Main Bonus #92: Ben and the Cagey Game Night (Patreon)

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this bonus scene to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!! xoxo Krista & Becca

RESOURCES:  Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

MUSIC: We listened to “Grief is for the Living” by Vienna Vienna while writing this bonus scene.

IT’S LATE at the lake house. Everyone retreated to their rooms hours ago, and I suspect it’s nearing 1 a.m. at least, and I’m wide awake.

In part, all I hear is the creak of Xander’s bed. At least we aren’t sharing a bunk bed during the holidays anymore. Once we’d both hit our final growth spurts in high school, our parents let us swap it out for two full-size beds. I don’t miss climbing up to the top bunk and seeing Xander roll over on the bottom like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

This should be better.

Except Xander is shifting more than he ever does. He’s kicked the checkered quilt down to his ankles and the bed lets out another creak.

I turn my head in his direction and catch his amber eyes open on the wooden ceiling. “Xander?” I whisper. “You okay?”

He slings his head toward me. “Yeah. Doing awesome.” His hushed voice carries a heap of salt. “I’m not thinking about how my sister and my mom were assaulted only a month ago, and how that should’ve been me. Not thinking about that at all.”

I tense, surprised he said anything about it, even dryly. “It shouldn’t have been y—”

“Yeah, I don’t want to talk about it with you.” He winces at himself. “No offense.” He sits up against his headboard.

“None taken,” I say quietly.

Dim moonlight streams through our expansive window, and I see his black shirt suctioned to his chest with sweat. He peels it off, and I climb out of bed to switch on the fan, even with snow flurries catching the wind outside.

“You don’t have to do that,” Xander tells me.

“It’s not a big deal.” I turn it on.

He sighs like he’s frustrated. He rakes damp hair out of his face while I return to my bed. In all the years I’ve roomed with Xander at the lake house, he’s never convinced me to shut the blinds or the curtains.

The one time I tried, he said, “Don’t do that for me.”

So I didn’t close them because he’s the only reason I would’ve. I like seeing the moon glittering over the lake from bed. I like waking to the morning light streaming over me. Xander fucking hates it. He sleeps underneath his comforter so the sun doesn’t kick him out of a deep sleep.

Kinney gifted him an eye mask for his sixteenth birthday that said Moody Bitch. He wore it a couple times but ended up under the covers again. Too much of a habit now.

We probably shouldn’t be roommates.

Is that the moral of the story?

Back on my bed, I stay upright and wrap my arms around my bent knees. Xander hasn’t crawled back down yet either. He presses the back of his skull to the headboard and stares up at the whirling fan.

I start, “You sure—?”

“I’m fine. Don’t set off the fire alarms. Sorry I said anything.”

I nod, my neck strained. “I get not wanting to talk about it. I don’t really want to take a chainsaw to the subject either.” I can’t think about what happened to my cousin and aunt without the pits of my eyes lighting on fire.

I hate picturing it, and I unfortunately saw the photos of Aunt Lily that’d been circulating online. I had six friends text me the link, but I only clicked into it once.

All the messages were variations of: Did you see this, Ben? I’m soooo sorry. Is there anything you need?? Here for you.

Most were trying to be nice and just weren’t thinking when they gave me the link. Then my parents helped the Hales get those photos removed off news sites, so that link eventually didn’t work.

The photos, however, are still discoverable on social media.

My face contorts and stomach overturns just remembering what Aunt Lily looked like…what happened, and I glance over at Xander. Has he seen those pictures of his mom? Would he even tell me if he had?

Xander glances over at me, eyeing me in a long sweep. “Why are you doing it?”

Confusion knits my brows. “Doing what?”

“Entering the race for Fizzle CEO. Do you actually want to take over the company?”

“Do you?”

Xander shrugs. “I asked you first.”

Yeah, he did. But I don’t have a reasonable answer. At least not one I feel like I can form in fucking words. I just shake my head a few times, trying to untangle my feelings and thoughts. It hasn’t even been a whole week since we learned about the competition for successor.

When I heard my name was in contention, I was so unsure.

I’ve been mostly unsure about my future.

Mostly…confused.

Deeply fucking confused about where I should be going.

Until I heard Xander, Luna, Eliot, and Charlie were also in the mix. Then I thought, maybe. Maybe I can be there for Luna and Xander during any strenuous parts of the competition, especially the social aspect. I can help them. Be there for them.

Maybe I can make sure Charlie and Eliot don’t win it all.

Maybe I’ll be a good force for my family. This might be the best proof that I am—that my presence is actually good. I need to be less of a negative entity, or else bad things might…

Yeah.

And I doubt anyone really wants to be named successor and take over Fizzle, but I could.

I can take one for the team.

For my family.

