FH: Just Found Heaven Ch. 04: Ben

Spark was important. The emotional kind, not just sexual connection. I'd had plenty of the hot and heavy sparks in my past life as an escort, before I've taken my vows as an Episcopal priest to start my current life. Letting your body lose itself in someone else's was easy. Letting your heart do the same, was a challenge I hadn't wanted to take on with everything else that I'd willingly piled high on my plate. I was never really 'off the clock.' At least that was what I always told myself, ignoring the little voice in my head--a voice that sounded suspiciously like my former lover, Charlie's--that told me I was always honest with everyone except myself.

"One day you're going to meet a man who you will care deeply for Ben and I want you to be ready and open to that opportunity when it happens."

I could still remember the slight pang of guilt I'd felt that day, knowing that Charlie could never be that man, even if cancer hadn't been cutting his life short. We hadn't had a romantic spark between us, though we'd shared a connection of deep friendship by the end. But Charlie had known how I felt, and had always encouraged me to find love with someone else worthwhile when the moment presented itself. It just never had.

Till now?

Again, that little voice in my head sounded suspiciously like Charlie's amused British accent, as if my subconscious thought that if my former lover who'd believed in love at first sight, and in soulmates had said it, then it had to be true. Realistically though, it was ridiculous to even briefly entertain the idea. I didn't know anything about Sam other than the stories that Sofia had told me about him over the past few years that we'd become friends. Granted, those stories had painted a surprisingly vivid picture in my head even before she'd shown me the photos of Sam, which I appreciated with the eye of an amateur photographer. Pictures truly were worth a thousand words, and photographs told stories that the subject of them sometimes weren't even aware that they were telling, especially in candid shots.

Several of the photos of Sam with his nieces had been those kinds of photos; Sam with a toddler Adelyn hoisted on his shoulders, both their faces in profile as they'd looked up towards a bright blue sky. Sam holding Emma protectively as a newborn wrapped in a lavender blanket. Sam laughing with a young Adelyn, soaked down to the skin beneath his army green t-shirt. She was wearing rainboots decorated with American flags, and holding up red and blue water balloons, one in each hand, obviously prepared to launch another attack. There'd also been one of a teenage Sam sitting on the steps of a house beside a teenage Sofia. She was turned slightly toward him, and laughing as Sam held one arm up high, obviously trying to keep the bottle of root beer he was holding out of the reach of another good-looking young man with sandy brown hair who'd been reach for the soda from his position on the step below Sam and Sofia. He'd been making a kissy face at Sam who was laughing. Sofia had said that the other man was a childhood friend of her, Sam and Connor's, and that he was still close to her, and also Sam's best friend.

Only one candid photograph of Sam alone had been displayed in a simple wooden frame on the mantle with several other family photos. His back had been to the camera, and he was sitting on what looked like a dock at sunset. His hair was longer in the photo, but his shoulders were relaxed, and I could tell without seeing his face that he was enjoying the moment that had been captured by whomever the photographer had been.

Sofia had described Sam as being a good man with a difficult past, but always gentle with her and her girls, unlike her abusive late husband. I could tell all of that from the gamut of photos. What I hadn't been able to see, was any reason why Sam had suddenly pulled away from his family without any warning or explanation about 3 years ago. Over coffee earlier this past year, Sofia had opened up about her difficult marriage, and her suspicion that something had happened between Connor and Sam that had strained their family dynamic, and caused the sudden, unexpected estrangement between him and her family. She'd said that neither man had ever spoken about the sudden radio silence between them, and that she hadn't seen or spoken to Sam in years because he never responded to her email or face-time invitations. Eventually she'd stopped trying, and I knew from speaking to her just two days before Sam had returned to Florida from Afghanistan, that she'd doubted that Sam would even come home for Connor's funeral, though she'd hoped he would. Apparently, her prayers had been heard even if Sam didn't seem to be experiencing the same sense of relief at a reunion.

I let my hand moved from Sam's shoulder down to stroke soothing over his currently curved spine because it was a nonthreatening touch, but firm enough to be grounding.

