That Which Binds Us Read online

  God, the sex.

  I always thought Garrett was good in bed. To an extent, he was. But Ben… Ben was a whole new world of easy, phenomenal, mind-blowing-yet-undemanding sex. It wasn’t just fucking. It was a whole other ballgame, the thought of which caused me to smile to myself just as Ben looked up from his basket.

  “Why are you grinning like a psychotic person?” he muses, chuckling. God, his laugh. It’s contagious.

  “I’m just happy,” I reply, shrugging.

  He shakes his head. “You’re crazy, Nina.”

  I know what he means. It’s the dark, reality-driven realization that this will all be gone someday soon. This island. Ben. Us. Poof, gone. It could all disappear at any given moment. A boat could pass by. The police could find us. Ben’s boss could find us. It’s the starless night to our bright day—the inky blackness that seeps in whenever I let myself think about our future.

  What future? Did we ever even have a future? Maybe the reason this is all so good is because I know it’ll be gone soon. They say the chase is the best part. Perhaps that’s what this is. Maybe my feelings are magnified by our situation. Would I feel the same way about Ben if we’d met for the first time at a nightclub in Puerto Rico? I’m not so sure.

  “Ready?” he asks, walking over to me and breaking me out of my dizzying spell.

  “Yep,” I chirp, taking his hand as we walk up the stairs together.

  The day passes in a blur of gleeful memories.

  Ben picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder.

  Ben dropping me into the clear water, laughing maniacally as he tickled me.

  Ben feeding me a piece of bread, and then losing control over his arousal.

  Ben having sex with me on the sand… raw, primal, incredible sex.

  Ben and I having sex again, this time against one of the trees on the walk back through the forest.

  Ben doubled over with laughter when he realizes said tree was full of giant ants.

  Ben watching me have a major freak out.

  Ben proceeding to swat them all off me, even going so far as to inspect every inch of my body for bites.

  Ben holding my hand and squeezing it once. Twice. Three times.

  Ben grabbing me and pulling me onto his lap as we watch the sunset on the steps of the lighthouse.

  I’m trying not to compare the Benny of my childhood to the Benjamin Adler of my present, but a small part of me can’t help but observe him all day. For once, I’m given an unabashed glimpse into the man he became, and surprisingly, he’s not that different. As a kid, he was always intense; bearing the weight of abuse, neglect, and terror. As an adult, he’s very much the same, but instead he bears the weight of his guilt: the guilt of what he did to me and the guilt of abandoning his team. The CIA hardened him in a way that no other job could, and I see that with every scan of the horizon during our outing.

  I see it with every furrowed crease in his forehead.

  I see it in the way he looks at me—like I’m going to disappear for good at any second. Perhaps he’s not used to women sticking around. Perhaps he’s not used to anyone sticking around.

  He’s the very definition of complicated, and I spend all day trying to reconcile the man who strangled me with the gentle person stroking my hair. I haven’t come to any sort of conclusion by the day’s end, except that Ben has two sides to him.

  The side he shows me… the same one I grew up with: deep, quiet, funny, kind.

  And the side he forces himself to be for his job: unfeeling, resolute, stiff, cruel.

  Except I know him—at least I think I do—and I know the uncaring side of him is a front. A protective wall against emotion. Every awful thing he did before today was for his job. It wasn’t him. It will never be him, because even he knows his destiny was never to follow in his father’s unyielding footsteps. No, Benny Adler is a sweet, gentle man, and he needs to figure out which side of him is going to win out.

  Once the sun disappears, he turns to me and kisses me softly. “Is it okay if we share the bed tonight? If I have to sleep on that damn stone floor one more time, I think I might develop arthritis,” he jokes, grazing the tip of my nose with his finger.

  I swat his arm. “Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve switched off with you or something.”

  He blows out a breath of air. “Right. Like I was going to make you sleep up there again.”

  I smile. “It wasn’t so bad. But yes, you can sleep with me tonight.”

