Chapter Text
His phone was still ringing.
He was going on a few hours now with the device practically burning a hole into his back pocket as it continued its periodic vibrating. There was no pattern to it, he was getting too many texts and calls for it to even have one, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to answer it.
So, Benedict just kept ignoring it. Wasn’t as if he hadn’t been doing just that these past few days. He knew he needed to get a new number. But that was just another thing he had to deal with on the list of burdensome problems already plaguing him.
So instead, he focused on sipping the club soda with lime Henry had given him to keep him away from the bar, forcing himself to swallow the bitter carbonated water as he scanned the room. The event was well attended, no doubt a sign of the growing success his friend’s company was undergoing. Benedict couldn’t help but feel happy for Henry, knowing it was what his friend deserved.
After everything he’d done to help Benedict get back on his feet, the least he could do was be here tonight for him.
And while he had come here to show his support, Benedict was also using it as a distraction. He still found himself using anything he could as an excuse to escape the problems of his personal life.
Possibly sacrificing the remaining familial relationships he had to do so.
“Are you Colin?” a voice asked behind him.
Turning to look, Benedict found two young women, one blonde and one brunette, standing behind him, watching him over the rim of their glasses. Dressed in short, tight, brightly colored cocktail dresses, they were both certainly younger than him, in their early twenties, no older than Daphne or Eloise.
“I’m sorry?” he asked back, he couldn’t hear them at first. The chatter around him and music playing in the background had distracted him.
The ladies spared each other sneaking, knowing glances as they watched him.
“Colin Bridgerton?” the brunette clarified with a giddy smile. “You’re him right? Or are you the second one?”
He frowned. He hated this game.
“Benedict,” he corrected them, flatly, failing to hold back an exasperated sigh and roll of his eyes. Hoping his reaction would turn them off.
But the ladies only giggled.
“I said he was,” the blonde whispered to her friend, loudly enough that Benedict could hear her. “Now pay up.”
“You could only remember his name started with B,” the brunette hissed back as she laughed, before turning her attention back to Benedict. “Are they here as well? Your brothers?”
Benedict bit the inside of his cheek, taking a deep breath through his nose and then a long sip of his drink, wishing it was whiskey or vodka. Something stronger than club soda.
“They’re elsewhere tonight I’m afraid,” he told them through gritted teeth.
His brother’s engagement party. An event Benedict was also coincidentally supposed to be attending tonight. To celebrate his brother Anthony’s impending marriage to the lovely Kate Sharma, but he had decided not to go. Granted, he’d decided against going to many family functions for the past few months.
To the point an ultimatum had been recently issued to him by said brother.
Hence the periodical buzzing of his phone in his pocket this evening.
But the girls in front of him only pouted in disappointment. Disappointed no doubt because he wasn’t his older successful brother Anthony or his younger, well-traveled brother Colin. The two better, more interesting Bridgerton sons.
No, he was just Benedict. The black sheep. The second son. Only recognizable, besides his last name, for the extended period of time he spent gracing the front pages of British tabloids and Sunday morning papers because of habits.
Habits he no longer partook in.
“You wouldn’t have anything on you right now?” the blonde asked curiously. “Something that would take the edge off. Make this event more… fun. ”
Habits he still struggled to not turn back to.
Times like this he almost wished he hadn’t gone to rehab. The itch to use was still ever present, the nasty little voice in his head still whispering at him to just let go and take something. Drink something. Snort something. Smoke something.
“Apologies, but I’m afraid I’ve run out. Have a nice night,” he quickly told them, with as much polite charisma as he could force through his gritted teeth as he stepped around them. He had no interest in lingering any longer.
Moving away from the pair, Benedict tried to locate any familiar face in the crowd around him, an excuse for him to put further distance between himself and the two Bridgerton groupies.
And found himself stuck watching the woman at the bar.
Set up for the night's event, there was a makeshift bar by one of the walls of the room. A young blonde woman, dressed in all black, was pouring drinks for a pair of patrons. Dark, honey curls pulled back into a ponytail swayed back and forth as she moved around behind the small wall.
The sight of her set something off in Benedict.
He found himself being dragged towards her, like a moth to a bright burning flame. The hairs on the back of his neck had lifted, a tingling sensation running down his spine like all of his nerves had suddenly ignited as he moved towards her.
