Chapter 21
NOW
Bennett
Rhys isn’t here, running late apparently. Which has left me alone, slightly tormented by the sight of his parents and my dad at a wide, round oak table in the dimly lit back corner of some fancy steak restaurant.
While we’d normally meet in Boston, my dad has come to Waterfell tonight. The Koteskiys like to be closer to home ever since Sadie’s brothers started to live with them.
Anna stands up when she sees me, eyes glittering as she steps forward with her arms open. It warms my empty chest, stepping into her embrace.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” she says, pulling back to pat my cheek. Her husband and my father quickly join her on either side, only making my stomach sink further.
Still, I force a smile. “It’s only been a few weeks.”
“Way too long.” She shakes her head. “Come sit. Do you want a drink?”
Max pulls her chair out for her, settling her in it with a hand planted on the back of her neck. I shake my head politely, taking the empty seat nearest my dad.
Max makes easy conversation about school, asking about my classes and how practices are going, leaving my dad and Anna to interject with questions or comments of their own.
“And—with hockey? Any idea which teams are scouting you?”
I grimace, trying to hide it behind a quick gulp of my water. It’s unavoidable at a table with Maximillian Koteskiy and Adam Reiner—to not talk about hockey would be a feat. But without Rhys here I don’t have much to offer.
“I’m . . . not sure.” I shrug. “I haven’t met with Coach Harris yet.”
What I’ve said seems to startle Max. His mouth opens, but before he can say anything else, my dad cuts him off.
“How’s the gala planning going?”
They launch into small talk over the Koteskiys’ annual charity gala—half discussion with a friend, half information for their main benefactor, Adam Reiner. I don’t hear much, just tracing words along the napkin spread across my suit pants.
At one point, my dad reaches over to refill Anna’s wine with the bottle they bought for the table.
She continues to talk, smiling at him and lifting her hand to his bearded cheek, smoothing a thumb over his skin.
The casual intimacy of it all, the smile my dad sends her way that seems almost longing, makes my chest hurt.
I wait for Max to say something, to stand or fight or something, but he just watches his wife with a small, closed-mouth smile.
Nearly ready to excuse myself, I clear my throat. Because I can’t sit here and watch this.
Last year, when I’d first managed to recognize the looks of adoration my father sent his best friend’s wife, I’d almost printed a copy of “The More Loving One” by W. H. Auden, as if it would show him that I understood.
And then . . . then I’d gone on a double date that night and it had changed everything.
This wasn’t some beautiful love story. It was depressing and sad, and the idea of him loving her and staring across at her for his entire life made me nearly sick with rage at my own father.
Until I couldn’t stand being around him while he faked some strange happiness in my presence, then went home to be alone forever like some sick curse.
“I should—”
“Sorry I’m late,” Rhys says, dimples gleaming as he slides into the seat next to us, straightening the suit coat he’s wearing.
“How is everyone?” Anna asks, eyes softening at the sight of her son. “Oliver? Liam? Sadie?”
“All good,” he promises, leaning over the back of his chair to order a Coke. “Promise. Liam and Oliver are playing video games, and Sadie made pancakes for dinner for them all.”
Anna grins brighter. “I swear if that girl tries to clean my kitchen this time . . .”
“And how is my son?” Max asks, his eyes intent on Rhys.
Rhys nods, making stern eyes toward his father. “All good. Promise.”
I’m grateful for the confirmation, too—because where I used to pride myself on being able to read Rhys, knowing my best friend inside and out, I’d failed him again.
“I understand,” I’d told him, eyes watering, the morning after he’d gotten hammered and locked himself in a bathroom until Sadie came for him.
“If you’d told us, told me, we could’ve helped.
Things would’ve been different.” It was all I’d dared to share, because part of me didn’t want Rhys to know how well I understood—not just in an empathetic way, but in a way that explained how I felt all the time.
Sad and angry and scared in a swirling mix.
Like I was screaming underwater for years, and no one could hear me.
It’s difficult for me to read people anyway, especially if they wanted to hide something from me.
It was the same with Paloma. I’d failed to see what was wrong and lost her for it.
Part of me feels like I’ve lost Rhys, too, in some ways.
“We told Sadie and the boys about the gala,” Anna says, her eyes shining like stars. “They were the ones to pick the charity, actually. So it’ll be a whole family affair.”
“For us, too,” my dad mutters, gulping back a heavy swing of his wine. He gives me an apologetic smile before adding, “Helen is coming. She’s bringing Ethan.”
Max’s brow wrinkles. “I thought they got divorced.”
“They did,” he says. “Apparently, they’re close again. Not sure. Helen just wanted me to know that she was coming and that she was bringing him.”
My dad has never liked Ethan, though I never minded him. After a few arguments about him when Ethan was still married to my mom, we’d decided not to discuss it.
“Should we get you a hot date, then, Adam?” Anna smirks.
“Are you offering, Trouble?” he teases back, and Max laughs, shaking his head.
“Whatever you think you’re doing to charm my wife,” Max cuts in, “it won’t work. Besides, you might have the looks and the bank account, but I have a better superpower.” He leans closer to her, his voice dropping to whisper some long Russian phrase just loud enough for us to hear.
“Oh, god, I’m going to be sick,” Rhys says. “Forget ordering, I’m losing my appetite.”
It’s a joke, but I want to wring his neck. To remind him how blessed he is to have two parents who love each other in that way. To point him toward the yearning expression on my father’s face as he watches his best friends embrace.
Instead, I look at the menu and try to figure out what I can eat that won’t make me feel sicker through this entire dinner. Food has always been a comfort for me, but maybe I’m losing that, too. Just like everything else in my life that I love.