  And so he does. We get ready for bed together, switching off using the single toothbrush and washing our faces. I wash my feet in the bathtub since I’m religious about clean feet. Ben does the same to appease me. It feels so domestic. And when we crawl into bed together, Ben reaches up and flicks off the light, not even attempting to make a move on me. I suppose I’ve worn him out. I swallow the lump in my throat at how right this all feels.

  Ben and I sleeping together. Just sleeping. Just like old times. This time, it’s so much more.

  He reaches out for my hand, gripping it tightly. Instead of facing the wall, he turns to face me. I pull the covers over us. Déjà vu.

  I don’t think I’ll ever be too old to sleep with my best friend.

  “Ben?” I ask, after a few seconds. He doesn’t answer.

  I can’t see his eyes in the darkness, but I know he’s watching me. Instead of replying, I feel him reach out and take my hand.

  Ben takes my hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it gently.

  He intertwines his fingers with mine, squeezing tightly. He sighs heavily, contentedly. I hear him fall asleep a few minutes later.

  He intertwines his fingers with mine, squeezing again. He sighs heavily, contentedly. I hear him fall asleep a few minutes later.

  T W E N T Y - F I V E

  Nina—Present

  Isla Culebrita, Puerto Rico

  THE NEXT TWO and a half weeks are a hazy, summery, sex-filled blur. Ben and I barely surface for air, yet we manage to do a lot on the island when we’re not tangled between the sheets. For starters, I decide to try running with him one morning. I last about three minutes before giving up. It’s not that I’m out of shape; I just need a sturdy sports bra, something I don’t have here. Running is very uncomfortable without proper support. I decide to stick with swimming while he gallivants around the forest, plucking fresh fruit from the trees and having his sweaty, animalistic way with me.

  Ben also teaches me how to fish. When I catch my first dorado fish the size of my forearm, I shriek as Ben hauls it onto the sand. Then I make him throw it back. The sight of its gills struggling for air is all too familiar, and Ben stays mute for a couple of hours after that. I think he understood my reasoning; something he was not happy to be remembering. Still, he manages to catch a decent-sized tuna fish when I’m out picking some cassava root—another thing Ben told me about a few days ago. I’ve gone nuts for the stuff. The starchy, sweet flavor is a nice addition to our packaged food supply. It tastes almost like a sweet potato, but so much better because it’s the only fresh vegetable that we have.

  I’ve starting drinking coffee at Ben’s insistence. Of all the things he wants me to try, I was the most hesitant about the coffee. I’ve never liked the taste, and instead I thought I preferred green tea or water in the mornings. He made me my first official cup a week and a half ago, complete with a hint of sugar and evaporated milk. We spend the first part of our morning on the shaded steps of the fortress. I must say… the bitter, milky flavor is growing on me. The ritual of drinking coffee on the steps with him every morning is growing on me. Everything about this place is growing on me.

  Day in and day out, my old life becomes blurry, and I’m tempted to proposition Ben on every occasion. “Let’s run to Mexico,” I think, daydreaming about buying a small, tropical shack on the coast of the Riviera Maya. The words are on the tip of my tongue more than once. I’d been to Tulum before. We could move there and start anew. No one would have to know.

  Excep
t I’d always be missing—on the backs of milk cartons and flyers hanging all over the Caribbean. I’d always be on the radar. When Ben falls asleep next to me every night, I lay awake with worry gnawing at my insides. When will they come? When will they find us? They being the CIA, supposedly. Or worse, the cartel. This is all too good to be true—the fairytale has to end sometime. Even if we did get out of Puerto Rico, I’d constantly be worried about him, about us, about someone outing me. I’d be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.

  His boss must know by now that his disappearance isn’t coincidental. Had they found his father’s body? Was there a warrant out for his arrest? I think of the coast guards from a couple of weeks ago. Would they tell anyone that he was here? It never occurred to me that they might put two and two together.

