Page 7 of Benny

“Dev’ll be here in five. Same with Jordan. Cali’s further out on base, but she’s on her way,” Warren said. “Clay and I were running surveillance in case anyone from yesterday decided to show up. I don’t know how the fuck we missed Davenport.”

Benny leaned back in the chair and let their words crash over him. It was too much. Too much input. Too much uncertainty.

Then Warren and Clay each stepped forward and pulled him into tight hugs that weren’t quite as bone-cracking as Tate’s, but just as sincere.

The room went silent, as if they were stuck in some kind of weird holding pattern, with Tate, Warren, and Clay all deferring--waiting for Devin’s arrival, and he wasn’t sure how, or even if, he should break it.

The next knock on the door brought not Devin, but Jordan Gonzalez.

She blew through the doorway like a tornado, and the absolute, stunned joy on her face stole Benny’s breath for a split second. Something about seeing her tugged hard at a place deep inside him. A place tied to memories he couldn’t quite reach.

Then she was right in front of him, those cop eyes sweeping over him, assessing before returning to his face. The joy was still there, but now it was layered with caution. “Benito,” she said softly, her voice on the verge of breaking. “It’s so fucking good to see you.”

“You too, Jordan,” he replied, and for some reason his voice came out careful. Too careful.

Seeing her felt like stepping into an emotional minefield. He couldn’t quite reconcile the woman standing in front of him now with the one whose life he’d saved in the C-17 crash. The crash that had brought them all together.

That had to be it. He was remembering saving her life. She was remembering the same thing. Relief washed through him at the explanation, even though it didn’t sit quite right.

Then Devin and Cali were there, both of them pulling him into a hug before Cali, his partner for more years than he cared to count, stepped back and held him at arm’s length. Her gaze swept over him, clinical and precise, a medic’s assessment, not a friend’s.

Her attention shifted to Beth, and a strange expression of understanding crossed her face.

“Holy shit, Beth,” Cali said quietly. “You were having twin pains.”

Benny had absolutely no idea what that meant and he was getting tired of everything being a mystery. Of every word having a meaning he didn’t understand, even when it was about him. Even with the caffeine and sugar coursing through his system, he was exhausted and on overload.

They moved into the living room, where there was enough seating for everyone and Tate filled them in, recounting how Davenport had showed up out of nowhere and basically dumped Benny on their doorstep.

Devin’s face darkened at the name. “I don’t care how many times that fucker saves the day,” he said flatly. “I still hate him.”

That earned a sharp bark of laughter from Tate. “Yeah, it was a bit of a surprise seeing him so soon after yesterday’s shitshow. While I’m grateful he saved my life, I’d just as soon never see him again.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Benny said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Someone needs to explain. Now.”

Tate didn’t hesitate, and sure as hell didn’t sugarcoat it. “You’ve been gone eight months. Beth identified your body.”

Benny turned sharply toward his twin. “Wait. Really?”

Pain echoed in her eyes. “Yeah. You were hit by a car. Distracted driver. You were pronounced at the scene.”

It made no sense. Not the eight missing months. Not the part where he’d been dead--and somehow wasn’t anymore.

“I don’t understand any of this, least of all, you all being here, together as a ‘team’.” He put the word in air quotes.

“Your death was a catalyst for me,” Devin said quietly. “I started a security and protection group the day of your funeral. A way to give back. Maybe even a way to atone for my fuck-up. Everyone here signed on.”

He was referring to the C-17 crash that had been the driving factor behind their group therapy.

Benny was still lost, but exhaustion was finally winning. He dropped his head against the couch cushion and motioned for them to continue.

“As a business, it’s been fairly standard until recently,” Devin began. “Then we took on Ivy Walker’s case six weeks ago. Davenport showed up shortly after. At first, he was just annoying--popping in and out of LVMPD, breaching systems like it was a game.” He paused. “We recognized him from the LVMPD footage as one of the Delta operators who cleaned up the C-17 crash.”

Benny didn’t remember the Delta guys. He’d been too focused on Jordan, on keeping her vitals stable.

“Then Clay miraculously healed,” Devin continued. “From an injury that should’ve crippled him.”

That snapped Benny’s attention up. “What?”