She was gorgeous. The curls were only one aspect of perfection when she had a face of perfect symmetry. A glance upwards at the patrons before her and Benedict saw mossy green eyes, sparkling as if a pair of emeralds had been placed there instead. Smooth, unblemished, tan skin contrasting against the jewel toned eyes and dark colored clothes she was wearing, a simple black button down and dark jeans. The young bartender moved behind the bar with ease, filling wine glasses and making drinks without taking a break. Doing far more work and far quicker then her male colleague was.
And Benedict found he was suddenly standing before her, gently placing his empty glass down on the counter.
“What do you need?” she asked, glancing up at him before stopping dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened momentarily with surprise when she saw him.
“Another club soda,” he told her smoothly.
She only gave him a weary look. Taking his glass, she replaced it with a new one, filling it with ice before pouring in the club soda. As she made his drink, Benedict shoved a twenty pound note into the tip jar on the counter.
“Here you go,” she told him rather icily, handing the drink over. “Anything else?”
“Hey, can you grab me two bottles of Heineken ?” the male bartender asked her, interrupting them briefly.
The blonde bartender nodded, turning around and grabbing a couple bottles from the ice box.
“It must have hurt,” Benedict told her.
“What?” she looked back over her shoulder at him. She hadn’t heard him.
“When you fell from heaven. You are absolutely heavenly to look at,” Benedict said, smiling.
She froze in place again, shocked, mossy eyes snapping up towards him as she continued holding the two beer bottles in her hand, staring at him. She looked at him as if he’d grown another head. A small crease formed between her brows, like a small arrow pointing downwards, as she then frowned at him in disbelief.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, sounding stunned.
“I’ve got this sort of deja vu, like we’ve met before. Maybe in a past life?” he continued, flirtatiously.
She blinked, before shaking off her surprise and handing the bottles over to her colleague. “Are you serious right now?” she asked him, furiously.
Well, that was certainly not the reaction he was expecting.
“All good, Soph?” the male bartender asked, watching Benedict suspiciously.
Soph. Probably short for Sophie. Meaning wisdom. Pretty name for an even prettier young woman.
And somehow also familiar.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Theo,” Sophie replied.
Theo only nodded, before turning back to other waiting patrons and beginning to take their orders.
“I’m sorry,” Benedict told her, still surprised by her reaction. He was usually much better at this. “Have I offended you somehow?”
Had he really lost his touch?
But Sophie looked increasingly annoyed by him. She studied him for a moment, as if looking for something, an honest answer perhaps. But the more she looked at him, the more her frown deepened.
Shaking her head, she turned away from him. “Unbelievable,” she muttered.
Call it privilege, but Benedict was used to charming women with nothing but a simple phrase or sly smirk. Women were normally very interested in him. Flirting was just another language he spoke fluently.
Except for now.
“Have I done something wrong?” he asked.
Sophie looked over her shoulder and only raised a brow at him, looking at him as if he was supposed to know exactly what she was thinking.
“Sorry, this just…this just doesn’t usually happen to me,” he admitted weakly.
She only scoffed as she turned to wipe down the bar top. “I bet.”
Not knowing what else to say, Benedict was left awkwardly standing by the bar, watching as Sophie continued cleaning down the counter. She seemed to be getting increasingly more annoyed with him lingering about, while he only became increasingly more confused as to why she was upset with him.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked, exasperated.
Before he could say anything in response, try to say something, Benedict was shoved from behind, another figure pushing his way into his spot.
Another male, a few inches shorter than Benedict, with slick back dark hair and fox-like eyes, leaned onto the counter of the bar, giving Sophie a leering smile. Benedict quickly recognized him.
Phillip Cavender.
Of all the people to interrupt.
“Hi, Gorgeous ,” Cavander slurred, speaking directly to Sophie’s chest, his eyes remaining pinned there. “Another beer.”
If Sophie was disgusted by Cavender’s behavior, as much as Benedict was, she didn’t show it. Her expression remained flat as she turned around without saying a word, bending over to reach into the ice box to grab another bottle. Her backside on full display, which Cavander appeared to take great pleasure in looking at.
And with her back turned, the other bartender distracted as well, Benedict watched as Cavander noticed the tip jar, eying it for a few seconds before sticking his hand in, grabbing a handful of paper bills.
“Hey! Don’t take those!” Benedict loudly ordered, alerting Sophie and Theo, who both looked over to see Cavender stealing their tips.
