FH: Just Found Heaven Ch. 04: Ben

***

"We should've brought you a rain poncho."

I grinned at Sam's obvious confusion when he looked from me, up to the sky which even as dark as it was at almost 9 o'clock at night was perfectly clear and cloudless without anything more than typical Florida humidity adding condensation to the soda can in his left hand. His already cocked eyebrow lifted even higher and held when I used my half-eaten, mustard and kraut slathered hot dog to gesture at the clear plastic bag in his right hand that was filled with fluffy clouds of pink cotton candy--a treat obviously meant for Emma. I wasn't Sherlock Holmes but I knew from earlier conversation that Adelyn was on a self-imposed, no carb, no sugar diet, and that Sofia had already opted for a simple vanilla cone without sprinkles as her desert choice for the evening. I also knew that Sam couldn't stand anything as artificially sweetened as the spun sugar disaster because his sweet tooth was nonexistent. After six months of dating, I still hadn't been able to convince Sam that adding some steamed milk, and at least one heaping teaspoonful of sugar to his daily morning cup of the Cuban style espresso I'd taught him to appreciate, would smooth and perfectly mellow the sharp edges of the dark roast coffee. But turnabout was fair play, and the teasing exasperation went both ways. Sam usually endorsed a healthy lifestyle so he cringed every time I added as many spoonfuls of my custom combination of white, and dark brown sugars with a touch of cinnamon to my coffee before he took the bowl away and declared me cut off.

I liked my coffee light and sweet, but cotton candy was too saccharine for even my tastes so the only logical recipient of the airy, spun sugar confection was Sam's youngest niece who like most children, considered sugar their drug of choice.

"From personal and unfortunate up-close experiences with eight nieces and nephews who've all gone through sugar overload at some point in their lives, I can tell you that if Emma eats even half that bag on top of the corndog, two cans of Cherry Coke, popcorn, and strawberry cone that was more sprinkles than ice cream that she's already had in the past 2 hours, you're going to be wearing her buffet when you hoist her onto your shoulders to watch the fireworks."

My grin deepened when Sam made a face before tossing the entire unopened bag into the blue metal garbage can a few feet away from the cotton candy stand. It was almost five dollars down the drain but we would've spent more in time and detergent washing six-year-old vomit out of Sam's gray T-shirt, and his favorite frayed blue jeans so I was sure he was as alright as I was with the small financial sacrifice.

"Sometimes I forget that kids are miniature garbage disposals that occasionally explode. Good call."

I chuckled when Sam made a face again, though it quickly morphed from the slightest lip twitch into a full out smile. His body language was completely relaxed when I reached for his now available right hand, and he curled his fingers securely around mine, his thumb briefly stroking lightly over the top of it. I'd recently discovered that Sam enjoyed holding hands, and he always did that same unconscious thumb swipe. It was such a small physical touch, yet always had a huge impact on my emotions.

"The fireworks should be starting soon," Sam said, glancing up at the sky before we started heading toward the high grassy knoll in the back of the park where Sofia and Sam's nieces had set up folding beach chairs to reserve spots for us to watch the Fourth of July fireworks display that the town's Parks and Recreation Center put on every year. Sam had mentioned to me a few weeks ago that he hadn't attended the fair since Adelyn was about Emma's age, so I'd decided that a little over a decade had been a long enough estrangement period and suggested that we all go together.

We'd arrived at the park early to enjoy the street fair food, and the handful of rides geared towards children. I'd been convinced that Emma was going to lose both corndog and ice cream on a spinning ride she'd gone on with Sam. However, her stomach had prevailed and kept everything in; a small miracle. But although I wholeheartedly believed in miracles, I didn't believe in pushing my luck so it was one of my new boyfriend duties to warn Sam of the hazards of being a doting uncle.

Sam glanced at me when I chuckled. "What?"

"Just thinking that the fact you aren't wearing regurgitated ice cream is proof that God is good."

Sam grinned at me. When we'd met, he'd had a complicated relationship with faith that had made finding common ground on the subject interesting, but over the past year he'd made his own private peace with God. I never really asked him how. We didn't keep secrets from one another, but I'd had to make my journey back home to Him on my own terms after Charlie died. I remembered how private some of those moments had felt, so I respected that unasked for boundary. I was just happy that Sam had found a way home for himself.

