No one liked being snuck up on, and considering that the bathroom was empty except for the pair of black boots and a hint of blue jean fabric in a position that probably meant he was sitting sideways in the narrow stall with his long legs tucked to his chest to fit, a proper warning was probably the best way to go.

I hesitated for a moment, then moved to the stall door to knock lightly, but firmly on it. The legs and boots rearranged abruptly, as if the man had been startled into scuttling around like a crab. I heard a soft thunk, and then saw the back pockets on his jeans as if he was sitting against the door now with his back to the stall and to me.

Not good.

I considered leaving to find the funeral director who'd become a close friend over the last few years to get his help. Evan had a calm manner, as gentle with mourning families as he was with his own four children ranging from 6 months to seven years old. But I didn't want to risk leaving the spiraling stranger alone. I'd been witness to enough panic attacks at the group to know when someone was melting down. Being left alone at those low points could be unsafe even if there wasn't anything overtly dangerous in the bathroom so I just knocked again, but gentler this time, making my tone just as encouraging.

"Hello? Are you all right in there?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," came the other man's voice which was deep and jagged around the edges as he blatantly lied through his teeth. "Just a stomach bug or something."

"Or something," I agreed, definitely not going anywhere now. "Why don't you open this door so we can talk?"

"Dude, I'm okay. Seriously."

I barely contained my snort as anxiety reduced the man's vernacular to the same whining sing-song the kids at Maplewood used when they were about to throw down for a solid teenage sulk in protest against, 'the establishment.'

Sorry buddy, not my first rodeo.

"You seriously don't sound okay dude, so if you don't open the door, I'm going to get someone to help us out here."

"I just need a minute."

"Can you please open the door?"

The sentence was a question by literary standards, but I deliberately left off the lilt of a question mark at the end. I was being polite for now, but my mother had always said I was stubborn as a bull, and even though I couldn't see his face, I could tell that this man was in the deep kind of emotional pain that I couldn't ignore as a priest. I silently started counting backward in my head to give him time to make a decision. I started at 50 to be generous, but if he didn't open by the time I reached 10. I was going to get Evan.

I heard the man exhale hard when I reached a silent 30, and half expected more bleated protests or maybe colorful language meant to get me to take a hike. Instead, I heard a shuffle of material, and saw his body position change again until he was obviously on his feet. There was a grating sound against the metal of the door as if he was fumbling with the lock. When the door opened abruptly, I didn't expect him to come tumbling out like a warm bundle of bricks into my arms. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his midsection though, bracing my own black sneakered feet on the bathroom tile to try and steady myself because in addition to being ridiculously tall, he was also broad shouldered, and I could feel dense layers of hard muscle beneath his sweat-soaked t-shirt.

Definitely not good, and he was sure as heck stuck with me now.

"Ok, its ok. Careful now," I said, trying to soothe the panic that I could feel radiating off of him. I shifted my stance so I could get one of his arms over my shoulder. I kept my own left arm wrapped firmly around his trim waist as we started to maneuver awkwardly down the hall towards the nearest exit so that I could get him outside where the fresh air might help.

"Survey says you're definitely not fine," I murmured, trying to put an encouraging smile into my tone to try and deescalate the situation.

I blinked against the brightness of the sun as we emerged from the funeral home out of a side entrance that led to a small, quiet area with a wooden bench beneath some deliberately planted trees; a small safe haven for moments just like this.

"Watch your step there. I keep telling Evan that he needs to replace those paving stones, but he seems to believe that letting people break their necks out here will help his business."

I felt a subtle rumble that vibrated from his body through mine where we were pressed tightly together, but the laughter couldn't make it up to his throat to escape his lips, and my expression softened. It was never easy to witness anyone working their way through hell, even if they were a stranger.

"Easy, almost there. A nice firm bench to plunk down on while I call 911."

The man wheezed. "Don't need an ambulance. Panic attack. Will be okay... give me a minute."

"Panic attack?"

I'd suspected as much, but hearing him confirm it meant that I had about a dozen other questions to ask him. I didn't get a chance though because after another few seconds of fumbling at his neck, I saw a glint of metal highlighted by the sun. Unrecognizable for a moment until my brain caught up to the situation, and I realized why he'd seemed familiar to me earlier.

I gently rolled his dog tags through my fingers when he presented them to me, the stainless-steel ball chain still fastened around his neck. I'd never been enlisted in the military, but I knew what the tags were, and I also knew a parishioner and good friend of mine who'd mentioned having family in the military. She'd recently lost her husband, Connor, and though very few people would mourn his loss, she felt it, and apparently so did this man who'd been his brother.

Military protocol always put the last name of the soldier first, then their first. I recognized the surname immediately because it was the same as the man whose funeral I'd be attending in a few days to give the sermon at his wife's request.

Trammel.

Which meant that I now also knew the first name of the handsome hot mess seated beside me on the bench.

Samuel Trammel.

The pictures his sister-in-law Sofia had shown me a few days ago when she'd gotten the news of her husband's death had been framed ones of him with her daughters from several years ago. Sam had been younger in those, but still a carbon copy of her late husband whom I'd met once in passing a couple of years ago when he was home on leave from the Army. The most recent photo of Sam that Sofia had shown me had been one of him in his military fatigues against a backdrop of the American flag. He'd been standing tall and straight, somber as he looked directly into the camera. Connor's eyes had been a deep blue, but I couldn't see Sam's right now because he'd dropped his head between his legs. His strong arms were braced on his knees, and even in that position I could tell that he was a big, athletic man. Military fit, and way too large to just disappear like he seemed to want to do by doubling over like that. He was still breathing hard enough for me to hear the soft whoosh every time that he exhaled, and it gave the impression of a vulnerable child that I immediately wanted to hug.

I didn't, partially because I hadn't even formally met him yet, but also because the sudden insistent desire was unexpected. Comforting the lost was part of my job description, but there was a big difference between a few gentle pats to a grieving person's shoulder, and wanting to gather them up into your arms and be their shield against anything causing them pain. I blinked because having this visceral a reaction to a virtual stranger who I only knew through photos, and stories from Sofia didn't make any sense so I needed to reign it in.

"Ah, all right, this makes some sense now." At least one thing did. "PTSD?"

I broached the topic carefully, watching for any physical response since I still couldn't see Sam's eyes. When he nodded, my expression softened, and I gently squeezed his shoulder. Sofia hadn't told me about her brother-in-law's PTSD so I was assuming that she didn't know about it. She wouldn't be finding out from me. Everyone was allowed their secrets, and their demons until they were ready to face them.

"Take slower breaths. Nice and easy. If you hyperventilate, I'm going to have to call EMS, and you won't be able to stop me, passed out like a big rug on the grass."

A big, sexy rug, an irreverent part of my brain added. An observation that wasn't any more appropriate to the current situation at hand then the desire to hug Sam had been. At another time and place, maybe I'd have considered asking him out for a coffee date, even though I didn't do coffee dates. I didn't do any dating if I was honest. Not because I was a priest, or because God didn't believe in punch cards, though that was a common joke I used as a believable excuse to friends who encouraged me to, 'put myself out there.' My collar didn't keep me chained to celibacy the way a Catholic priest's did, and I'd dated someone seriously for a few moments after graduating from seminary years ago. It hadn't worked out between Danny and me, but I wasn't emotionally scarred from the breakup. Danny wasn't a bad person, and he'd been gentle and considerate, both in and out of bed. He just hadn't lit up my heart and soul the way I believed that a forever partner should, and I hadn't encountered anyone else since then who did either.