"That's it. Just let yourself ride it through. This sometimes happens to someone I know. He's not on active duty anymore so it's gotten easier over the years. When do you go back?"

"I don't."

Sam's voice was rough and tight, and I was quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out what I should say. I had plenty of words that were appropriate to the situation, things I'd said to countless others over the years including Abram Baldwin, the former marine I'd just mentioned. But for some reason, none of them seemed like the right ones to share with this broken man.

"Ah... I'm sorry," I said finally. "Are you doing all right?" I winced inwardly at how trite the words sounded. I was usually better than this. Sam apparently agreed because I felt those hard muscles bunching beneath my hand like he was planning to bolt, but then he exhaled slowly and settled.

"My brother, Connor, was killed in action recently. I'm home for the funeral." He exhaled heavily, like he was trying to wrestle together a sense of calm. "Listen, thanks for your help bu--"

"Sam Trammel."

I made his name a statement not a question, and I felt the moment that Sam registered that I'd used his name even though he hadn't officially shared it yet. His name was obviously on his dog tags, but considering the state that he'd been in when he'd shown them to me, it was possible he thought I was a mind reader or maybe a good Samaritan stalker.

Sam coiled up like a spring beneath my palm, and I moved my hand to rest it on my own thigh to give him that small space as his head snapped up, and I found myself looking into eyes that were the same rich, dark blue bordering on navy that his brother's had been.

Although I'd been raised Catholic, I'd lost contact with God for years after my parents had rejected me for coming out. It'd taken me over a decade to get myself back on the path to peace and walking in His way, and even now I was always humbled when He showed His sovereignty and grace through all of the beauty that He created in the world; flowers, fauna, and apparently, Samuel Trammel.

I smiled and leaned back casually, hooking my arms over the back of the wooden bench, trying to be discreet about my onceover. Those navy-blue eyes were wary, but met mine with steady determination as if Sam was trying to figure me out. His nose was a strong line that sat slightly crooked between the sharp cut of his cheekbones. The curve of his jaw was set hard and tight with tension, but his lips were surprisingly full and looked soft. I didn't allow my gaze to linger on that particular spot because I didn't need to encourage that little voice in my head.

Sam's expression changed from suspicious to surprised when I held out my hand, squeezing for a warm, firm shake when his large, calloused one slid into mind.

"Sorry about that," I said. "Didn't mean to catch you off guard. I'm Ben Santiago, a friend of Sofia's."

"Doesn't explain how you know who I am."

"You showed me your dog tags," I said with a slight smile before I added, "And Sofia's also talked about you before, and shown me some family photos. She told me that her brother-in-law was in the Army, and that he was coming in from Afghanistan for Connor's funeral. She and I are close, so we talk often."

Sam cocked an eyebrow, and I got the sudden impression that I was the one under a microscope as if he'd gotten the wrong idea from my response.

"I see."

I felt my lips quirk into a smile. "We're just friends."

"I didn't ask."

"But you were thinking it," I said, ignoring the defensive note in his tone. "And I understand. I'm a stranger to you. They're yours, and you're the type of man who protects his own."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you a shrink?"

I grinned because I couldn't help it. He'd gone from protective, and ready to do battle for his family, to putting up a shield to protect himself in less than 30 seconds. Quick reflexes.

"No, but you're long-time military so it stands to reason that you probably looked out for the men in your unit like brothers. Those protective instincts would naturally carry over to your own family."

"For someone who says he's not a shrink, you talk like one."

"My best friend's a child therapist. I work at the local halfway house for teenagers, and I read a lot so I guess that's a killer triumvirate. We do offer counseling services at Maplewood, but I don't have a medical degree so all I offer are my ears. We're just a safe place for kids who need someone to listen. Everyone has to vent sometimes."

I knew that Sam didn't miss the subtle emphasis that I put on that last part when his eyebrow rose and held.

"Are you saying you think that's what I need?"

"I don't know. Do you get many chances to talk about your feelings when you're doing the stoic American Hero routine in bathroom stalls?"

Ignoring the protest that I saw rising in his eyes, I reached into my pocket for my brown leather wallet. "I run a broad-spectrum adult support group on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Both are open sessions. Anyone is allowed to come by and share. Nothing leaves the room."