"Yeah, he is but I don't know if He'll protect me from Emma's wrath if she doesn't get the candy and sit on my shoulders."

"If she'd done both and gotten sick, you'd be walking home, and hosing off in the garage before you stepped foot in our house, let alone our bed."

Sam grinned. "I thought you loved every part of me. The occasional stink's out of the question?"

"Considering how often I jump you when you get home from one of your masochistic 15 mile runs all drenched in sweat and extremely fragrant, you know that I find your natural eau de all-man sexy. But having had many unfortunate experiences with children getting carsick in the summer after drinking strawberry Nesquik, I can tell you that child vomit is a completely different level of funk."

Sam's chuckle washed over me, warm and relaxed. "I'll take your word for it then. And as a reward for having my back..." He trailed off for a moment, glancing around briefly before he leaned in close to me and lowered his voice to a murmur that only I could hear, "you can have my mouth anywhere you want it tonight."

I could feel my lips curving into an answering grin as I took advantage of how close Sam's lips were to my ear so that when I shifted slightly, I was able to brush my lips over his mouth in a brief kiss that was chaste enough to be family-friendly before I pulled back to look him in the eyes.

"I'll always have your back Sam. The optional lip placement is just an added bonus."

Sam's grin spread out even more deeply, crinkling the corners of those deep blue eyes that were so expressive when he put his guard down. His lips parted like he was about to say something but whatever it was remained on his tongue when the speakers set up throughout the park crackled to life, and everyone was asked to stand for the national anthem.

Sam immediately laid his hand over his heart, his posture perfectly straight. Even if I hadn't known that he'd been an Army Ranger for years before he'd been honorably discharged, it was obvious that he had a military background by the way that he stood proudly with the strong line of his jaw set comfortably, his bearing steady.

As soon as the song ended, we started walking quickly because the moderator had said that the fireworks were beginning in the next two min. We were almost to the bottom of the knoll where we'd agreed to meet Sofia and the girls when the opening bars of the iconic Peanuts theme song began to silence the soft murmuring of happy families around us.

Sam's brow worked at me in obvious curiosity.

"The fireworks show ended with the Peanuts theme last year. They set off basic fireworks in the beginning, then added in some clever ones shaped like hearts, Snoopy and Woodstock. The kids loved it. I guess the sequence was popular enough that they decided to open the show with that this year. You'll like it. They're--"

My assurances that Sam would enjoy the display were cut off by the first boom of fireworks going off. The sudden sound drew my attention up to the brilliant streaks of color left behind when they exploded overhead, and lit up the sky in sporadic patches. The first few were just standard fireworks but the second wave that quickly followed in accompaniment to the music were shaped like smiling faces and hearts, before one of Woodstock appeared.

Children around us were cheering happily, probably more excited by the colorful ingenuity than any familiarity with the vintage cartoon. But every adult's face I glanced at around me was relaxed and happily animated. And then I looked over at Sam.

My boyfriend was staring up at the exploding sky like everyone else around us was, but although I couldn't see the expression in his eyes, it was impossible to miss the hard line of tension coiling along the edges of his jaw, setting it tight. The tilted back angle of his head exposed his throat, and I could see his pulse jump when the next series of blasts went off and prompted his hands to curl into fists at his sides.

Not good.

The first time I'd met Sam he'd been in the middle of a panic attack and although they'd occurred less frequently over the past few months as he continued working with his therapist and support group, they still occasionally snuck up on him. The last one had occurred about three months ago, and we'd handled it but that had been in private. When anxiety overwhelmed Sam, it always threw him off, and having it happen in public where he'd feel on display would make it worse.

Sam startled the moment I touched him. When he stumbled back, he accidentally knocked over the small cooler on the blanket of a couple close to us. Ice scattered across both their blanket and the grass but their surprised, irritated voices barely registered as more than background noise that I addressed with a quick apology before I went after Sam when he took off.