With his hand still stuck in the jar, like a child caught mid-mischief by their parents, Cavander only slowly turned and looked at Benedict, blinking at him. As if surprised to see he was standing there. It hadn’t even hit him that he’d been caught. Then he smiled, a cocky and arrogant one Benedict had seen countless times as he pulled his hand out of the jar. Still clutching the handful of notes he’d grab, giving Benedict a look that said ‘try and stop me.’
“Put them back,” Sophie sternly ordered this time, glowering at Cavander.
“Or, you’ll do what, sweetheart?” Cavender sneered. “Do you have any idea how much my father paid to sponsor this event?”
“Knowing your father’s financial history, I’d say nothing,” Benedict snapped, knowing well what kidn of money Cavender came from. And it was not the same money as he came from. “Since when has your father felt any interest in donating to the arts?”
Cavender frowned, before cocking his head at him. Studying him.
Finally, the slimy creep seemed to recognize him.
“Benedict Bridgerton, is that you?” he asked, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “God, how long has it been?”
“Not long enough,” Benedict returned, impassively.
“How was rehab?” Cavender mockingly asked next, counting the bills he’d taken, before folding them. “I heard your family spent quite the pretty penny to get you clean.”
“Well, I am sober now. So I guess the cost was worth it,” Benedict grounded back.
Cavender pouted. “Shame. I had a bet with the lads you wouldn’t last two months. Thought your ass would be six feet under by Christmas.”
Benedict took a deep breath through his nose and swallowed down his rising anger. Cavender was a cad, an arrogant one, and Benedict remembered from their school days that he liked to instigate fights wherever he could. But Philip was smart enough to never throw the first punch, and he’d become quite good at playing the victim because of it.
He would not let a sniveling little worm like Philip Cavender get a rise out of him. Not here. Not now.
“Sorry to disappoint,” he said instead.
Cavender gave him a wicked smirk back. He moved his hand, looking to slide the folded bills into his suit jacket’s pocket when suddenly Sophie reached over the bar and snatched his wrist, pulling him back.
“I said, put them back,” she repeated.
He ripped his arm from her grip. “Keep your dirty little hands off my suit, skank,” he sneered.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Benedict shot at him, stepping towards him. “And you heard her. Put the bills back.”
Cavender only glowered at him, but Sophie saw his distraction as an opportunity.
She was shorter than Benedict, probably around 5’5” or 5’6”, the bar’s height was up to her chest, but that didn’t stop her from trying to jump over it. Leaping forwards with the reflexes of a cat, Sophie violently snatched the bills from Cavender’s hand as she pushed herself back. Once her feet were on the ground again, she grabbed the tip jar off the counter before he even had a chance to go for it again, clutching it protectively against her chest.
“You little bitch, when my father hears–” Cavender started.
“He’s not going to do shit,” Benedict finished. “Since when has your father defended your behavior?”
The other man’s face only twisted further with rage. And Benedict could almost smile, knowing he’d struck a nerve. But then Cavender’s frown twisted back to another cruel smile, a wicked glint flashing in his amber brown eyes as he thought of a response.
“Because your family is any better?” he hissed, mockingly.
Benedict stiffened, straightening out his back as he knew where this was going. His jaw clenched as he glared daggers at Cavender.
“Honestly, I was surprised to hear you were showing your face in public, after the mockery you made out of yourself. Out of your family. Not to mention your mother,” Cavender said flippantly, with a laugh.
Benedict carefully placed his glass back down on the counter as he listened. It didn’t matter what Cavender said next, he’d brought Benedict’s mother into this and there was only one response he had to someone insulting his mother.
“All that support she showed you and for what? For you to overdose,” Cavender then laughed. “My own mother could only wonder how she made it through that. We all know it was probably a miracle she didn’t end up in the looney bin, not that she didn’t almost after–”
Benedict didn’t let him finish.
Lunging at him, he grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him into the bar, hard enough to rattle the glasses sitting on it and knocking over a few that shattered when they hit the ground. A few guests nearby gasped at the sound, turning to watch the violent ruckus that seemed about to break out. Both Sophie and Theo jumped forward from their side pushing it back as Benedict slammed Cavender into it, working to make sure he didn’t push it over. The bar was a pop up one, enough force could easily tilt it over.
But Benedict couldn’t care less. He was too distracted. All he could see right now was red.
“Do not speak of my mother like that,” he growled at Cavender.
