Chapter 33
NOW
Paloma
I stare blankly at the folded notebook paper that’s fallen out of my bag through a new hole I’ll have to patch soon. My stomach somersaults again over how easily I might not have seen it slip from its usual spot of refuge.
Now it stares at me from the passenger seat, taunting me with the corner upturned where I can just make out the beginnings of “somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond” haunting and taunting me in equal measure.
Adjusting in my seat again, I try to talk myself out of this ridiculous, inane idea. But my desperation just to see him is too intense to ignore.
We haven’t talked since that night in the hotel room. I sat next to Coach Harris to talk over notes, too afraid to look Bennett in the eyes when I saw him board. But I’d felt his stare. Since then, I haven’t seen him in passing or at a practice—having spent the week with the pairs team.
Until today, when the anxious wary feeling of not seeing him threatened to eat me alive.
Staying in the wet swimsuit was a stupid move. Even beneath long sleeves and sweatpants, the February wind threatens to freeze me as I jump out of my car. But I don’t like showering in public.
I don’t like the memories the pool locker room brings, either.
My wet swimsuit stuck to every curve of my body; legs spread across the mass of his sweatpants-covered thigh.
“Move like you did in the water,” whispered into my neck.
Teeth in my shoulder as a low groan echoed against the tiles.
“I need you to keep going for me. I need to see you come like this.”
“I want to keep you like this. Do you trust me?”
“Let me hold you. Just like that, love. So good for me—”
Shaking away the warm, deep voice that’s heating up my body, I duck my head into the hood of my open jacket.
I try knocking, hesitant at first, then insistently after gaining some bravery. It’s a long length of silence, so long I step back to leave—before a dog barks and the door opens to Bennett Reiner, half slumped into the frame.
Broad and muscular, but with a softness that the other boys on the team don’t have. Bennett is immensely tall, thick across his middle and chest, as well as his arms. Brunette curls more unruly than usual fall forward into his face as he takes me in sleepily.
He’s so beautiful it hurts.
“You’re swimming again,” he says, eyes darting to my wet braid and the dark outline of my damp suit beneath the shirt I’m wearing. The cracks messily patched together in my heart yawn back open at his words.
“I—um, yeah.” I nod. “It’s been good for me.”
The silence isn’t relaxing this time, it’s tense. Mostly from me. I start to back away. This is a bad idea.
Bennett’s hand snaps out and wraps around my wrist, tugging me toward him. Seven peeks up from his spot at the top of the stairs, before raising himself up with more excitement and racing sloppily toward me.
“Hey.” I grin, voice low and soft as I pet his fur. “Miss you, too, Sev.”
“What—” Bennett coughs roughly, pulling his shirt up over his mouth. He clears his throat, but his voice is scratchy and worn. “How are you here?” He leans toward me, lifting a hand like he’s in a daze, observing me like I’m some apparition from his brain.
“Oh, um—” I gulp down air like there’s a short supply. “I came to see you, but—” A strange laugh escapes my lips as my face burns. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”
“No—wait.” He clears his throat, voice raw as he steps backward away from me. I track my eyes over him again—sweat-glistening skin, reddened circles around his half-lidded ocean-blue eyes, slumped posture.
“Oh god, Bennett, are you sick?” I ask, stepping toward him on instinct. He tries to back away, like he’s got the plague and he’s terrified it’ll infect me.
“Mmhmm.” He draws out, eyes closing and breath heaving in his broad chest. “So, you should probably go now. I took some NyQuil and now I’m seeing things.”
It almost looks like he’s going to fall asleep right here, half leaned against the wall of the foyer. I bite down on my lip, smashing the threatening smile away. He looks so boyish, it’s distracting.
“Can I help you get to your room? You need to sleep.”
“You’re always in my room, P.” He slurs the words a bit. I approach anyway, slipping my arm around his thick waist. Even in his half-delusional, cough medicine–induced state, he doesn’t collapse his weight on me. Like he’s aware even now of his size and stature.
With my help, we walk up the stairs and toward his room.
The smell of it hits me like a brick wall, assaulting my senses all at once. Bergamot and pine, and something softer like fresh, warm sheets. It’s the smell of home for me.
I untuck his sheets carefully on both sides of the bed. He watches me, eyes still only half open, but there’s a softer set to his shoulders. He’s not as tense as he’d usually be when allowing me to complete one of his rituals for him.
“Get in, love.” The old familiar word sneaks out of my mouth.
He smiles, sleepy and sated, and I don’t have it in me to care about the line I’ve crossed.
Bennett’s hands brush my hips as he passes me to slide into his sheets and comforter. He pulls the sweat-sticky shirt off, revealing the warm, pinkened skin of his upper body. He takes up so much of the bed, body heavy and limp before I’ve even flicked off his bedside lamp.
“Stay, P,” he calls, voice whisper quiet. The window blinds are closed tight, casting the room in a peaceful darkness. “Please.”
My heart tugs like the organ is trying to burst from my chest and into his hands, where it’s always belonged.
Seeing Bennett like this feels wrong, the usual pillar of strength weakened by sickness. And knowing Bennett, I’m sure it’s causing all sorts of anxiety by throwing his routines and rituals off.
I want to care for him. To do what I know he’d do for me, though he’d never ask me to.
“I’ll be here when you wake up.”