Chapter 25
Benson
This beautiful girl resting against my shoulder has no idea what she just did to me.
Honestly, I don’t even know what she just did to me.
It wasn’t just the sex, although the sex is going to be a thing my brain replays for the rest of my life.
It’s everything around it. She didn’t put on a show for me.
She tried things she had not tried before because she trusted me to try them with her.
She wore her actual face the entire time.
There was a moment when she laughed at something I said, and the laugh moved through her whole chest and I thought, in that second, that I was going to walk into the Pacific Ocean for this girl if she asked me to.
I wrap my arm tighter around her and press my face into the spot under her ear where her hair is damp with sweat.
“Bens.”
I love when she calls me that. There’s a slight high-pitched sound that leaves her tongue at the s-sound, and I adore it.
I tilt her chin up and kiss her. She lets her tongue linger against mine for a beat longer than I expect, and I am, suddenly, starving again.
I deepen the kiss. My hand slides up her ribcage.
The pad of my thumb finds the underside of her Camdenst.
She laughs into my mouth. “Benson.”
I pull back and search her face. I’m trying not to put too much on my face. “What?” I whisper.
“Look at the time.”
I turn my head to the alarm clock on the desk. It’s past two in the morning. Jesus Christ. How long were we — I close my eyes and Camdenthe out a small laugh against her hair.
“I should get going,” she says.
I pull her tighter. “You can stay.”
“I can’t stay, Bens.”
“You can.”
“Gianna will notice if she hasn’t already.”
I twist a piece of her hair between two fingers and let it fall. “Gianna will be at the rink at six. You can stay.”
“Benson, I should go.”
I’m going to lose this argument. I watch her sit up. The comforter slides down, and her bare back is in the lamplight. She slides off the bed.
“You can shower here,” I offer. “Put on one of my shirts, and I’ll take you home.”
She turns to look at me. She’s more beautiful than ever with rosy cheeks and a glow that wasn’t there a few hours ago. She pulls her bra off the floor and clasps it on.
“I really should go home. Sorry.”
Now I feel like a dick. “Don’t be sorry.”
She bends down to pick up her underwear.
I watch her bend down. My dick is still hard with the condom on, lying on my leg.
She grabs her jeans, so I roll out of bed and get dressed.
I deal with the condom in the bathroom across the hall.
I splash cold water on my face. I look at myself in the mirror for a beat — the lip is mostly healed, my hair is destroyed, and I have, on the side of my neck, a small red mark from her teeth. I grin at the mirror.
I come back into the room, and she’s fully dressed. Her hair is in a low knot at the back of her neck. I grab my hoodie off the back of the chair and pull it on. I find my keys in the pocket of my jeans.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
I open the door. The music is on low downstairs, and I hear a low murmur of voices.
It’s the stragglers after the party. Stanley is on the couch with a small group of people I don’t immediately recognize.
There is a freshman on the other side of the couch who looks like he has been horizontal for some time.
Stanley looks up. “Reeve!”
“Stan.”
“Where the fuck have you—” He stops when he sees Lucy behind me on the stairs. “Oh.” He says it in the wrong voice. He stands up.
“Stanley,” I warn.
He crosses the living room in three steps.
He has a beer in his right hand. He puts his arm around my shoulder and his other arm around Lucy’s, which makes her have to come down the last step faster than she wanted to, and he steers us both toward the wall by the kitchen where the whiteboard is hanging.
“Children. Gather. Let me show you the most important rule of this house.”
“Stan, I need to take her home.”
“Just read it for me.”
Lucy looks up at me. I can see her trying not to laugh. Her eyes are still soft, her mouth is still pink, and she is, at this moment, the only person in this house I want to be looking at. Stanley is forty seconds into making it impossible.
“Read it, Reeve.”
“Christ, Ermington.”
“Just read it for the people in the back to hear.”
Lucy raises her eyebrows at me like she’s interested to see what happens.
I mutter, “Rule number one. No falling in love before the draft.”
“Lucy,” Stan turns to her. She looks up at him. “My man Reeve here is going to be in the first round. He does not need a distraction, however lovely the distraction may be, and I mean this as a compliment—”
“Stan.” Fuck.
He continues, “He does not need a distraction. Hawthorne House has five important rules. The rules exist for a reason.”
“For God’s sake, Ermington, we are just hanging out.”