It’s also probably better if they don’t know my intentions. I don’t want anyone to try talking me out of this. So I’m even less inclined to tell Xander my reasoning beyond a simple, “I want it enough.”

“Yeah, same,” Xander mutters, not elaborating either.

The air strains, and the howl of the wind only adds to the tension.

Just as Xander starts to slide back down in bed, the old door squeaks open, and Eliot peers inside. He puts one finger to his lips at me, then sees Xander is already awake and grins at the two of us. “Friendly midnight banter.”

“Sure,” Xander says. “Friendly.” He tosses the quilt over his head.

I try to smile at my older brother. “It’s after midnight.”

“The only thing incorrect thing I said.”

I want to laugh. “Yeah.” I wish, Eliot.

Eliot doesn’t like the arctic freeze between me and Xander, but he’s not going to be the one to thaw it out. More likely, he will accidentally shove us into a subzero fridge and lock the door, mistaking it for a furnace.

He motions me to join him.

It’s a quiet, furtive gesture, and some part of me wants to brush him off. It hurts—that fucking instinct. But as I throw my legs over the bed and walk over to Eliot, this hurts too. It all just…hurts.

This holiday has been the worst I can remember, and I can’t even really pinpoint why. Other than Grandfather Calloway just died and what happened to Luna and Aunt Lily a month ago. But the whole family is here. Everyone is rallying around them and in better spirits because they’re alive. It’s a bright reminder after a funeral.

They’re alive.

So why…why?

Why?

I’m in the dark hall with Eliot. “What’s up?” I ask him.

“Game night. Brothers only.”

I want to participate, but something strains in my chest. Like maybe it’s better if I don’t. I’m not really in the mood to deal with Charlie, and I can’t see the two of us faring any better than me and Xander.

The only reason I follow Eliot is because of Beckett.

He’s taken off the ballet for bereavement, but now that Christmas has passed, he’s going to leave for New York soon. I don’t want to miss one of his last nights here.

The farther we are from my room, the more it hits me…it’s 1 a.m.—Xander has been tossing and turning. He’s fine.

Is he?

I cast a glance backward. I don’t see the dark hall. I see blood and a bathtub, and my nose flares at the mental image of Xander bleeding out. My stomach caves. I shouldn’t leave Xander alone. What if he hurts himself because I left him alone tonight?

My brain heavies.

I shove my hand into the pocket of my drawstring pants. Glad I brought my phone. I shoot Moffy a quick text.

BEN: Can you make sure Xander is okay? Had to step out. He should be fine. Just want to be sure. Please don’t tell him I sent you.

He’s quick.

MAXIMOFF: Will do. You okay?

BEN: Yeah. All good. Thanks.

I slide my phone into my pocket, and Eliot has a questioning look, so I say, “Just needed Moffy to check on Xander. It’s nothing serious.”

He nods, not asking anything more.

I figure Eliot will lead me downstairs to the game room. One that has a poker table where, throughout the years, we’ve played classic board games like Monopoly, Scrabble, Taboo, even Candy Land and the Game of Life.

Charlie despises the Game of Life and acts like it’s torture to endure from start to finish. Something about it grates on him more than any other board game, but I like playing for Audrey. It’s one of her favorites, along with Dream Phone and backgammon.

When we go in the opposite direction of the game room, I’m more certain we’re not cracking open a board game tonight.

We head upstairs to Beckett and Charlie’s bedroom on the third floor. Out of all the bedrooms at the lake house, I hated this one the most when I was a kid.

Charlie probably always chose this room knowing I’d never step a single fucking foot in here. Not with taxidermy mounted on the deep navy-blue walls between the two beds.

The head of a mountain goat.

We all still call it the “mountain goat” room. Not because there’s taxidermy—that was taken down around the same time I became vegan, I think—but because the head was replaced with an oil painting of a mountain goat on a rock.

It’s what my eyes draw to at first. Then the plaid headboards and polished, dark wood bedframes that are unlike the weathered ones in mine. Their room has always been less rustic and more fitting for a Ralph Lauren catalogue. I’m just glad I’m not staring at a dead animal.

“Join us, Ben Pirrip,” Tom ushers me inside with blue stained fingers, like he busted a ballpoint pen on himself. He jumps up on Charlie’s mattress, bouncing our older brother who’s seated on the edge.

Charlie scowls up at him. “Your maturity is the wind.”

“It ruffles your hair, Charlie Keating?” Tom plops down beside him, then tries to mess with his hair.

Charlie shoves him hard before he can, but Tom just falls back with laughter.

I don’t know how to be Tom, but sometimes I envy that. How he never lets Charlie’s asshole behavior pierce his skin. How he’s not too sensitive to be around him.