I found one of the small business cards I'd made for the group that simply had the name of the church, and the address, then offered it to Sam.

"Sort of like open mic night," he said, ignoring the card which made me smile again. Someone was getting feisty. Good. If he was annoyed with me then he wasn't focused on the thoughts that had broken him down earlier.

"Only with better coffee."

I patted Sam's knee; a casual touch that could've seemed inappropriate if I hadn't left the card on his knee with the movement.

Mission Impossible's Tom Cruise couldn't have been stealthier.

Sam's lips twitched as he tried to hide a smile and I grinned. Yep buddy, I have move's you've never seen before.

"I'll think about it," he said quietly.

"Okay. I'll take what I can get. Maybe you can get Sofia to join us, too. Adelyn just joined our youth nights."

Sam's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Prepare to hear plenty about how much she hates me. She's not shy."

"Her dad just died. She's allowed to have angst be her middle name for a while."

Sam raised an eyebrow and I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees.

"So are you, you know. It's probably going to be a difficult transition, conflicted as you are about where your loyalties should lay. Sofia said you knew about the domestic abuse. I'm sorry. He was your brother, but they're yours, too."

Sam stiffened immediately, putting the card on the bench between us. I kept my own relaxed position. I was ready to give chase if he bolted, but I was hoping I'd be able to talk him down instead. I jogged daily, but Sam's legs were ridiculously long, and he could've been the poster child for, 'army strong.'

"What's the point of going to this group in the first place then?" he demanded. "You've already got my number."

"I like to get my information from the source."

I kept my tone gentle in contrast to Sam's defensive one. "Sofia's always said that you're a very private person. I respect that, but between your PTSD, and losing your brother, there are bound to be some intense feelings that can bubble up and choke you if you're not careful."

I paused but didn't break eye contact with Sam. "Are you having any nightmares since leaving the field?"

"That's none of your business."

"I'll take that as a yes," I said, ignoring the defensive hostility.

There'd been a time in my life when almost every move I'd made--especially my poorest decisions--had been led by anger, and defensive action because I'd been so angry at the world. Not because my family had died--they'd been, and still were very much alive. They'd just made it crystal clear that they considered me dead to them since a gay son and brother didn't fit into their familial ideals. Pain was pain though, and until I'd allowed God to heal mine slowly over time, I'd sometimes felt consumed by it, so I could relate to the emotional turmoil Sam was going through.

Turmoil that on some level I was happy to see. Not because I was a sadist, but because Sam's hostility had increased after an initial surge of intense emotion in his eyes which looked suspiciously like pain, and guilt, before it'd morphed into anger when I'd mentioned the domestic abuse. Shortly after Sam had come home, Sofia had told me that he knew, but she hadn't volunteered details regarding if Sam had just figured it out, or if he'd always known. I wasn't going to push, but I suspected that it'd been recent news to Sam because very few people could fake visceral reactions like the one he'd just displayed.

Back here on the home front, Tara and I had been the only people who knew about the abuse, and only by chance. Tara and I'd been picking up our weekly order of donuts for the kids at Maplewood, and had decided to grab a box for Sofia and the girls as well. We both knew that Connor had just gone back to Afghanistan after a short leave at home, and thought that Adelyn and Emma might appreciate donuts too, since Emma's love of strawberry frosted donuts drowned in sprinkles wasn't a secret. Unfortunately for her, Sofia hadn't been expecting a surprise visit, and her makeup hadn't been applied well enough to completely hide the fading bruise around her left eye.

Tara had loudly expressed her immediate desire to get on a plan to Afghanistan to castrate Connor with anything, 'sharp and rusty.' Both of us had wanted Sofia to go to the police, but we'd respected her wishes to keep the secret because she'd sworn that Connor had never touched the girls any of the times that he'd, 'lost his temper.' With her parents and Connor's dead, and Sam in the military, she was all that the girls had, and she was afraid that if CPS got involved, the girls might be taken from her until things were sorted, and that they'd end up in foster care. She'd begged us to keep her secret, saying that Connor came home so infrequently that it wasn't worth the risk of involving the police. Neither Tara nor I had pointed out to Sofia that if something were to happen to her because Connor went too far one day, the girls could end up in foster care anyway. We'd discussed it together after the fact though, and after that, we'd both made sure to keep an extra, discreet eye on Sofia and her girls whenever we knew that Connor was back; texting, calling, and even occasionally just stopping by unannounced to say hello. Not to threaten or make anyone feel uncomfortable, but to make it very clear that Sofia wasn't alone. She had a tribe.

