Chapter 6
NOW
Bennett
“I said I can’t today.”
“Ben—”
“I have to go,” I snap, hanging up and tossing my phone into my bag as Rhys exits from the showers, towel tucked around his waist. He pauses, examining my face before sitting down next to me.
“All good?”
“Mmhmm.”
“That your dad?” he asks. I can hear the reluctance in his voice.
Rhys and I don’t talk about Adam anymore.
He still has dinners with Max and Anna—they’re his best friends, though I’m convinced there’s much more to their relationship.
Sometimes I go to dinner at the Koteskiys’, sometimes I don’t.
But Max Koteskiy’s relationship with his son is different than my father’s relationship with me.
I just . . . don’t trust my dad right now. And part of me hates that Rhys still does.
Trying to talk it out with my therapist didn’t help.
And then I’d tried to talk about it with my dad—resulting in the stalemate we currently find ourselves in.
It hurts to feel so distant from him. It’s never been like this between us.
Adam Reiner had always been the soothing lullaby in my brain.
He was my defender and protector; the only person who managed to make me laugh as a kid—before Rhys—and the only person in the world who hugged me the exact right way.
And now . . . now all that is left between us is a tangled knot of blame and anger and frustration and sadness, tightening around us both like collars of iron until I can’t breathe from the strain.
“And your dad?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“He never loved my mom. He left her. Same as he always does with everyone.” A pause. And then, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
My therapist moved on after that, but I knew I hadn’t escaped the conversation entirely. I just wasn’t ready to discuss any of it—to her or him or anyone.
Today was a two-a-day practice and it’s late as I make my way to my truck. I idle in the parking lot while I collect myself.
I check my phone. And then again, impulsively. I clench my teeth when I realize I’ve grabbed for it a third time. The compulsion has become bad enough that my therapist brought it up last year.
Paloma soothed your anxiety, and now that she’s gone, your brain is trying to find other outlets. What else could we do when you worry like that?
I turn on my music, the soft guitar of Ben Howard comforting me as I close my eyes, lean my head back against the headrest, and massage the bridge of my nose.
She’s fine.
She’s fine. She’s fine.
But what if she isn’t?
My thoughts start to scramble away from me, a losing battle as I try to collect myself.
“Check the facts,” I mutter beneath my breath, tapping my knee and blowing out a breath.
1.It’s a Monday night. There are no parties, and nearly all the Waterfell University bars are closed.
2.Paloma has always called me when she needed help.
“Which means she’s fine,” I grit out, grabbing for the steering wheel as I finally reverse out and force myself to drive home.
Sometimes, when my anxiety is bad enough, I drive down Greek row and through the downtown strip just to make sure she isn’t there. Cold. Waiting for me.
Maybe things are good. Maybe she doesn’t need me as her crutch and comfort anymore.
Just like Rhys. Just like everyone in your life who moves on without you and leaves you behind.
I shake the thought from my brain as I head in from the garage, upstairs, and into my bathroom. I take a moment to breathe, turning on the shower and stepping under the hot spray.
Afterward, I make my way to the quiet kitchen once everyone has settled into their rooms for the night.
I turn on my music and start to prepare our meals for the week ahead.
I’ve already washed and dried the blue and green containers—for Rhys and Freddy, respectively—so that I can label and stack their food.
It helps to follow the familiar routine.
I let it soothe me.
Once everything is prepped, stored, cleaned, and put away, I make my way to bed, praying that the quiet stillness will allow me some rest.
I turn on soft music and grab one of my notebooks, but as usual the words aren’t there. I can’t write anything. I can barely stand to read poetry now that—
Seven raises his head at the sound of the front door closing. He pushes up off the bed and pads toward my bedroom door with a whine.
“Shh,” I say, clicking my tongue and patting the space beside me on the bed. “It’s fine—it’s just Sadie and Rhys coming home late or something. Calm down.”
But he doesn’t. His paw comes to scrape at the wood on the door, making my brow furrow further. It’s not as if whoever came in so late is making a lot of noise—if anything they’re too quiet. I stand and push my ear to the door, listening intently.
I only hear Freddy’s voice, but too low for me to make out his words, before I tug at Seven’s collar to come to bed.
“Everything’s fine, Sev. Come here.”
He doesn’t and it makes my chest ache a little. What is wrong?
Everyone is home and safe. Everyone is okay.
Except one, my mind threatens, preying easily on the slip of my focus. She’s alone and in the dark and hungry—
Stop. I turn off the lamp before Seven whines louder and I click it back on, rolling over to try to sleep.
Seven doesn’t sleep much, staying curled up by the door, refusing to come back to the bed. I don’t sleep much either.