  On our twenty-eighth night on the island, I finally get the courage to ask him about everything. I turn to him casually, trying to form the right words. We’re in the middle of a beachfront picnic. The moon is bright, illuminating the white sand and creating a perfect atmosphere for a romantic dinner. I feel like I’m going to burst with unanswered questions. Our unknown future is driving me to the brink of madness.

  “If you could live anywhere, where would you live?” I ask, biting into my bread roll. My mouth waters. I’ll never get sick of bread. I’m a carbaholic.

  Ben leans back, chewing on his bread with his mouth and chewing on my question in his mind. “Copenhagen,” he answers simply. “The Danish know how to live,” he adds, giving me a large smile.

  “Why Copenhagen?”

  He takes another bite and looks at me. His hair has grown longer, shaggier. He’s kept his beard trimmed, but he still looks wild. And no matter how much time we spend in the sun, or how often we nurse our sunburns, we’re both still as white as ghosts.

  “Well, for one, it’s a beautiful city. People bike everywhere. They have free healthcare, free education. The winter months can be hell, so they spend all day outside in the spring and summer. There are fresh, local markets happening every day. The best restaurant in the world is located there. In fact, every single meal I’ve had in Copenhagen has been exquisite. It’s expensive, but no more than Tokyo or London.” He cocks his head. “I’ll take you there someday.”

  I frown. “You mean, if we ever get off this island and leave Puerto Rico unscathed?”

  He’s nonplussed by my words. Shrugging, he bumps his shoulder with mine. “You never know.”

  I stab the fish on my plate with my fork. “But what if we could go? What if we got in your boat, sailed to San Juan, and disappeared?”

  He laughs, and I hate him for laughing at my suggestion. It makes me feel foolish. And I hate feeling foolish.

  “That’s a nice notion, Nina.”

  I drop my fork onto the plastic plate loudly. “Well, it’s not like we have any other options, Ben,” I say through gritted teeth.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Whoa, okay. I see your point.” He studies me seriously. “I’ve been thinking…” he trails off. “What if we live here for a while? I can go onto Isla Culebra, and gather supplies every now and again. This land is technically mine, so no problems there. It’s off the grid, so we know there’s a very small chance someone will find you.” He watches me as my face falls.

  “You want to hide me here forever?” I bark, feeling my face flush with anger. “I’m going to need to get my birth control shot in a few days, otherwise we’re going to have a small village of red-headed children running around soon. I can’t stay here forever. What if I get sick? You’re allowed to leave and go to Isla Culebra, but what about me? What if I want a real life for us, one that doesn’t involve us hiding away for the rest of our lives?”

  My admissions shock him. They shock me too. Everything I’ve been feeling for the past month comes pouring out of my mouth; my tongue like a scorpion, digging its stinger into the quixotic picture we’ve painted here.

  “This isn’t real life,” I continue, feeling my eyes well with tears. “I want a real life with you. I’m sick of hiding.”

  I’ve broken him. His face is etched in pain, a grimace apparent on his lips. “I understand,” is all he says, setting down his unfinished food. He looks resolved about something, and that terrifies me. “But I don’t think I can give you that, Nina.”

  His words curl around my heart, bending and twisting it. I clutch my chest because it physically hurts. I deflate. Every ounce of happiness from the past month disappears. This is our gruesome reality. We really were living in a romantic, starry-eyed fantasy.

  But what if we could have that somewhere else? Somewhere real?

  “You say that now,” I whisper, looking at him with tear-soaked eyes. “But what if we could pull it off?”

  His eyes don’t leave mine for several seconds, but when they do, they carry his doubt and plant it like a black seed into the depths of my heart. “Even if we could get back into San Juan unnoticed—which, by the way, is pretty improbable seeing as we’re both on the missing person’s list—how are we going to leave the country without our official passports? Last I checked, you need those to travel.”

  He’s right. The reality of his words hurt more than his doubt. “What if you called your boss? What if he could issue new passports, with new names? They did it once for you. Why couldn’t they do it again, for us? If you told them about my dad? Surely, they remember him.”

