Chapter 30 Bennett
Bennett
The reception at Bed of Roses was exactly what Clarke and Soren had envisioned—vintage charm wrapped in quiet, unpretentious elegance.
June’s trailer resort barely resembled itself.
String lights had been draped between the trailers in soft, glowing arcs, turning the whole place into something out of a dream.
Long farmhouse tables stretched across the gravel, dressed in mismatched flatware, linen runners, and small jars of wildflowers that looked like they’d been picked that morning.
Even the trailers themselves—all of which had been named for famous Roses—had been dressed up, doors flung open to reveal cozy interiors where guests could sneak away for a breather. Or a steamy make-out session. Roman had commandeered one with his date within minutes after the ceremony.
That’s fifty bucks I’ll never see again.
He wasn’t the only one with sex on the brain, though. The dance floor was packed with bumping and grinding, left and right.
We’d waited until after dark to break out the dirty dancing, though, not wanting to scandalize the older relatives or the kids still running around.
Viv and Ellie had retired early with their toddler, disappearing into one of the trailers with sleepy goodnights and promises to be back for brunch tomorrow.
Dani and Coach Ward had left the girls with Carolina’s mom for the night so they could enjoy the party, too.
The two of them were currently in the middle of the floor, swaying slowly to a popular Usher song, even though the beat called for something faster.
Tucker had one arm around Brock’s waist, the other hand cradling his face as he whispered something that made him laugh and swat at his chest. Pink spun Nessa under his arm, both laughing too hard to keep time with the music.
And then there was the bride and groom.
They weren’t trying to steal the attention, but somehow they still drew it. Clarke’s dress caught the light every time she moved, lace and silk soft against her skin, her honey-blonde curls loosened from the ceremony and tumbling freely down her back.
Soren had long since discarded his jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.
I had never seen my teammate look happier or more himself.
The tension he carried during the season, the quiet pressure he put on his own shoulders, today, all of it was gone.
He moved with her like he’d been doing it his whole life, forehead pressed to hers.
Standing there under the string lights, music humming through the warm night air, I realized that Clarke and Soren hadn’t just thrown a beautiful wedding.
They’d set the bar.
I stood at the edge of the floor, nursing a beer, taking it all in.
My eyes kept drifting back to Bella.
She’d walked down the aisle earlier in a rose-gold satin bridesmaid dress that flowed over her curves like liquid metal. The neckline dipped low, the fabric clinging to her breasts, waist, and hips, then flaring into a soft skirt that moved with every step.
Sexy didn’t begin to cover it. She’d looked like a fucking goddess, soft and radiant. I’d nearly swallowed my tongue when she’d caught my eye halfway down the aisle and smiled. Just for me.
Now she was on the dance floor, heels long abandoned, laughing with Nessa and June, arms raised above her head as she swayed to the beat. My cock was hard enough to cut glass.
She danced over to me, eyes bright after a few too many Champagnes.
“Hey, boyfriend,” she said, sliding her arms around my neck.
I set my beer on the nearest table and pulled her close.
“Girlfriend.”
“Are you going to dance with me or what?”
I smiled. “Thought you’d never ask.”
She pressed against me, hips rolling in time with the music, and I groaned low in my throat. “You’re dangerous in this dress.”
She grinned up at me. “Wait until you see what’s under it.”
I leaned down, brushing her ear with my lips. “I’m trying very hard to not drag you behind the closest trailer and fuck you against the wall.”
She shivered, fingers tightening on my shoulders. “That sounds fun, but I might need something a little more horizontal. Would you mind grabbing my water bottle for me? I left it over by the Rose Nylund trailer.”
I kissed her quick and hard. “Anything for you.”
She laughed, spinning away to rejoin the girls.
I headed toward the trailers, weaving through clusters of guests. The Rose Nylund trailer was easy enough to find. I found Bella’s water bottle tucked next to a potted plant and turned to head back to the party.
That was when I took a wrong turn. Just as I rounded the corner of the Riveter trailer, a couple of familiar forms stopped me in my tracks.
Diaz and . . . Matty?
Kissing.
They were pressed against the side of the trailer. Matty’s hands framed Diaz’s face as he pressed him against the trailer, kissing him like the world was ending.
I stood there, stunned.
My first instinct was to back away. This wasn’t my business. Whatever was happening between them, whatever this was, they clearly deserved their privacy.
But I couldn’t move. My feet were rooted, heart pounding.
Matty broke away first, breathing hard. “We can’t do this.”
Diaz reached for him. “Matty—”
“No.” Matty stepped back, shaking his head. “You lied to me. All those texts. The fanfiction. You were writing about me. About us. And you didn’t say anything to me.”
“I know it looks bad, but I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought if you knew—”
“You thought wrong.” Matty’s voice cracked. “I can’t believe this. I thought I was talking to someone anonymous. Someone safe. And it was you the whole time.”
Diaz looked like he’d been punched. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I wanted you. And I didn’t know how to say it.”
Matty shook his head, backing away.
“Mi tesoro, please—”
“No, you don’t get to call me that.”
Diaz opened his mouth to protest, but Matty’s expression stopped him cold. He exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping. “Okay, I’ll go.”
Diaz disappeared between the trailers without looking back.
Matty stood there alone, breathing hard, staring at the spot my ex-roommate had just vacated.
I stepped out of the shadows. “Matty.”
He flinched when he saw me. “Shit. Oh, shit. You heard?”
“Yeah.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, looking exhausted. “Please don’t say anything to the guys.”
“I won’t.” I paused. “You okay?”
He laughed, bitter and hollow. “No. Not even close.”
I nodded. “Want to talk?”
“Not here. I just, um, need a minute to process all of this.”