Tara had met Connor twice, but I'd only ever met him once in person when I'd run into him with Sofia, and his daughters at the local supermarket. We'd made polite conversation after Sofia had made introductions, but I'd always just missed him when I'd shown up unannounced at their house after that. I considered that proof that God was playing interference to keep the peace, because that day in the supermarket, Connor had been charmingly polite like military regulations mandated even when enlisted soldiers were on leave. But there'd been something in his eyes, and a subtle possessiveness in his bearing when he'd stood with his arm wrapped around Sofia's slim waist to keep her close, that I hadn't liked. It could've been bias since I knew the monster that he could be behind closed doors, but even though Sam looked exactly like Connor, I didn't get any of that same simmering, slightly capricious energy rolling off of him. They looked the same, but that didn't mean that they were identical in every way.

"Try the group, Sam," I said, trying again. "All our people have been through something that still haunts them, including me, and sometimes I have to share too. I practice what I preach so if you come by one day, maybe you'll see what I mean. Anyway, you might find a place there since I can see in your eyes that you're unsure about whether you have a home here anymore."

"Wow... You can't help yourself with the shrinky talk, can you?"

An uncomfortable silence slid between us. The sun had finally broken free of the haze that had blanketed the sky this morning, and I could feel its warmth along the back of my neck. I didn't turn toward it, worried that if I looked away from Sam he would see it as rejection and a justified reason to leave.

I sighed. Working with teenagers daily meant that I'd pretty much mastered having one-sided conversations, and not shriveling up beneath death stares and hostility, but Sam was making me earn a new degree in pulling teeth.

"You're right, that was intense," I said, offering a crooked smile when Sam finally looked at me again. "I'm sorry, Sam. I just like your family, and want to help you all get through this as best I can."

"Yeah, I get it. You're a bleeding heart who needs to help, but I'm doing fine. Just had one rough day."

Sam exhaled suddenly when I shifted my position fluidly, and leaned into his personal space, bracing my weight on both hands on the bench before I really had a chance to think about what I was doing. It was instinct, wanting to catch him off guard to startle him off the hill of stubborn pride that he was trying to die on. We weren't touching but I was close enough that I could've kissed him if I'd wanted to. Which, I was suddenly very much tempted to do, more for shock value than desire though that was there too. Being this close to Sam with my eyes open, I could see the way that the pulse in his throat jumped, and how his lips parted as if he was unconsciously tasting the cinnamon candy scent on my breath. I had a sweet tooth in general, but Red Hots were one of my favorite candies. Apparently, Sam didn't mind.

I smiled slightly. In my past life, Sam would've found himself with me straddling his lap, distracting him away from his pain in a very different way. An extremely physical way that he would've enjoyed every minute of--until it was over. And then the emptiness would seep back in the moment I left, and so would the possibility of a friend that listened with his ears and heart, not just his libido. Sam was a Ranger but right now, he was the one who needed a hero.

"Want me to call you on that bull?" I murmured. "I warn you though, I've had plenty of practice with teenagers who perfect the art."

Sam's eyes had dilated, and even after hanging my Team High-End Hooker hoodie up years ago, I could recognize that the expression wasn't panic. Surprise, yes. Confusion, yes. The knee jerk reaction of his lips parting...nope. Not panic. But at least I had his attention now.

"What... what the fuck?"

I grinned. "If we were at Maplewood, I'd have to fine you a quarter for that. Normal curse words are a dime, but the F Bomb gets special monetary consideration."

Before Sam could respond, I shifted away and slid to my feet, leaving the card beside him on the bench.

"Come to the center one day. With Sofia or by yourself. There's no shame in needing help."