He was trying to weave through the maze of blankets and chairs strewn around every available inch of the park where the street vendors and Parks and Recreations vehicles weren't situated. His pace was faster than it might've been for most people in the midst of a panic attack simply because his legs were so long, but I'd been running with him a few times a week for months so I could keep up.

I had no idea what was going on in Sam's head other than the obvious panic. When Sam had anxiety attacks and nightmares, some of the same old themes resurfaced, like the loss of almost his entire team in a combat zone years ago, but the spectrum of Sam's painful past was wide so I had no idea what else he dreamt about.

Sam stumbled again when I finally caught up with him, and got a hold of his wrist. He had both height and substantial muscle on me but I used the element of surprise, and his own unbalanced equilibrium to pull him toward me so I could get one arm around Sam's waist while I reached up with the other. I laid my hand against his tense jaw to get him to look at me. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused though he didn't pull away from my touch.

I exhaled slowly. We were beginning to attract attention--I could see movement in my peripheral vision--but, I kept my gaze on Sam. The shame and anxiety were rolling off of him in waves. He'd been looking forward to this night for weeks because of the positive memories he'd had of the last time he'd been here with his family; a normal happy night which had been a rarity in his past life, so Sam had cherished that memory. He'd wanted to recreate those feelings, looking at tonight like a fresh start to a new happy normal, but I knew he was going to consider this a failure instead of just unfortunate human setback. I wanted to comfort him with a hug but I knew that Sam wouldn't be able to settle down enough for that with such a large audience, so for now I was just focusing on getting his attention on me.

"It's okay Sam. You're alright. It's going to be fine baby," I said as I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together. "Just look at me. Hold my hand, breathe and we'll take a walk to the car."

"Sofia and the girls--"

"Will be fine," I interjected gently. "We'll call them from the car. We're just going to sit for a little bit, take a breath, and then we'll meet back up with them, okay? Just hold onto my hand. It's going to be okay."

"I should've known this would happen," he mumbled. "The crowd...noises... sounds like gunshots..."

"I know, but they're not. You're not in Afghanistan. You're right here, home in Florida with me. You're safe. You just need a minute so we're going to walk out to the car and regroup ok?"

Sam visibly flinched as the sky continued to light up with colorful booms. He didn't respond verbally but he didn't fight me either as I steered us as best as I could in the direction of the parking lot. His steps were heavy, and slower than his usually agile, athletic gait but he'd managed to compose his expression outwardly, staring straight ahead with stoic, almost dogged determination though I felt my knuckles popping from the pressure his silent anxiety was exerting on our linked hands.

When we finally reached the crowded parking lot, it took another few minutes before we located his dark SUV but Sam kept pace beside me until I started to release his hand. His jaw ticked, and obvious anxiety flared in his eyes again but I soothed him by briefly raising our joined hands to my mouth to press a kiss to the top of his.

"Shh, it's ok, baby. I'll be right back, Sam. Just wait here for me a minute."

Sam's forced exhale was a noisy rattle of acknowledgment as he leaned up against the back of the vehicle. He closed his eyes but otherwise didn't budge, displaying such complete, hard-won faith in my guidance that my heart and head intensely disagreed about the appropriateness of the brief moment of happiness I experienced in knowing that Sam finally trusted me not to let him fall, even when he was in such emotional distress.

"I'll be right back Sam," I repeated, before I quickly moved around to the passenger side of the SUV. I'd driven so I had Sam's keys in my pocket which made unlocking the doors with a double tap of the fob easier. I immediately opened both the front driver, and passenger doors, turned on the overhead lights inside, and then pushed back the front passenger seat for more leg room before returning to where Sam was still obediently waiting for me.

Sam's eyes opened when I gently took his hand again. His pupils were so blown out that the blue was almost nonexistent, swallowed up by black.

"Come on," I said, gently tugging him upright and supporting most of his weight until I got him into the car, and settled in the front seat so he could stretch out his long legs in the extended space between his body and the dashboard. It was mostly for his comfort, but it also allowed me easier access to the glovebox. I pressed a reassuring hand against Sam's thigh and squeezed gently with my right hand while my left popped open the glove compartment so I could get to the iPod and headphones that I'd stashed in there a few months ago.