Cavender just continued smiling, knowing he’d won. The cocky, shit-eating grin he gave Benedict only pushed him closer to following through on the idea that putting Cavender in the hospital would be in everyone’s best interest.
Then, a red manicured hand gently came to rest on his shoulder.
“Benedict,” it was Lucy. Lucy Granville, Henry’s younger half-sister. “Could you be a dear and please let go of our guest?”
It took him a second to comply. The blood was still rushing through his eyes. The rage having taken control of his body, his fists. His nervous system was no longer listening. His brain had shut down. It took him a moment to calm down enough to release Cavender.
He still gave him one final shove as he let him go, watching as Cavender staggered back. The pair both glowered at one another, before Cavender straightened out his jacket and flashed Lucy another sleazy smile.
“Lucy, isn’t it? How have you been?” Cavender asked nonchalant, leaning against the bar as he looked her up and down. “Don’t you look ravishing tonight.”
But Lucy was unphased, only looking at him with disdain and utter disinterest. “Well, I was fine until my brother informed me you were here,” she informed him curtly.
“Well aren’t you in a mood,” Cavender remarked with a chuckle.
Lucy sighed. “And I was having such a good evening,” she then pointed towards the front. “Get out.”
“What?”
“I said, ‘ Get out ’,” Lucy repeated with the same amount of calm fury, as if he had simply misheard her, still pointing sharply towards the front exit.
The smile dropped back to a sneer. “After everything my father has done for you and your brother.”
“If you had any idea of your father’s involvement then you would know that we are still waiting on the final payment from him,” Lucy explained.
Cavender opened his mouth to retort her, but seemed suddenly unsure of himself. More eyes were on them now, and Lucy was speaking quite loudly.
And it wasn’t as if she wasn’t telling the truth.
“Go, Phil. I’ll make sure to send the bill to your father,” Lucy snidely added, shooing him dismissively with the wave of a hnad. “I’m certain he’ll be ecstatic to hear how you represented him tonight.”
She then cocked her head slightly as she waited for him to respond. The silent standoff didn’t last long. Cavender could see it was a losing battle, best he go now to lick his wounds elsewhere.
“Granville,” he sneered with faux politeness, before walking away.
Lucy’s dark eyes watched him disappear into the crowd, before she turned back towards them.
“All good, Sophie?” she asked.
Sophie nodded back. “We’re good.”
Lucy gave her a kind smile before turning to Benedict, linking her arm with him. “Come. We have to catch up. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
She gently led him away from the bar, further into the venue, and towards a quieter area. She was silent, which only fueled Benedict’s building guilt and embarrassment.
“Lucy, I’m really sorry–” he started.
“Oh please, even I know how much of an ass Cavender is, and I’ve only had to deal with his father,” she told him. “Honestly, I’m more interested in knowing what you were doing with Sophie?”
“Nothing,” he lied quickly.
“Benedict…” Lucy raised a brow at him, unimpressed.
He sighed. “I was just trying to get her number. And failing miserably at it.”
She gave him the same look Sophie gave him, one of confusion and a bit of annoyance. Her dark brows furrowed, her paint red lips pursing as she studied him. It had Benedict once again wondering what it was he had apparently done.
Then she let out a sigh, as if he was the biggest fool in London. “Benedict, you already have it,” she told him sweetly.
“How would I already have her number? I just met her,” Benedict replied.
She only sighed again, shaking her head. “Benedict. That was Sophie. As in Sophie Beckett. I introduced you to her at Henry’s birthday party last year. Remember? I thought you both hit it off and then you just ghosted her. Went back to seeing that fiend, whats-her-name?”
Benedict frowned. How would he? He barely remembered anything that happened last March, let alone most of the last five years, but Henry’s birthday party was two months before his overdose.
A particularly bad period in his life.
He’d actually been clean, sober, for the first time in five years. It had been a struggle, but he’d been able to stay off drugs and alcohol for about two weeks before relapsing. The day before Henry’s party.
The plan had been to make it to April. He’d been trying to find a sponsor and a rehab clinic to go to, somewhere to help him get through the withdrawals. Wanted to make his working sobriety a birthday present for his mother, but after a particularly bad fight with his brother, he’d gone back to living by the rule that if one continued to drink they would not be burdened with the grief that was a hangover.
“Lucy, I don’t remember anything from that night. I was blitzed out of my mind,” Benedict reminded her.