I wonder if Beckett can tell. He offers me a consoling smile while he’s seated on the edge of his own bed. I’m about to go sit beside him when Charlie leaves his mattress and claims the spot next to Beckett for himself.

My chest contracts. I’m about to spin around and maybe leave. Then I see Beckett has already packed. His suitcase is zipped up, none of his belongings set out on the dresser.

Eliot swoops a strong arm around my shoulders. “Game time.” He guides me to Charlie’s bed where Tom lies against the pillows.

I lower down in the middle. “What game?” I ask them.

“A classic,” Eliot says, just as Beckett passes him a Yankees baseball hat and then Charlie’s beanie. I barely make out slips of paper inside them.

“Truth or Dare,” Beckett tells me. “You want in, Pip?” His serious expression says, I will bail you out of this if you want out.

My family unearths Truth or Dare with purpose. It’s not something we typically play for fun. It’s not Scrabble. If one of us is trying to excavate a secret from another, then Truth or Dare comes out. It rarely works, and it’s usually Eliot’s ploy.

So I look up at him. “I’m not hiding anything, Eliot.”

“I don’t think you are.” He lifts Beckett’s Yankees hat. “Truths.” Then Charlie’s beanie. “Dares.”

“Oldest to youngest,” Tom declares, throwing a pillow at Charlie, who smacks it away from his face with a glare. “You’re up, dude.”

Beckett nods to me, then asks again, “You want to play?”

“Of course he wants to play.” Eliot rattles the dares beneath my nose.

I laugh. “I’m not sure I do.” Not if this is about me.

“You do.”

“Not really.”

“Yes.” He swirls the hat, as though trying to hypnotize me.

I smile up at Eliot, the only one standing. “Immune to peer pressure.”

“I’ll find the antidote.”

“I have no doubt you’d try, man.” I lean back on my hands with a hard sigh. “Okay, yeah, I’ll play.”

Beckett seems a little concerned, so I’m pretty sure this will revolve around me, especially since I wasn’t here to write in any truths or dares.

I’ll be fine.

Eliot turns to Charlie, extending both hats. “Truth or Dare, brother?”

Charlie plucks a paper out of the Yankees hat. Truths. Then he rolls his eyes hard at Tom before reading, “‘What is your most favorite thing about Tom Carraway Cobalt?’” Charlie crumples the paper slip. “Currently—”

“Not currently, dude,” Tom butts in. “Of all-time.”

“A lesson in specifying, which you didn’t do. Currently, my most favorite thing about you is you’re without a guitar right now and aren’t playing ‘Have You Ever Seen the Rain’ on insufferable repeat.”

Tom snickers like he’s joking, but Charlie isn’t joking.

Charlie sees me glaring, then flashes an acidic smile at me. “You have something to add?”

“We just started and you’re already taking shots?”

Charlie shrugs tightly. “Fire back, brother. Better yet, take lessons from Tom and learn how to aim.”

Tom mimes finger guns at me and blows fake smoke off one.

“No thanks,” I tell Charlie.

He shakes his head at me, one second from speaking, but Eliot cuts in, “Beckett.” He redirects the game. “Truth or Dare?”   

“Truth.” Beckett unfurls a piece of paper from the Yankees hat. “‘Name your favorite sex position.’” He eyes Eliot. “You told Tom to write this one?”

He grins. “A scribe never shares his secrets.”

“Yes,” Charlie answers for Beckett.

“I have more than one favorite,” Beckett says truthfully.

“Share them all,” Eliot decrees.

Beckett makes a what the fuck face, and I smile before he says, “I’ll share one. Doggy.”

“Another classic.” Eliot accepts this response. “I choose truth.” He lets Tom pick out his paper and read his truth, but my head spins at the fact that Eliot skipped over a dare.

That’s strange.

“For Eliot,” Tom says, lying against the headboard. “‘What’s your biggest fear?’”

Eliot extends his arms. “Mediocrity.”

Charlie stares through him. “He said biggest fear.”

“Biggest and scariest.”

Charlie obviously thinks he’s lying, but he doesn’t call him out again. Not as Eliot gives the truth hat to Tom without Tom even verbally picking truth. Tom reads out, “‘Name an attribute that turns you off.’” He tosses the wadded paper back to Eliot. “Laziness. Duh.”

Eliot swings to me, holding out the beanie only. “Truth or Dare?”

Normally I wouldn’t go for a truth, but it’s clear he wants me to choose dare. I hesitate, especially as he shakes the dares at me.

I hear Tom mutter, “Dude, I told you we shouldn’t have put the dares in Charlie’s beanie.” Like I wouldn’t want to stick my hand in it?

They’re being so obvious, I end up laughing. I smile over at Beckett who smiles back at me. I might not be like my brothers, but I don’t always hate these orchestrations and theatrics. Most of the time, I love that they exist and can’t imagine a moment where they wouldn’t.

