Chapter 46
NOW
Bennett
“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap.
It’s the third session we’ve had that’s been tense, and it’s only gotten worse. But today I’ve hit my breaking point.
As usual, Dr. Anya has little to no reaction to my words or the harsh level of my voice—even if it is unusual for me. But I’m frustrated, enough that my knee is starting to ache as I keep bouncing it. “Paloma is good. She’s back in my life again. Everything is great.”
She nods. “Last time Paloma and you . . . broke up, I guess, you struggled severely. Enough that I think you need to talk about this, to imagine what it might be like, so that you have better control over your own life and situation if something does—”
“Nothing is going to happen.”
“What would it be like if Paloma did leave?” she asks again, and the question hits like a punch.
“She won’t,” I grit out.
“You can’t control everything,” Dr. Anya says, clicking her pen again and setting it down in her lap, uncrossing her legs. “You can’t control Paloma, or anyone else.”
My heart is thundering, blood roaring through my ears like a constant wave across the shore.
Everything is fine.
“Paloma is my girlfriend again. Things with my mom are fine,” I tell her. “My dad and I are . . . doing better. Rhys is back. Paloma is back. Everything is good.”
I don’t need this.
“Bennett,” she tries again. Her voice is softer but it still feels like something is shredding me from the inside out. “You got through this once. You could do it again.”
I’m standing before I realize it, fists clenching and unclenching as I stalk out and slam the door closed behind me.
I hear the sound of my dorm door closing three years ago. The sound of my childhood bedroom door when my dad left.
Everything is fine. I don’t need this.
I grab my phone and call Paloma. A breath rushes out of me when she answers on the first ring.
“Hey.” Her voice washes over me, icing out the heat but not the stress.
“Are you busy? Today and tomorrow?” It’s hard work to keep the strain and frustration out of my voice, but I manage.
“No. I’m done with class—I just have a pairs skate tomorrow.” Her laugh is like coming home. “Why?”
“Can you skip it?”
“Yes.” She laughs again, more insistent this time as she asks, “Why?”
I clear my throat, picturing a cloudy, mist-covered beach. A girl with slightly darker blond hair and a campfire. Days that stretch over years of time, each one of them a precious, coveted memory for me.
“I want to go to Speyside.”