Chapter 39
NOW
Bennett
“You sure you don’t want to come?”
Rhys looks back over his shoulder at me as I finish cleansing my left leg pad. He and Freddy linger in the doorway post-practice; nearly everyone else is gone besides Toren and Holden, who got held after for another extended practice session with LaBlanc.
Freddy hangs off Rhys’s shoulder, a bright grin pulling at the smile lines around his mouth. “C’mon, Reiny—don’t you love me?”
I shake my head with a smile. “I love my ears more.”
Freddy frowns with a huff. “I’m not even a bad singer. Besides, it’s karaoke—you’re, like, supposed to be bad at it. That’s the whole point.”
“I don’t know if that’s true,” Rhys says, but still gives the left winger another easy smile.
Their friendship has blossomed into something deeper since last semester.
I don’t want to speculate that I’m being left behind—if I am, it’s my fault.
The truth is that it’s easy for Rhys and Freddy because Sadie and Ro are so close.
But I still have to remind myself of that every now and then.
It’s good to see them together. Freddy looks happier than he has since I met him, and Rhys seems settled again, unshakable, the way he’s always been in my mind.
“It’ll be fun, Ben,” Rhys says. “Besides, Freddy bet me that if he scored the last goal at the game, I’d do karaoke with him. So you can come watch my public humiliation ritual. Just come.”
The desire is there. It would be ten times easier to just say yes, even if I changed my mind on the way home. I’d probably even enjoy it, at least somewhat. But I just can’t.
“Maybe,” I say. “I don’t know. I’m pretty tired. You guys go ahead.”
It feels like disappointment even if they both attempt a smile for me, nodding as they dip out together.
By the time I make it to my car, the impulse to check my phone is only growing—though I’ve been avoiding the thought as best I can. I manage to wait this time until I park in the darkened garage. I’m surprised to see a series of texts from Sadie Brown at the top of my notifications.
SADIE brOWN
Didn’t know if this would change your mind, but there’s still room if you wanna join.
Attached is a photo: the amber lighting of a familiar bar, a few neon signs around adding a red cast to the yellow and orange hue.
They’re seated at a high-top, and at the center is Paloma Blake, gaze dipped over her shoulder.
She’s so goddamn beautiful. Blond hair spills over the blue long sleeve she’s wearing as she glances toward something behind Sadie.
I want to be that something, the focus of her doe-brown eyes.
Fuck it.
I jump out of my car and head upstairs, feeding Seven and showering again before dressing in a T-shirt and flannel.
I grab my well-worn Waterfell baseball cap and spin it backward on my head just to tamp down my unruly curls, then check the mirror one last time.
My beard is a bit longer than the usual thick five-o’clock shadow I wear year-round now, but I don’t have time to shave.
There’s a riotous mass of butterflies in my stomach at the idea of seeing Paloma, and I’m a little ashamed to admit it makes me speed into downtown Waterfell toward the bar.
The Patio is as close to a country bar as one can get near Waterfell, which really means that once a night they play a Brooks & Dunn song and eventually somebody will probably sing “Tennessee Whiskey” at karaoke—which is currently being sung as I hand my ID to the bouncer and let them stamp my hand before heading inside.
I spot Rhys first, at the bar handing his card to the girl bartending with a dimpled, polite smile. He sees me as he turns, eyes lighting up in a way that makes my chest warm. It’s not that I didn’t expect that reaction. But it feels good to know he’s happy I’m here.
“Need some help?” I ask, sidling up beside him.
He nods in thanks, and I grab two of the amber beer bottles to take over to the table, helping him pass out everyone’s drink orders.
But my eyes are only on the girl across the table, her plump cheek smooshed in her propped-up hand, pulling her mouth up on the side.
She’s watching the stage with a bored gaze, chewing on her perpetually swollen bottom lip, so I take the slight advantage and ease up to her side, setting one of the bottles next to her other hand.
Paloma looks up, the words “thank you” half out of her mouth before her eyes take me in.
“Bennett,” she breathes, eyes wide.
“Hey, P.” I smile, a blush tingeing my cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, but her eyes dart to Sadie briefly.
I sit on the stool next to her, still taking up too much space with my body, but not looming over her. “Singing karaoke, clearly.”
She smiles, a slight chuckle leaving her lips before she takes a sip of her beer. “Clearly.”
The word is low and smoky, the intoxication of Paloma Blake’s unintentional sex appeal wrapping around me like a vice. I lean in closer.
“I heard Freddy was forcing Rhys to sing,” I whisper. “I couldn’t miss that.”
As if on cue, their names are called. Freddy loops his arm around a bright red Rhys and they stalk off to the lifted stage in the corner.