Only the blur of a woman dressed in silver and Henry furiously shoving him in an Uber after he’d almost fallen off his friend’s balcony in his drunken stupor. Going home to sleep it off, Benedict had ended up continuing his bender, turning it into a week-long binge after the unexpected reappearance of Tessa, his on-and-off girlfriend. The rest of the week had been a haze of partying and clubs, but he knew he’d created some spectacularly mortifying tabloid headlines for his family to deal with.
Lucy gave him a sympathetic look, obviously reminded about where he’d been at the time. How he’d acted.
“Oh, you should be grateful I like you,” she finally said with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll talk to Sophie. See if I can get her to forgive you. If that is what you want?”
Benedict sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t. It’s fine.”
He deserved it. Besides, his life was a mess right now. A romantic relationship with the last thing he needed.
“You sure?” Lucy asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. Thanks though.”
Lucy only gave him another sympathetic smile as she took another sip of her drink.
“Oh, and by the way, Henry told me to tell you Franscesca’s here. She’s looking for you. That’s why I came to find you. He’s trying to distract her right now,” she explained.
“Shit,” he breathed out.
Lucy patted him gently on the shoulder. “If you need to make a quick getaway, just say the word and I’ll have my car brought around,” she added. “Henry’s got her by the entrance so I suggest taking the emergency exit. Text me when you’re outside.”
“Thank you,” he told her, giving her a quick peck of gratitude on the cheek before fleeing towards the door with the neon red ‘Exit’ sign hanging above it.
Once outside, Benedict was greeted by the brisk, cold evening air as he stepped into the alleyway. It was decently lit, with most of the light coming from the street, and wasn’t the dirtiest alley he’d ever set foot in. He’d definitely been in dirtier ones.
Slipping a hand into his back pocket, Benedict pulled out the one vice he hadn’t been able to give up. Tobacco. Pulling out his pack of cigarettes and the lighter he always carried, he quickly lit one and took a deep, long drag before exhaling all the smoke from his lungs.
As he inhaled the nicotine laced smoke again, Benedict took a moment to try and collect his thoughts before he got out of here. He could take Lucy up on her offer, but he could also just walk a block down the road and get a cab. Or take the bus. A bus would be cheaper than a cab.
His privacy was suddenly cut short by the door swinging open again behind him.
“It’s fine, Lucy, I can find my own way home,” he quickly said, not looking back.
“Hi, Benedict,” a voice that did not belong to Lucy Granville said softly.
Benedict froze up, recognizing the voice, before letting out a disappointed sigh. Of course, because his luck was just that bad, it was Francesca.
She knew him too well.
“Your lucky Henry likes you. You know this event is eighteen and over, right?” he joked, turning to face her.
“And yet the bouncer had no issue allowing me in,” Francesca retorted, letting the door close behind her.
“Did Anthony send you?”
His sister sighed, sounded exasperated, which was unusual given she was probably the calmest out of the eight of them. It meant she was mad, but was holding back.
“I came here of my own volition, Benedict. I’m pretty sure Anthony hasn’t even realized I slipped out,” Francesca told him.
He sighed. “What are you doing here? You hate parties.”
She didn’t say anything. Opening her mouth to speak before stopping herself. Francesca chewed the bottom of her lip, nervous suddenly. Unsure what to say and not making eye contact.
“You haven’t been coming around lately,” she told him, nervously, ignoring his question. “You’re missing family events again, and you're not responding to anyone's messages. Mum’s worried you-”
“Went off the deep end again?” Benedict finished. “I’m still sober, Fran. You can tell Mum I’m still going to meetings and chatting with my sponsor regularly. And my therapist. You can even have a sip of my soda if you’d like,” he held out the cup towards her, but Francesca only shook her head. “Trust me, you don’t need to worry about that.”
He didn’t want her worrying about it ever again.
“You’re sure you're alright?” she asked, and Benedict sighed.
He couldn’t be annoyed with her. Out of all his siblings, Francesca had been the most aware of his problems, figuring it out long before the rest of his family had. She’d learned his tricks, all the ways he tried to hide his problem, and she’d learned them at an age she shouldn’t have. He couldn’t fault her for worrying. She’d been worrying about him for over five years now.
“You missed a lot. Daphne’s pregnant. Again. I think Colin is finally about to realize he’s in love with Penelope and Eloise is talking to a guy,” Francesca told him, moving the conversation along. She slowly lowered herself to the ground as she came to sit next to him.