  He sighs. “I wish it were that simple. Henry pulled a lot of strings that night, and the only reason it worked is because of my situation. It was sensitive—he was helping me to get out of a bad situation. This… what we’re doing… it’s selfish. We’re too selfish to see that our actions are causing others grief. Someone on my team might be dead because I deserted my post. The cartel is running amuck. Sandler probably has men on my tail. That costs money. It takes time—all because of us. And what about your friends? Do you think they’re living a happy life right now? No. They’re probably scared. Rachel is probably scared. Garrett, your friends in Colorado, everyone… what we’re doing isn’t fair.”

  I swallow thickly. “Well, what if we went back and admitted everything? What if I lied and said I chose to go with you? We don’t have to mention your father,” I add hopefully. “You said yourself, no one will trace that back to you,” I say quietly, as if people are listening. As if we’re not completely alone. “Only Sandler, and even then, you said he wouldn’t care.”

  He looks at me with the tiniest ounce of hope. I grab onto that hope and continue. “Let’s go back. We’ll admit everything—we’ll admit that we ran away together. We’ll say we came to this island to be together. I’ll say I saw you that night and became overwhelmed with emotion; with nostalgia. Your boss might be pissed, but at least my friends would understand.”

  He’s considering it. I can see it in the way his eyes watch mine, unsure yet optimistic. “My boss might kill me. And it wouldn’t be an execution with trail, by the way. It would be quick and easy—a bullet to the head while I’m on my balcony. Or an explosion made to look like an accident.”

  I digest his words. The thought of Ben dying… it’s too much. “Would he really do that?” I whisper, reaching out and stroking his hand. I’ve come to really like this hand, and the other one. I’ve come to like a lot of things about Ben.

  Ben shrugs, squeezing my hand once. “I’m not sure. He’s ruthless—a spy through and through. I’ve seen him take out several of our guys under the table. And sure, helping the enemy is much worse than what I did, but you never know with him. He’s always been my mentor, but he made it very clear that he’s willing to do whatever it takes for the betterment of the agency. And it’s not just him. The cartel have me on their most wanted list. I’ve killed a lot of their guys. They’re everywhere here. I don’t exactly blend in, if you know what I mean.”

  I look at the large grains of sand in front of us, thinking. I dig my toes in and out as the cold, tiny stones stick to my feet. “What if we go to Isla Culebra, call your boss,
and go from there? If he gives you any indication that he’s pissed—that he might want you dead—we’ll leave. We have to own up to him eventually.”

  “Where would we go? He’ll have his guys on Isla Culebra in twenty minutes.”

  I shrug. “I guess we better start thinking.”

  Ben considers my words. “You’d really lie for me?”

  I give him a small smile. “For us.”

  He sighs again, running his hands through his hair. He’s reverted back to the Ben who took me—the Ben with lines on his forehead and narrowed eyes. The stressed out Ben.

  “We need something completely bullet-proof, Nina—a solid Plan B. We might not need it, especially if I’m completely honest with Sandler. Let’s take a couple of days to brainstorm.”

  I nod, excited. “Okay.”

  He takes my hand and brings it up to his lips; something he’s keen on doing. “If I don’t get a chance to say it…” He stops, dropping my hand. “Thank you for everything.”

  My heart soars and falls. I could’ve sworn he was going to say something else. Something reminiscent of what I said weeks ago: I loved you so much. After you died, I worried I hadn’t told you enough; how much you meant to me.

  Did I expect him to say he loved me? He told me once, but he used the past tense. Loved. It hurts a bit that he can’t even admit that. I’m leaving my entire life for him… doesn’t he realize how much I love him?

  I have nothing to offer you anymore.

  His words from a few weeks ago ricochet in my mind. Certainly, he doesn’t still think that, right?

  “You’re welcome,” I mumble, picking my plate of food up.

  My mind spins with ideas and questions.