Chapter 54
NOW
Bennett
“Ben?”
I’m not sure how many times Rhys has said my name before I realize I’m in my closet, still half naked. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, lost in my head. Everything’s felt fuzzy lately, hazy around the edges.
I grab a shirt off its hanger and slip it on, then reach for my phone—like I might call Paloma again—before pocketing it. Let her have her night. She’s with Sadie. She’s fine.
She’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is okay.
“Sorry.” I shake my head, eyeing Rhys as he slips on his belt.
His mouth opens, but before he can speak, a little voice calls out, “Can you please help?”
Liam’s eyes are wide as he opens the door to my bedroom where Rhys has decidedly made himself comfortable.
The youngest of Sadie’s brothers is small and sweet, but usually rambunctious.
Right now, however, he’s frustrated, seeking out the comforting presence of my best friend.
He holds out his hands to Rhys with a little navy tie with a pattern of wolves printed on it.
Rhys kneels in front of him with a smile, talking quietly, softly to the kid as he knots the tie for him.
My gaze tracks movement at my door again—this time, the middle child of the Brown family, Oliver. He’s fully dressed, but his tie is stretched out and knotted incorrectly—and he keeps pulling at it.
“He reminds me of you,” Rhys confided in me one day, when he realized Oliver was doing his homework at the counter on the mornings he stayed with us, enjoying the quiet time with only me, and sometimes Ro, downstairs.
I heard everything he didn’t say, too.
“Oliver,” I say, half in greeting, half to garner his attention. “Lose the tie.”
He furrows his brow—he’s Sadie’s twin in most ways, dark hair, freckles and pale skin, gray cat-like eyes.
He’s distrusting and skeptical like her, too.
But it only takes him a moment to realize I’m not wearing one either—I never do—before he pulls his off and tucks it into his pocket with a quiet, “Thanks.”
Oliver comes to collect his brother, telling him their sister is waiting for him to send a photo of their outfits.
“Tell your sister we’re leaving soon,” Rhys calls to the boys, ushering them out and leaning against the door after he closes us in.
I watch him, eyes guarded and cautious.
“We should talk.”
“About what?” I say, cheeks flushing as I step to the other side of the room for my suit jacket, then into the bathroom, checking my hair and washing my hands.
“About Paloma,” he starts, and my eyes shut involuntarily. “Listen, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” I snap, before pressing my palms to the counter and hanging my head for a minute.
I’ve dreaded this conversation, but I know Rhys enough to know he wouldn’t be able to put it off for much longer.
My best friend is a good person who cares deeply—but he’s also a martyr.
And it’s the exact reason I never confided in him about Paloma, especially after they dated.
I don’t like to think about it now, but I know that as much as it pains me, it hurts Rhys, too. The guilt of the betrayal he feels responsible for is blatantly painted across his face.
“Bennett,” he chokes. His arms are crossed, and he stands barely a foot away from me in the doorway, watching me through the bathroom mirror. “If I had known . . .”
“I know,” I whisper, eyes closing tightly. “You couldn’t have known. I didn’t tell you.”
He nods, and I know it’s not enough to rid him of his remorse. But for now, it has to be.
Rhys only gives me another moment before he sighs heavily and asks, “How long have you two . . .”
“It’s recent, us dating again.”
“Again,” he huffs. “Bennett, you’re my best friend. I know you, so I’ll ask again. How long have you been in love with Paloma Blake?”
“Since freshman year. Fall semester.” Probably since I first laid eyes on her in the hockey locker room. “A long time,” I say, sending him a bitter smile.
“Jesus Christ,” Rhys mutters, hands rubbing at his eyes. “No wonder Seven lost it that night.”
My brow furrows as I tilt my head up.
“What night?”
“You don’t remember?” He laughs and shakes his head. “I think it was . . . spring? Sophomore year? We threw that big party here for the first time—nearly got out of hand with all the people who came.”
I barely remember the night he’s talking about. I’d never been much of a drinker, but I had indulged that night. Too much—and I’d hated it.
“Anyway—Paloma was there. I remember, she was by herself, and I think she was wasted, but some asshole wouldn’t leave her alone. And I was about to intervene, before your big ass dog slammed past me and tackled the guy. You really don’t remember this?”
Eyes wide, I shake my head.
“Seven attacked someone?”
“It was a mess—I can’t believe you don’t remember this. Although now that I’m thinking about it, I think Seven was only out because Freddy helped walk you upstairs to your room and you both passed out in your bed.”
The smile that pushes at my lips is mild embarrassment but also just a warm feeling of friendship. That might be the closest, at least physically, Freddy and I ever were.
“But yeah, Seven just went after this guy, barking—and I’d never heard him bark before.
He was growling and yelping. And then after I pulled on his collar to get him off, he just collapsed himself on top of Paloma where she was sitting.
I think he slept there with her that night—I mean, I know you remember us all waking up to fifty-something people in our house. ”
He’s right. I do remember that absolute nightmare of anxiety and terror. Rhys nearly had to lock me in his bedroom—the one room somehow untouched by chaos—while he conducted everything.
“It just . . . makes a lot of sense now.” He shakes his head. “And I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. With Paloma or by shutting you out during my panic attack stuff. I just . . . I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I grasp his shoulder. “All good.”
“Is it?” he asks, stopping me before I can pass him by. He’s quieter, even though we’re alone in the room together. “You . . . you skipped practice. Twice. That’s not . . . the last time you did that was with me, freshman year, when you were drowning and wouldn’t tell me why.”
I don’t say anything. I barely move.
“Was it her?” His voice drops, softer. “Was that night, New Year’s Eve, when I found you having a panic attack—was that because of her?”
“It wasn’t her fault,” I insist. “We’d just broken up and I wasn’t . . . I didn’t take it well.”
I’m still not taking it well—I’ve never gotten answers to that night, but I’m not going to ask about it now.
“You’re my best friend, Ben,” he says. “I just want to make sure you aren’t going to get hurt like that again.”
Bitterness and resentment gnaw at me. I jerk my shoulder from his grip, eyes dipping down toward his feet. “Yeah? Well, at least you’ll know if I’m the one hurting. Considering I don’t shut you out.”
He flinches like I’ve hit him, but don’t have it in me to regret it.
“Ben—”
“It’s fine,” I say, waving my hand as I step past him and grasp my door. “It’s all good, Rhys.” I smile over my shoulder at him.
It is all good, at least to me. The past is in the past and I’m tired of everyone wanting me to focus there, when Rhys has Sadie and is okay now; when Paloma is here now—and happy.
That’s enough.
It has to be.
Rhys and I will be fine; we always are. But there are times when I wonder what it was that broke the constant chain I thought would link us forever—the hit he took last year, or the one he dealt me junior year.