Chapter 34
NOW
Bennett
Light flickers between the slightly opened blinds.
And there’s no sound of Seven.
I jolt up, hand coming to rub at my head as it throbs in earnest.
Hoisting myself up and out of bed, I resist the urge to shower just yet, needing to check on wherever the hell Seven is, too worried about him to care that I stink of sweat . . . even if my sweat-slick sleep pants sticking to me feel like knives in my skin.
“Seven?” I call, heaving myself slowly down the last few steps. I hear the pitter-patter of paws accompanied by feet and turn—
And she’s there.
Paloma.
She pours into the doorway like the water drenching her body. She’s in her swimsuit with sweatpants covering her from the waist down, also just as soaked, clinging to the curves of her body. Darkened blond hair drips onto the kitchen floor, framing her clean face and chewed-on lips.
The girl I’ve loved since the first moment she opened her mouth—even if I didn’t realize it yet—is in my house.
“You’re swimming again.”
It’s the only thing I can manage, even if I immediately curse myself for it. Observations aren’t greetings.
“I—um, yeah.” She nods, shaking the water off like Seven after a bath. He—just as soaked—mimics her. “You said that yesterday.”
There’s a small smile at those words and I want to grasp it tight with both hands.
“Right.” I scratch at my stubble, feeling for how long it’s been since I shaved. “I was a little . . .”
“Out of it?” She smirks. “High on NyQuil?”
“Yeah.” I nod, blushing.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah.”
Another awkward silence floats between us until I feel a little nauseous over what to say next.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts. “I shouldn’t have stayed with you all night.
” My chest squeezes at her words. She stayed with me all night?
In my room? “It’s just—no one came home.
And I didn’t know if you’d walked Seven or fed him, and then I didn’t want to leave you alone while you were sick. I just . . .”
Exhaustion settles into her expression.
A million questions form and die on my tongue; I’m terrified that something I say will send her running, skittish and fearful again.
“When did you start swimming again?”
It’s not the question she’s expecting, and maybe it’s not the one I meant to ask, but for some reason it feels like the most important one.
“Um, this semester.”
I want to ask more questions. I want to know everything I’ve missed. We’ve danced around each other this semester, and she’s not reached out once for my help, called me to walk her home.
But she’s swimming again. That’s . . . that’s everything.
There’s something healing about the water, for Paloma.
It’s the reason I took the time to run her baths, to install the ridiculously expensive rain shower, to sit in the empty pool late at night and break a few school rules, to brave the irritation of wet socks and clothing sticking to me because watching the rain hit Paloma’s skin looks like something divine.
Paloma was meant to be in water, or near it. Watching her deprive herself of it was enough of a heartbreak—but to know she’s swimming now? Healing?
I smile before I mean to.
Seven steps forward again, nudging his soaking wet head against her equally wet sweatpants-clad thigh. He looks up at her like she hung the moon.
I imagine I look at her similarly.
“Did you give my dog a bath?”
Her cheeks pinken and her eyes dart down to my wet dog at her feet.
“Yeah—um, Seven got sick. I don’t know from what, but he threw up on himself and so I cleaned it up and decided to bathe him.
” She picks at a tangle of blond hair and peeks up at me from beneath her lashes.
“I just wanted to help, since you were sick. And I knew the mess would be . . . hard on you.”
The last words flutter into the air between us, vulnerable and quiet.
“Can I make you food?” I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “I mean, are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
She hesitates for a moment; so do I. The pulling need to lead her, like I usually do, wars with the uncertainty of this moment. What are we to each other? How do we interact here, in this daylight vignette of something I’ve never had with her but always wanted?
I take a gamble.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and shower?”
Her cheeks darken. I try not to ruminate on what she’s thinking. “I didn’t bring anything to change into. I don’t even have my—”
“That’s okay, P,” I cut her off gently. “I’ll lay something out for you.”
· · ·
I try to give her plenty of time to get into the shower before I creep up and into my room, grabbing for a sweatshirt with a chewed-up sleeve and a pair of sweatpants she’s used before.
Just as I decide to leave them on my bed, rather than invade her space to leave them on the counter, the door opens.
My stomach hollows out at the sight of her in the doorway, towel tucked around her, shoulders bare and skin wet and flushed with the heat from the water. I bang my shin into the metal bedframe, nearly falling as I avert my eyes.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m sorry—I wasn’t—”
“It’s fine, Bennett,” she says. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
It’s meant to be a joke, to get rid of some of the tension. But it only makes my chest ache because it’s not a joke to me. It doesn’t matter if I’ve seen her naked before; her body is hers.
Why is that such a hard concept for her?
I’m terrified to admit that I know the answer. But still, I keep my back turned to her.
“I’m making you breakfast. Pancakes and an omelet. Some fruit and potatoes, too.”
“You don’t have to do all that, Bennett,” she whispers. “But thank you.”
Saying I’ll make you as much as I can because I live in constant fear that you don’t have enough food feels like too much, so I stay quiet. Though I did sneak protein bars and one of the kid’s yogurts she likes into her backpack. Just in case.
“I’ll just wait for you in the kitchen,” I say, leaving and closing my door before she can say anything else.