“No, Reeve. You took her to your bedroom and kept her all for yourself for God knows how long. We are hanging out down here. That—” he points at the couch with the freshman face down on it “—is hanging out. That is what hanging out looks like.”
I shrug his arm off. “She has to get home.” I put my hand on the small of Lucy’s back and steer her around Stanley toward the back door.
“Listen to the Hawthorne House rules, Reeve, and nobody gets hurt.”
I flip him off over my shoulder and put my hand around the back of Lucy’s neck very gently to keep her moving. I get her through the kitchen and out the back door and down the steps and around the side of the house to my truck. The cold hits us at the same time.
“Jesus. I’m sorry about Stanley.”
I unlock the passenger door and open it for her. She climbs up into the seat. The truck is freezing. I get in the driver’s side and start the engine. I crank the heat.
“You didn’t need to drive me,” she says softly.
“It’s no problem,” I mutter. Did she think I would make her walk alone? Christ, what kind of guy does she think I am?
I pull out of the spot and drive. We drive in silence for a minute, and I hear myself saying, “I meant what I said.” I need her to know that I meant it. I didn’t just say it because we were fucking. I want to keep her around. I don’t want whatever this is between us to be a secret.
“Really?” she asks quietly, finally looking over at me. When her eyes meet mine, I feel like driving her home right now was the worst idea I’ve ever offered in my life.
“Yes,” I say, turning back to the road. The drive is short, only a few minutes. When I park in front of her place, I get out and open her door. “Want me to walk you up?”
She shakes her head. “Your sister’s asleep up there.”
“Don’t worry about her, alright? She’ll get over it.” I look at my hands. “I’m sure she has told you about Madeline.”
“A long time ago. Once. Yeah.”
I look at her. “This is not the same, Lucy.” I nod. “I really like you.”
“Okay.”
“Like — really fucking like you, baby.”
She blushes. “Okay. Goodnight, Benson.”
“Goodnight, Lucy.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. She kisses my cheek, fast and warm. Her smell hits me directly in the chest, and then she walks around me toward her front door.
She pulls her keys out of her jacket pocket, unlocks the door, steps inside, and the door closes behind her. I stand on the curb watching the door for another ten seconds before I get back in the truck.
When I get back to Hawthorne, Stanley is on the couch with two of the people, and the freshman is, somehow, still face down on the cushion at the other end. The music is off now. They’re talking quietly. Stanley sees me come in.
“Be careful, Reeve.”
“What?”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Hockey is the only place I know what I’m doing, Stan.”
He cackles. He is too tired to laugh fully, but he tries.
“Fair, Reeve. Fair.”
“You going to bed?”
“In a minute.”
“Hit the sack soon. You’re gonna feel it tomorrow.”
I climb the stairs. I get to my room and close the door behind me. I leave the light off and lie down on top of the comforter in my t-shirt and jeans. My mind’s churning, and I know I need to address my sister again. Lucy left because she’s afraid of her. That is the thought I’m sitting with.
I wake up at seven-twelve. My shoulder’s sore, and I know exactly why. I roll out of bed and drink a full glass of water. I put on a clean shirt, gym shorts, a hoodie, and my Crocs because I am not, this morning, capable of tying real shoes. I grab my keys.
The house is quiet. Stanley is on the couch right where he was last night, mouth open, the freshman still face down. Blue is at the kitchen island with a coffee and his laptop. He looks up when I come downstairs.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Where are you going?”
“The rink.”
“Why?”
“My sister.”
His eyes widen. “Have fun with that.”
I walk out the back door, get in my truck, and drive to the rink. I get to the rink at eight. The parking lot has six cars in it, all of which I recognize. Coach’s truck. The two assistant coaches. Frank’s Buick. The trainer’s Subaru. And Gianna’s.
I sit in the truck for a beat with my hands on the wheel.
I’m nervous like hell. My stomach is turning. I get out of the truck, ready to get this over with.
The back door is unlocked because Frank is here. The hallway smells like rubber matting and detergent. The lights in the locker room are on, but the locker room is empty. The equipment room door at the end of the hallway is open. I can hear Gianna’s voice talking to someone.
She is laughing her fake laugh, which means one of the assistants is in there with her. I keep walking. I get to the equipment room door and lean on the frame.
She is on the floor with two duffels open in front of her, sorting practice jerseys into stacks by number. The trainer’s assistant — a junior named Kev — is at the wall hanging fresh tape rolls on the pegboard. Coach’s stick rack is being rebuilt against the back wall by someone I don’t see.