His eyes met mine, and something in them cracked open. “He was the guy, Ben. All those months of texts. It was him.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I kind of put that together.”
His voice broke. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
A knot formed low in my gut. I wanted to fix it. Say the right thing. But this wasn’t something that could just be patched up with a few comforting words.
“You don’t have to decide tonight,” I told him. “Just . . . breathe. Sit with it. And know that I’m here if you need to talk to somebody.”
He nodded slowly, eyes distant. “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime.”
He gave me a small, tired smile. “Go back to your girl.”
I stood there for a second longer after Matty told me to go, the music from the reception drifting faintly between the trailers like it belonged to another world entirely.
Then, I turned back toward the lights.
Rejoining the reception felt wrong at first, like walking into a warm room straight out of the cold. Laughter spilled across the gravel, bodies swayed on the dance floor, and someone whooped loudly enough that a cheer followed. The party didn’t stop.
Bella found me before I fully found my footing.
She slipped into my arms, hands coming around my neck, grounding me instantly. Her brows knit together when she looked up at me.
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to tell her what had happened—of course I did—but because it wasn’t my story to tell.
“One of my friends is hurting,” I said finally. “And I’m not sure what to do about it.”
She squeezed my hand. “That’s hard.”
“Yeah,” I said. Then, silently, I corrected myself.
Two of my friends were hurting.
I couldn’t shake the look on Diaz’s face just before he’d jogged off—gutted, like someone had ripped the ground out from under him—or the sudden realization that he had been writing explicit fanfiction about Matty, about all of us, for over a year.
How had I not noticed? How had none of us?
Diaz had been my roommate for two years, shared the same space—all those late-night conversations and dumb jokes.
And the whole time he’d been sitting on this secret.
And Matty, quiet, steady Matty, had finally trusted someone enough to open up, only to find out it was the guy he’d been living and working with every day.
The betrayal wasn’t just personal. It was layered. Complicated to the nth degree.
And I had no idea how to help either of them fix it.
A sudden whoop cut through my thoughts. I glanced toward the dance floor, where Soren had thrown his head back, laughing. Clarke’s hands pressed to his chest as he spun her in a loose, joyful circle.
“What did I miss?” I asked.
Bella followed my gaze, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “If I had to guess, Clarke just told him they’re having a baby.”
My chest tightened.
Not in a bad way, but in a holy shit kind of way.
I thought about Bella, about how she’d look holding a baby someday. Our baby. All soft, dark curls and freckles. It was a sobering thought that made me straighten.
“Do you want kids?”
The words spilled out of me before I could second-guess them.
“Oh, yes,” she answered without hesitation. “At least three.”
“At least?”
She shrugged. “I want a full house.”
I smiled despite myself. “And these three kids—”
“At least three kids.”
“Do they come before or after your breakfast wedding?”
Her eyes lit up, surprise and delight flashing across her face. “You remember?”
“Of course, I remember,” I told her. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the whole ‘pancakes are better than French toast’ thing.”
She laughed softly, the sound warm against my chest. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Pancakes are overrated, baby.” I brushed a curl away from her cheek, tracing the freckles in my path. “But I’ll let it slide. For now.”
She nestled closer. “Do you . . . really think about all that? Kids? Our wedding?”
I pressed a kiss to her temple. “I think about a lot of things. Like you waking up next to me every morning. Tending to your bees and experimenting with your latest honey creation until I come home and bend you over the closest surface.”
“Hopefully, away from the bees.”
“I think about you walking toward me in a white dress while I try not to cry in front of the entire team. And yeah, after that, kids. A whole house full of them, apparently.”
Her breath hitched, just a little. “You want that? With me?”
“More than anything.”
Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Well, maybe we should get started.”
I grinned. “On the kids?”
She laughed. “No, on the pancakes.”
“French toast,” I argued.
She gave me that look then. The one that always undid me—eyes soft and wide, lips parted just enough, a quiet, pleading heat that said everything without words.
I groaned low in my throat. “You know I can’t tell you no when you look at me like that.”
“You love it.”
I wrapped a hand gently around her throat, not squeezing, just holding her there, anchoring her to me. “No, baby,” I murmured. “I love you.”
Her breath caught.
I kissed her again, this time slower, deeper, without a care for who might be watching. She melted into me, her body pressing closer, like she was trying to bury herself under my skin.
When we finally broke apart, she whispered, “I love you too.”
The music and laughter faded into a distant hum behind us. There would be plenty of time to figure out the rest—Matty, Diaz, our future kids’ names—but at this moment, there was one thing I knew for sure.
Bella and I were endgame.
The kind of forever I had only ever read about in the books she kept on her nightstand, which yes, I had taken to reading, too. Talk about sex inspiration. More like sex-piration. Just last night, she had let me tie her to my bed and fuck her ass like one of the scenes in her favorite story.
I smiled against her hair, the memory still vivid.
Bella’s wrists bound above her head, moans muffled against the pillow as her tight hole stretched around my cock while I’d stroked her clit and whispered how perfect she felt.
How she’d been made for me. Afterward, she’d curled into me and asked, half asleep, if we could do it again tomorrow.
I pressed another kiss to her temple, breathing her in.
The rest of the world could wait. Tomorrow, I’d check on my friends, make sure they were okay. I’d figure out how to help them navigate whatever mess they were in. I’d keep showing up for the Junior Roasters, keep talking about how it was okay to not be okay, and actually believe it myself.
But tonight? Tonight was ours.
And maybe one day, years from now, when we had a house full of kids—at least three—I’d finally convince her that French toast was indeed the superior breakfast food. Come to think of it, there were plenty of ways to convince her, many of which didn’t require any words.
Regardless, I had the rest of our lives to persuade her.
And I couldn’t wait to start.