Benedict snorted. “Eloise is talking to a guy?”
“I know,” Francesca smiled. “Even I was surprised. I think he's a botanist or something. He likes plants.”
Benedict hummed. “That…does not sound anything like someone Eloise would be interested in.”
“She likes talking to him apparently.”
“Good.”
Eloise needed someone to talk to. Benedict had already failed at being that person for her. He should be happy she’d found someone else.
And yet it only made him feel empty. Another reminder of how much of a failure he was. How far he’d fallen.
“Hyacinth misses you. As does Mum,” she added. “I do too.”
And he missed them. But Benedict couldn’t get his throat to work and get those words out.
“Anthony is threatening to cut you off,” she then continued, voice even softer now. “He told Mum he was going to freeze your account if you didn’t show up tonight.”
And there it was.
“I don’t care, Fran. I really don’t care what he does,” Benedict told her, letting out another sigh. He pressed the back of his head against the wall behind them, resting his wrist on his bent knee. “I’m really tired of him using that to threaten me into good behavior.”
“Can you please just come with me then?” Francesca pleaded gently, resting a hand on his knee. “You can tell him that. Tell him your upset with how he’s been treating you and maybe the two of you can just discuss all of this finally–”
“He’ll just say I’m making a scene and it will just be all downhill from there. And I’m not going to his engagement party just to start an argument with him. That’s not fair to Kate.”
Or to Anthony, but he was too angry with his brother right now to say that part out loud.
Francesca frowned. “You need to talk to him. You think this standoff you two are having has been fun for the rest of us to deal with? It’s like having a ticking time bomb in the house whenever you two are around each other.”
“Francesca, why do you think I didn’t want to come tonight?” Benedict grounded out through gritted teeth before taking a deep breath, trying to stem the anger before it grew too big. Before he snapped at the wrong sibling. “I’ve been waiting months for Anthony to talk to me and he refuses to. I’ve tried, I really have tried, but I can’t keep starting a conversation he doesn’t want to have.”
Anthony outright refused to speak about what happened. Whenever he tried to bring it up, whenever he tried to apologize, Benedict found himself iced out emotionally by his older brother, who had also decided to not only refuse to speak to him but to also speak to him like he was just some other client, not his brother.
And that hadn’t even been the worst part.
Anthony had also taken full control of Benedict's life and finances, to the point his own secretary was managing Benedict’s calendar (without Benedict consent or opinion on the matter). He’d become a literal ‘Big Brother’ in every sense of the word. Benedict suddenly found himself unable to even go to the corner store to buy a packet of cigs without Gracie, Anthony’s secretary, calling to ask why they’d just gotten an alert from the bank about a charge to his credit card.
Hence why he’d finally pack up and move out of the family home two months ago. Anthony had sold his apartment while he was in rehab, which was a truly wonderful surprise to come home to, forcing him to move back in with his mother under the context of ‘needing a support system.’ And while Benedict did love his mother and siblings, and even knew he needed to be around people in the months after leaving rehab, when you are one of eight children, with three of those eight still living under the same roof as your mother, there is no such thing as privacy or respite. Anthony had already taken control of his life outside of Number Five, but Benedict had no control over his private life to begin with living there.
And frankly, Benedict could no longer deal with his mother either. He loved her and she was probably his biggest cheerleader when it came to staying sober, but the sad, worried looks he kept getting from her, how concerned she got every time he told her he was going out, the fact that he’d come home late one night to find she’d fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for him to return safely, it was eating him up inside.
If he’d stayed in that house any longer, he was going to relapse. And if he allowed his brother to manage his life any longer he was probably going to overdose.
Again.
“And you think pushing us away will solve that? You’re doing it again, Benedict. You’re running away from your problems,” Francesca told him, brows furrowed and lips pressed tightly together.
“I need time, Fran,” he told his younger sister. “And space. I need to actually be able to manage my own life independently, and I can’t do this with this family judging every little decision I make.”
“Benedict, we’re not–” she started.
He held up a hand. Silencing her. “I’ve caused enough problems for this family. I think it's best if I just keep my distance for now,” Benedict continued. “Please, Francesca. I just want to be left alone.”
His sister’s doe eyes had gone round and sad. He hated when she did that, and he hated upsetting any of his younger siblings.
But after a few moments of silence, Francesca just sighed and slowly got back up to her feet. “Can you at least text Mum? Let her know you’re okay?” she asked gently. “She’s really worried, Ben.”