The bar isn’t packed yet, but it’s decently crowded.
My best friend looks like he’s going to sink into the floor, whereas Freddy’s already unbuttoned his collared shirt nearly to his belly button and blows a kiss at his girlfriend.
“We should go up there,” Ro says, eyes bright with affection and excitement. She’s come entirely out of her shell since I first met her, much more confident with Freddy by her side. “To support them.”
The girls head over, but I opt to stay at the table, not wanting to block anyone’s view with my size. But the second they make it through the gathering crowd to the front of the stage, close enough that they could reach out and touch the guys, someone approaches Paloma.
I’m not surprised. She’s beautiful, perfect—everyone knows it. Part of me wants to intervene. I’ve had to watch this for years. Should it be different now that we are friends?
We’re just friends now. Leave her alone.
But brown eyes flicker over and find mine, a clear pleading look in them, and I’m heading to her immediately, cutting through the crowd with ease. The second I’m at her back, the frat boy wannabe takes me in and blanches, ducking his head and walking away.
I stand behind her like a sentry, covering her body with my bulk easily, trying to hide the smile that wants to pull at my face.
“This one’s for our girlfriends!” Freddy shouts into the mic, making the feedback go off and several patrons flinch—including Paloma, who scoots herself back into me before straightening again, staying close.
Sister Hazel’s “All for You” starts up and Freddy and Rhys sing vibrantly into the mics. Rhys is tipsy enough to give something of a performance, but Freddy as usual steals the show. They both make a mess of the verses but manage to keep it together for each chorus.
Freddy is the loud one, but Rhys has the actually decent voice.
Freddy ends their performance on his knees, reaching for Rosalie’s head to kiss her soundly in front of everyone, while Sadie shakes her head with a shimmering, rare smile as she watches Rhys blushing and singing.
It isn’t until he climbs down off the stage that the figure skater runs to him, jumping into his waiting arms for a movie-worthy kiss as he holds her up, her legs around his waist.
“Feeling like the third wheel?” Paloma asks, leaning back so that her hair sweeps over the skin of my forearms where I’ve rolled up my flannel sleeves.
I look down at her, seeing the slight flush to her skin from the heat of the crowd and alcohol. The relaxed features of her face, the clear safety she finds in me.
“No,” I say quietly. “I’m not.”
The music interlude before the next karaoke performance is “With or Without You” by U2—I recognize it, almost certain I heard it in this exact bar three years ago, a more painful memory.
This time, I don’t let it hurt.
Paloma turns, looking up at me with soft brown eyes. One hand still holds the neck of her beer tightly. My body is blocking her from the others nearly entirely as my heart thunders to the same beat:
Hers. Hers. Hers.
She can say that we’re friends. I’ll always be hers.
Her other hand falls from the protective hold across her middle, fingers curling deftly around my belt loop. She doesn’t pull. She hardly moves, just sways slightly.
As if we’re dancing, slowly, barely touching.
My desire for her has only grown, whether we’re distant or she’s asleep and safe in my bed, in my arms. It never goes away. I can’t rid myself of it, and I don’t want to.
I’ll never pressure her for anything, but I will always long for her.
Fingers in soft wet hair, hands on damp skin, and Paloma Blake soft and vulnerable and trusting beneath me.
Moonlight and the sound of waves. A blue backpack and stuffed rabbit.
Coconut cake and salt air. Damp skin warm against mine.
Words pressed from my mouth and into hers, like I could breathe poetry into her lungs.
“P,” I whisper. We aren’t touching, but it feels like I’m buried inside her, just as overwhelming and intense.
Her breathing is somehow louder than the music, a pattern I recognize from late nights and early mornings and every single time she let me have her.
I step closer and the bubble bursts, a stricken look crossing Paloma’s face. I feel her leave before she actually does. She takes her seat at our table, where Sadie, Rhys, Freddy, and Ro are, and smiles politely as Rosalie asks her something.
I follow her—I always do—standing next to Rhys at the side of the table and offering a clap to his shoulder.
“Great work up there,” I say.
He shakes his head, tucking a few loose strands of shaggy brown hair back behind his ear. “Shut up.”
I laugh and he beams.
“I’m glad you’re here, Ben.”
My gaze finds Paloma’s, the eye contact just as intense as everything is where she’s involved, and I smile at her, bright and warm. If being friends with her means having her here, with the people that have become my family, then I’ll take it.
Rhys is still smiling at me, watching me watch Paloma with a twinkle in his eye, one dimple showing as he tilts the bottle of beer back. He’s different, from freshman year, from last semester. A good different. We both are.
“Me too,” I say, smiling at him, reaching for his arm to squeeze it.