Chapter 15
NOW
Bennett
P
Can we talk? Sorry to bother you.
I discreetly check the text once more, nearly fumbling the phone out of my sweat-slick hands as my knee shakes. I’m ready to burst out of the room the second my professor dismisses us.
Paloma texted me.
We haven’t spoken since our run-in at the Hockey House, and she was gone when I tried to catch her again that night after practice. There were no signs of her ever having been in the house, to the point it almost made me feel more insane about her than usual, that I’d wholly imagined her.
The words of dismissal are barely out of my professor’s mouth before I’m off like a shot, backpack swinging against my shoulder as I shove myself through the door in an out-of-character clumsy maneuver. I knock someone over but don’t bother to apologize as my shoulder careens into the wall.
But she’s there, leaning against the opposite wall with the windows highlighting the bright blond of her hair held back in a clip.
She’s dressed like herself again, jeans and an oversized white long sleeve, a brown fleece vest overtop.
Her eyes are locked on me; the warm feeling of being observed by her feeds my soul.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out,” she blurts, pushing off the wall toward me. Student traffic packs the hall, so I crowd her back against the navy-painted concrete. I can almost see her anxiety clip off into nothing as I cover her with my body completely.
She’s not yours, I remind myself, backing off just slightly. Relax. Don’t push her away.
“Hey, Paloma,” I say, unable to keep my lips from upturning, even only slightly.
“Hey, Bennett,” she says, her voice melting down to softness.
I see then a million tiny flashes of this same moment, from age eighteen to now—nearly four years of memories, her voice multilayered in my brain.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
She nibbles her bottom lip slowly. “I know you’re about to go to the Wellness Center, but I figured I could walk with you?”
I should be anxious about the fact that she needs to talk to me about something this badly, but my brain is stuck on the fact that she remembers my routine.
“My lunch is in my bag.”
It’s not what I meant to say, to explain that I usually pack it because I prefer to eat the same lunch at the same time every day. Even knowing that she already knows that.
“That’s perfect. I’ll just walk with you. I already ate.”
I don’t tell her that it’s hard for me to believe that, or that it doesn’t quell the anxiety like watching her eat a meal might.
I don’t tell her that it doesn’t matter if she did eat already, I won’t be able to keep from wanting to slip her the childish snacks—a yogurt, crackers, fruit snacks—I always pack for her, just in case. Just to be sure.
Just in case.
“I want to talk to you about hockey,” Paloma says, clearing her throat as I open the door to the concourse slowly, slipping on my sunglasses at the sight of the brightened sun glinting off the still-icy ground.
“I—um, I’ll be serving my last semester in an internship with ice sports.
So, half pairs skating, half hockey with Coach Harris.
It’s just to shadow him, but if that would make you uncomfortable or .
. . anything, I can figure out something else. ”
She looks a little seasick.
“Is that . . . okay?”
Is that okay? That I’ll know where she is for hours? That I’ll be able to see her? That I can watch her achieve her dream this close?
“More than okay,” I say, eyes shimmering. I slow my stride just slightly as I see the Wellness Center not so far away, desperate to prolong my time in the warmth of her. “I’m so proud of you, P.”
“Yeah?” She laughs. It’s the same reaction she had to my words of praise three years ago.
“Yeah.”
My eyes take her in again, the grip of her hand on the strap of her same blue backpack that she never lets out of her sight. The gentle swoop of her blond bangs across her temple, the icy strands bright against the sunlight.
How many years will this curse persist—me desperately in want of her? Am I so destined to become my father?
She follows me into the Wellness Center but stops just in the entryway.
“I got a new apartment,” she blurts, cheeks flushing. “So I won’t be at the Hockey House, invading your space and bothering you.” It’s an attempt at a joke, but I shake my head.
“You could never bother me.” My voice is more serious than I mean for it to be. I double down, taking her hand in mine. “Never.”
There’s a long moment then, the air thick between us.
The light from the wall of windows plays along her hair, her pretty, delicate skin, her peachy lips.
It’s hard, sometimes, to separate her mind from her beauty.
To separate the girl I love from the girl I tend to lust after. Who I think of in the shower and often.
But at the same time, I am covetous of her, even from myself. I love her too much to sink back into the comfort of her body, to allow her to do the same.
I’m different now than when we first met. I have better ways of handling myself, of handling her. And I am even more determined than I was at eighteen that if she just gives me her hand one more time, we can be together. She’ll allow me to hold her in the way I so desperately want to.
That she’ll let me take care of her.
Slow and steady, I remind myself. It’s almost an impossible feat with this girl, the woman I’ve been obsessed with since I was eighteen years old. The only girl I’ve ever loved, ever wanted in any way.
“I’ll see you around, then?” she offers.
I nod, slipping a pack of Goldfish into her hand with a quiet, “Yeah, P. I’m not going anywhere.”