He nodded. “Alright, I’ll…think about it."
Francesca looked ready to say something else, her mouth opening before she shut it quickly. But if there was one thing Benedict knew about Francesca, she didn’t push.
“Take care, Benedict,” she told him gently. “I’m here if you ever need anything.”
And then she departed. Heading down the alleyway, Benedict watched her get into the passenger seat of one of the sleek, black Mercedes his family owned idling by the sidewalk. The front windows were tinted, but he got a glimpse of the driver when Francesca opened the door and slid in.
Eloise. His younger sister was clutching the steering wheel tightly as she waited for Francesca to get in. Her eyes caught Benedict’s, allowing him to see the glare she was shooting in his direction.
Looking away out of guilt, Benedict sighed, letting his head fall back and rest against the alley wall. He didn’t bother to watch the car as it drove off.
Maybe it was a good thing. Cutting himself off from his family. His relationship with Anthony had only somehow deteriorated further since his return from rehab, to the point that his older brother felt like a complete stranger to him. He knew Eloise hated him. And the rest of his siblings didn’t really talk to him like he was a person any more. He didn’t feel like he fit in anymore.
Might as well finally give Anthony a good reason to cut him off.
Then there was a loud click, distracting him briefly. The backdoor had opened again.
Dressed in a puffy black coat with a brown, fur rim around the hood, to protect her against the cold air, out stepped Sophie. It looked like she was departing for the evening. She glanced around the alley as she zipped up her coat, stopping in her tracks as she found him sitting on the ground in front of her, looking like the definition of a miserable failure.
She frowned, although not one of annoyance this time.
“You alright?” she asked hesitantly.
Benedict laughed miserably. “Yeah, I’m doing great.”
She quietly watched him, looking to be sympathetic, before she shook her head and frowned. Probably reminding herself that he was the idiot who ghosted her and then tried flirting with her. Again. She began making her way down the alley, walking past Benedict without saying anything. Like he was a speck of dirt, which he certainly was.
Then she stopped. Much to Benedict's surprise, he watched as she took a deep breath and then turned back around to face him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?” he asked back, looking up at her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she repeated. “Whatever it is that is bothering you?”
“I’m fine,” he told her.
The look on her face said otherwise.
He sighed. “Just…family problems.”
“Ah,” she replied. She was quiet for a moment, before saying. “I’ve been there.”
“Your family filled with hovering vultures ready to peck apart your life the moment you screw up?” he asked.
She thought it over for a second. “I suppose in a way, yes.”
He gave a sympathetic smile. “Well, you’re welcome to join the club. My father’s dead and I’m pretty sure I’m a disappointment to my mother. And all my siblings.”
“Dead mother and grew up with a wicked stepmother,” she informed him, smiling now too.
“My sincerest sympathies,” Benedict said.
“And my heartfelt condolences,” she jokingly returned, playing along.
Their little back and forth tapered off, leaving an awkward silence in their wake. Benedict was honestly too tired to continue a conversation. He should text Lucy, tell her he was ready to get picked up–
“I didn’t thank you,” Sophie said suddenly. “For helping Theo and I out with that ass who tried to steal our tips. You really didn’t have to do that.”
Benedict shrugged. “It was the right thing to do. Besides, I wasn’t going to let him take the twenty I’d put in specifically for you. Would be a waste.”
Sophie gave him a skeptical look, noting the flirtatious charm that had laced his voice again near the end. “You’re seriously not stupid enough to try flirting with me again right now, are you?”
He sighed, giving her a humorless laugh. “No. Don’t worry. Lucy told me we’d met before,” he started, watching as Sophie stiffened up, an annoyed look briefly crossing her face as she was reminded of that. “I’m really sorry. I genuinely, honestly, didn’t remember who you were. I was really drunk that night–which isn’t an excuse, I just…I wasn’t in a good place when we met and I’m really sorry if I caused you any discomfort tonight.”
She eyed him suspiciously before relaxing a little, seeming to be accepting his apology. “I know who you are. I read the papers. I sort of guessed after a while what happened. When I didn’t hear from you.”
“I’m well aware of the reputation I’ve garnered for myself,” he admitted softly. “But, I assure you, I’m clean now.”
“I’m glad to hear,” Sophie replied, sounding genuine. “I heard about your…well, you know.”