It’s also one of the few times I’ve laughed this holiday. “You want me to pick dare?” I ask Eliot outright.  

“I’m not telling you what to choose, but I strongly suggest dare.” He shakes the beanie again.

I dig my hand in Charlie’s hat, going for the dare against better judgment, and I unfurl the paper to read, “‘I dare you to quit the…’” I trail off, staring at the words: I dare you to quit the race for Fizzle CEO. I look up at Eliot. “Really?”

“You must complete the dare, little brother. Rules are rules.”

“Not if you rigged it—”

“It wasn’t rigged.”

I stand up and tear the beanie out of his hand before he shifts away, and I unfold four other paper slips to see they all say the same thing. “You all knew what the dares were in advance and avoided them on purpose. How is that not rigged?”

 “He has a point,” Beckett tells Eliot.

“Don’t listen to Beckett,” Eliot advises me. “He’s not a part of the Fizzle race. The only opinions that matter are mine and Charlie’s.”

“And my own,” I add. “I’m staying in the race, Eliot.” I pat his shoulder. “It was a good try.” I sidestep him to leave. Mostly because I have a pit in my stomach about Xander again, and I feel like I should go back to my room. Like I need go to back. I have to go back and just check on him. To physically see.

I should’ve asked Moffy to text me that Xander is okay.

Eliot beats me to the door, pressing his back against the wood. “Are you trying to win or just protect the Hales?”

I lift my shoulders. “Both. Aren’t you doing both?”

“Yes.”

“Then why can’t I?”

“You won’t win,” Eliot says seriously. “I will or Charlie. Don’t waste your time.” He pats my shoulder now.

I suck in a breath through my nose. I have to win. I need to do something good. I have to do something good for my family.

“You will be a horrific choice for CEO,” Charlie says coldly behind me.

Blood drains out of my head.

My pulse skips, then I spin around to see his caustic expression. He hasn’t risen from the bed. He clutches his knees like he might push up to a stance, but he doesn’t stand.

Beckett rubs his eyes like he’s already exhausted of this fight before the fight has even begun.

“I’d be a better choice than you,” I tell Charlie.

“I’d be the best choice,” Eliot interjects lightly.

“I agree with Eliot Alice,” Tom says, more tensely. “Beckett Joyce?”

Beckett drops his hands. “Yeah, I think we should all go to bed—”

“You aren’t cut out for this,” Charlie sneers.

“You think you are?” I interject with heat. “I know several people who work for Fizzle. Have you ever said two words to them that wasn’t a fucking insult?”

Charlie glares. “Don’t be the fucking martyr.”

“Maybe I want this,” I grind out. “Maybe I want this more than you’ve wanted anything.”

His eyes are soulless on me. “Don’t cry when I get in your way.”

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

He grimaces in irritation. “You want to be free of me and what I might do to win? Then don’t sign up,” he grits out. “Your choice.”

Some choice.

“Fuck you, Charlie,” I say in a hot breath before I bolt for the door. Eliot lets me go, and I ignore Beckett when he calls my name.

I’m not surprised when he checks on me halfway down the darkened hall, but I can’t talk as he reaches my side. I just shake my head at him. My eyes feel enflamed and raw. I want to punch the wall, and I hate how much my own brother drives me to this volatile place.

“I can’t speak for Charlie,” Beckett whispers to me.

“Then don’t apologize for him, Beck,” I manage to get out.

He frowns, then runs his fingers through his dark hair. “Is it really worth going against him? This race? You really want to win that badly?”

Yeah.

I do.

It feels imperative that I remain in this competition—that I take the W. I can’t explain this to Beckett. He’ll just say I shouldn’t self-sacrifice. I know. I know. I know.

I nod strongly to him. “I’ll see you in the morning?” I ask, my voice too choked.

“Yeah. I’m not dipping out that fast.”

I release a strained breath, then tell him, “Love you, Beck.”

“I love you too, Pip.” He seems pained. “I don’t want you to take what Charlie says to heart.”

“It’s impossible not to, man.”

“I know, but…just try.” His eyes redden. “S’il te plait.” Please.

For Beckett? I nod. “I’ll try.”

We hope you enjoyed this month's Main Bonus! It is a very Cobalt brother centric one, and we love getting to show more from the Fizzle race in Nobody Like Us since that was a very fractured time for the brothers.

There was also a lot of mystery surrounding Ben and his thoughts and feelings on being in the competition, so we felt revisiting this time from his POV would shed more light on him. There's still another bonus on the horizon for May. Keep on the lookout!

xoxo Krista & Becca

“Ben and the Cagey Game Night" Copyright © 2026 by K.B. Ritchie