Chapter 9
NOW
Paloma
I knew I should have waited until I heard them all leave.
I want to regret it, only—I can’t. Because Bennett Reiner is in front of me, eyes wide, hand half reaching for me.
Looking just over the peak of Bennett’s bicep, I realize no one has noticed us yet. Bennett mimics my movement, checking over his own shoulder before pulling me gently away from the kitchen, down the hall, and into the garage.
“Are you okay?” he blurts out before I can say a word. His eyes scan over me once more before settling on mine, too severe and vibrant.
His hand is still on my wrist, hold firm and warm—not too tight. It’s almost familiar, how often he’s held both my wrists like that, above my head—
Stop.
My cheeks flush, eyes darting away from his and toward where he’s still touching me. His focus on me, waiting for my answer, is too intense. Still, he doesn’t notice my borderline inappropriate reaction to his closeness, his casual intimate touch that I haven’t felt in months.
I take him in slowly: the large set of his shoulders, the furrow of his thick brow, the concern searing in his deep ocean blue eyes. My body aches to relax into his grip, to tell him everything and just let him fix it. But I know that he can’t.
I’m unfixable.
And if this is my chance to turn over a new leaf, then I cannot use Bennett Reiner as my crutch to do it. I’ve proven time and again that it won’t work, though my heart will never listen. Even now it reaches toward him, drawing me closer.
“Fine,” I say, voice wobbly. “I’m fine.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
He doesn’t mean to be harsh—I know Bennett well enough to know that his intensity stems from care more than exasperation or anger.
It doesn’t stop me from stammering as I offer my apology. “I’m sorry . . . I should’ve said something, but Sadie and Freddy said I could stay here and—”
“Hey, hey,” he coos, putting his travel mug down and rubbing his hands over my arms. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of his touch. “You don’t need to explain. It’s fine. I just need to make sure you’re okay.”
I can feel myself drowning in his gaze, the way I always do in his presence. My body relaxes slowly, leaving the constant on-guard tension behind.
A voice booms, calling out something as they thump up the stairs—Freddy, I think. But it’s enough to have me snapping back and away from his touch.
His hands linger in the air, like he’s trying to catch smoke.
“I’m fine . . . promise.” I offer, my voice a shade darker.
Shut this down.
“Are you sure?” Bennett’s voice softens, and he steps closer, his concern palpable. He’s so big, he blocks everything else out until all I can see is him.
“Yeah.” I smirk, sinking into the only thing I know will protect me. Myself. At least, the thing that most people know me as.
Paloma Blake, party girl extraordinaire. A fucking beautiful girl and an even more beautiful fuck.
“Aren’t I always?” I quirk my lips and dip my brow suggestively. “Did you pull me out here for something fun?”
His face shutters, like he’s been hit. He’s unable to cover the pain in his face or his voice as he begs quietly, “Don’t do this, P.”
“Do what?” I ask, biting my lip, hooding my eyes. My hands land gently on his shoulders. “Don’t you want me? I can make it so good for you. Just like old times—”
“Stop,” he snaps, eyes burning, hands locking on my wrists to stop them. Even as harsh as his voice is, it’s in sharp contrast to the way he holds himself, like he’s near to crumbling. “Just talk to me. Please—”
“Drop it, Bennett,” I snap.
I turn away from him and head back inside and up the stairs before locking myself in the spare room. I don’t open the door or respond to the quiet knocks I know are him. Because if he calls me P or love one more time, I’ll fall right back into him.
And Bennett Reiner deserves worlds better than this.