Having an action plan for any emergency situation was always a smart play, and I'd been working with both Sam and his therapist to come up with different strategies to help Sam cope with his panic attacks, and PTSD inspired nightmares without putting myself in danger. Accidentally hurting me that one time had almost broken Sam, broken us, because even though physical bruises healed, the experience was still embedded in Sam's soul and psyche. After spending time talking with both Sam's therapist, and other members of the veteran support group that Sam attended twice a week, I'd finally understood that someone as well trained as Sam was could be lethal when terror reduced him to primordial instincts of self-preservation.

It'd been humbling at first as both a man and his boyfriend to admit that loving Sam as much as I did, still didn't make me skilled enough or strong enough to take him down without one of us getting hurt, but Sam could've killed me that day, and it would've been a tragic accident that he probably wouldn't ever have come back from emotionally, so not putting myself at risk was as much for his protection as for mine. Instead of focusing on what I had no control over, I'd learned different techniques to build a bridge for Sam to use whenever he had to cross over out of his nightmares to find his way back home again into my arms.

I unwound the headphone wires from around the iPod so I could free the earbuds. It was an archaic setup considering that both our cell phones had music apps, and that Sam had bought us both wireless earbuds for when we went running together, But I'd chosen the iPod specifically because it was easy to transport, and I'd preloaded it with only one playlist which consisted of one song on repeat.

Sam didn't pull away when I carefully inserted one bud into each corresponding ear, then turned on the iPod to hit play on the digital screen and start that one song that repeated 20 times, though over the last few weeks, the lyrics usually started cutting through Sam's panic by the 4th time through.

As soon as I heard the music start to stream, I squeezed Sam's hand and let go just long enough to close his car door before making my way around the vehicle to the driver's side. When I was settled in the supple leather seat, and had shut my own door, I reached for Sam's hand again and laced our fingers together.

Sam's eyes were still closed, but he exhaled deeply, and lightly squeezed my fingers to acknowledge my presence. It was enough for now. He was beginning to settle. I could see his breathing evening out, the rise and fall of his chest slowing as he got control over his inhalations and exhalations. That didn't mean that my heart wasn't aching for him just like it did during every anxiety attack, and panic driven night terror, especially on the nights when instead of calling out the names of the friends Sam had lost in combat, he called out mine.

Sam had told me what had happened to his unit when they'd been ambushed in Afghanistan. He wore the memory of that tragic night on his exterior in the form of the tattooed names of his fallen comrades on his back, but he'd never tell me what he'd dreamt the last two times he'd had sweat-soaked nightmares and yelled my name. I didn't press whenever he shut down my questions because whatever demons haunted Sam when he was asleep seemed to fade the moment that he registered the song currently playing on the iPod, and that was enough.

I'd initially started playing it on my cellphone while sitting in a chair a safe distance from our bed until Sam woke up, but the result was always the same; palpable relief registering in his deep blue gaze when he saw me and realized we were home and both safe. That success was the reason that I'd started keeping the iPod in the car.

I lightly rubbed my thumb over the top of Sam's hand. His skin still felt a little clammy, but I didn't let go because words were my preferred love language, but simple touch and action were Sam's. If he felt he didn't know what to say, Sam found ways to tell me how he felt through action. Like with the red roses he sometimes had delivered to my office at the church, or the cups of fresh espresso that he left for me on my nightstand in the morning. Those cups of coffee were always hot no matter how light he made my coffee, because he'd learned to steam the milk for me the way I liked even though he still couldn't comprehend why I insisted on buying espresso, and then "ruining it," by adding more milk than coffee, and copious, delicious amounts of sugar.

I'd never had a problem telling Sam how I felt whether it was in English or Spanish, but I'd learned how to meet Sam halfway and give him what he needed in a way that made sense to him.

I began singing along with the song softly when it went on repeat for the 5th time, the volume up high enough that I could easily here the words even though I'd memorized the entire song months ago. It was ironic that it was a Lady Gaga song, but unlike the poppy tune that Patrick had caught me singing along with all those years ago in Charlie's kitchen, these lyrics invited Sam to come home to me instead of pushing him away.