She came over to where he was sitting, slowly lowering herself to take a seat next to him on the dirty, dusty, alley floor.
“Must have been hard,” she remarked gently.
He took a deep breath, keeping his head rested against the wall. Wishing he could just sink into it and disappear.
“It was. But my family has been through worse,” he told her. “Dealing with me was probably nothing compared to my father’s death. But they kept to it. Didn’t give up until I was in rehab, no matter how many problems I caused.”
“I meant for you,” she clarified. “Sobriety takes a lot of work, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve been clean for some time now.”
Benedict blinked, surprised. It was odd. Most people would only speak about how impacted his family was by his addiction, whenever it came up, remarking how strong they were to have dealt with it for as long as they did. Judgment and/or disgust usually lacing their voice. Their opinions made to his face or behind it. The press still loved having ‘debates’ about his behavior whenever he was brought up. A holier than thou attitude ever present in their articles and morning show discussions. Like Benedict was the only person on earth to ever struggle with a drug problem.
But Sophie’s remark was probably the first time someone had noticed he was the one who had to sober up, not his relatives. And she was right, it had taken a hell of a lot of work, especially given much of his therapy had related to finally processing his father’s death.
“It’s only been eleven and half months,” he clarified, uncomfortably.
“Well, that’s almost a year,” Sophie replied. “And a year is a big deal. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I…” he hesitated, suddenly finding himself unable to use words. It had been almost a year, hadn’t it. “Um…thank you.”
She only smiled. A kind, sweet, smile that made a dimple appear on the left side of her face. He’d picked his one liner for a reason. She looked heavenly, angelic, even in her muted colored clothing, an obviously thrifted, worn down coat and dark jeans. Benedict found himself unable to look away from her. Enraptured by her.
Then the vibrating in his pocket started up again, snapping his attention away from her.
“Sorry. One second,” he told her, pulling the phone out of his back pocket to check the caller ID.
And confirmed exactly who it was he’d guessed was trying to call him.
Anthony Bridgerton
“You need to take that?” Sophie asked, brow raised.
“No,” he replied stiffly, declining the call.
Doing so prompted the caller ID to disappear. Instead, Benedict saw the most recent text message his brother had sent him pop up on the lock screen.
Get here. Now. Or we’re done.
Benedict only scoffed at it, before turning off his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. “It’s nothing,” he told her. “Nothing important.”
“You sure?” she asked.
“Positive.”
She watched him for a moment, studying him. It almost looked like she knew what was going on in his life, but she didn’t say anything.
Then she sighed. “You know. I should have realized you were drunker than you looked. I know you don’t remember, but I sort of took off rather quickly from the event that night myself,” she told him with a shrug. “A family matter…came up…suddenly.”
She didn’t elaborate, but Benedict didn’t feel like prying. He didn’t think it was appropriate.
“The polite thing would have been to make sure you were okay. That you got home safe. Before I left,” she added.
She didn’t really need to. He knew Henry had already noticed he’d relapsed when he’d arrived that night, his friend quietly watching him from a distance as the night progressed. But Benedict still couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, had he returned home with Sophie that night, he wouldn’t have let Tessa back into his life. He couldn’t deny the warm buzz he felt right under his heart as he spoke to her. How distracted he found himself by her. Nothing around him seemed to matter suddenly.
“I suppose we were both terrible,” he joked, but Sophie only raised a brow at him, unimpressed. He chuckled. “Alright. I was terrible, you were just rude.”
She snorted at that.
“I suppose we could start over,” she told him. “It would be the nice thing to do. Give you a second chance. You did help me get my tips back.”
Putting on his best Bridgerton smile, his charming crooked smile, the one that had gotten him out of God knows how many tense situations, Benedict held out his hand towards her. Sophie looked confused by what he was doing, unsure where he was going with this.
“Well, then I’m Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton.”
Slowly, a smile grew on her face too. The dimple reappeared on the side of her face again as she smiled at him knowing. But she played along nonetheless.
That buzzing sensation had returned too, reverberating down his spine and throughout his body. For the first time since his father’s death, Benedict felt the maelstrom inside him go quiet.
Taking his hand, Sophie shook it, and an electric spark shot through him as she touched him. He'd never experienced something like that before. With anyone.
“Sophie,” she said. “Sophie Beckett.”
—
As predicted. The next morning, none of his credit cards were working.
Benedict responded by finally blocking his brother’s number.