Chapter 56
NOW
Bennett
As with everything the Koteskiys do, the charity gala is beautiful: a careful balance of wealth, to garner the monetary support their asking for, and focus on the actual groups they’re here to help.
Anna, Oliver, and Liam are at the greeting area. She gives me a tight hug and kiss to my cheek before fawning over her son.
“There are two lovely girls in there waiting for you, gentlemen.” She smiles, eyes twinkling as she nods toward the grand entrance to the main ballroom. “Tell them both thank you again, for helping me.”
Rhys and I both perk up, heading in that direction like following the North Star. I grin slightly at the way my best friend takes off in a jog to swoop his girlfriend up from behind, her squeak echoing in the semi-barren area as she slaps at him.
“God, hotshot. You need a collar with a bell, I swear,” she snips, elbowing him lightly, but I can see her cheeks flush as he whispers to her.
“You wanna keep me on a leash, kotonyok?” He presses another kiss to her temple. “Fine by me.”
“Where’s Paloma?” I ask, before they can forget I’m still here.
“Right over there,” Sadie offers, jutting her chin toward the other side of the room, where a curvy blonde is resetting the silverware on one of the gaudy tables.
The navy silk of the dress moves like water over the curved lines of her body, strapless so it shows off her shoulders, a long piece of matching midnight navy silk wrapped around her neck like a scarf and hanging down her back nearly to the floor.
She turns, hair bouncing loose in buoyant curls around her face, held back by a simple black pin on one side.
“Bennett,” she breathes, eyes warmer as she looks at me. “Hey.”
“You look beautiful,” I say, voice catching. My fingers reach out and touch the fabric of her dress where it lays across the generous curve of her hip. “I missed you.”
“You too,” she says, stepping back and turning back to the table—almost anxiously.
“You okay?”
She nods. “Just finishing up.” Paloma nibbles on her bottom lip and pulls her fingers in. “Do you think Mrs. Koteskiy will think this looks nice?”
“I’m positive she told you to call her Anna,” I whisper, stepping up behind her. “She’ll love it. She’d love it no matter what you did, you know. She’s—she’s a good mom.”
“You’re really close?” she asks. “To the Koteskiys? Rhys and his family.”
The tone of her voice means something more than she’s saying, but I can’t figure it out; can’t quite read it or see any of her expression to guide me as she’s still turned away.
“Yes,” I offer. “Rhys and I grew up together since birth, and so Max and Anna were like my second set of parents. It was . . . especially good during the divorce. I stayed with them sometimes. And—and Anna has always been more accepting of me than my own mother,” I add the last words quickly, as if I can skim over that part of my history as well.
Paloma frowns, her head tipping over one delicate shoulder. “I’m sorry, you know—that your mom makes things difficult for you.”
I shake my head. “I’m the one who—”
“No, Bennett. You aren’t.” Her tone is harsher than I’m expecting. “She’s your mother. That’s not how mothers should behave.”
I don’t press her with the questions I want to ask—about her own family, her mother. She’s mentioned so few details and all of them seem to make her more upset, so I push it away from the front of my mind.
“You sure this looks even?” she asks, worrying her bottom lip. “I want Anna to think it looks okay.”
“She’ll love it. Come here, P.” The command works like a charm, bringing her body against mine before she turns in my arms. Her heels bring her closer to my mouth, so it’s easier to kiss her skin, her lips, her hair—careful not to mess up even a strand.
“You look beautiful,” she says, eyes glimmering. “Very elegant and regal. Like a prince.”
It should be a teasing sentiment, but it feels genuine. Real. I stand straighter.
“Hey,” another voice invades our space: Sadie, readjusting her heels with a hand for balance on the chair beside her. “I’m gonna go wash my hands—do you wanna come with?”
Paloma presses a quick kiss to my cheek and nods, stepping away to follow Sadie across the ballroom. I watch them exit—then pathetically watch the darkened hallway, like she might immediately reappear.
A hand firmly wraps around my forearm, yanking me closer to the wall. My dad, I realize with a shock. He’s dressed in a black tux and bowtie, curls slicked back with gel, eyes dark.
“We need to talk.”
I shrug out of his hold but stay close. “Then talk.”
His voice drops lower, a whispered hiss. “You want to tell me why I got a no-show charge from your therapist?”
Damn it. A no-show charge alert for him, because it wouldn’t be covered by our insurance—an alert to tell him I’ve missed therapy three times in a row.
I keep my face impassive, careful with every twitch of muscle, because my dad has always been the person in every room who understood me most. If I even blink oddly, he’ll pick up on it. Taking a sip from my glass, I dip my chin.
“I’ll pay you back.”
Like lighting a match, his expression boils over—though it’s more hurt than anger spreading across the lines of his face.
“Pay me back,” he mutters, almost breathless. “You’ve got to be fucking joking. What the hell is going on, Ben? Why are you missing therapy?’
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he snaps. “Talk to me. Please, Ben—”
“Honestly, you’re the last person I want to talk to right now, Dad.” My words are cutting, harsh, but I turn away before I can see the blows land. “Besides—”
“Adam Reiner,” yet another voice interrupts. I raise a hand to the bridge of my nose, rubbing my thumb there as a headache starts to form.
The newest Waterfell coach is standing opposite us, invading our circle with a small redheaded girl—Paloma’s roommate, Lily, on the arm of a well-dressed young man that I don’t recognize.
My dad’s brow furrows, and he eyes me for a moment longer before straightening with a sharp smile. “Sorry, do we know each other?”
“Christopher LaBlanc,” he introduces himself, one hand on his chest and the other wrapped around a wine glass stem. “I’m the new assistant coach for the Wolves; more of a favor to Harris than anything else, but”—he shrugs with a wide grin, all gleaming teeth—“here I am.”
“LaBlanc, right,” my dad says, reaching his hand out to shake my coach’s already outstretched palm. “Good to officially meet you. You’re back to coaching, then?”
“I like to have my hands in every part of the business, you know.”
With the quiet lull in conversation, I nod toward Paloma’s roommate. “Lily, good to see you.”
She looks mildly startled that I’ve acknowledged her at all. “Hi, Bennett.”
LaBlanc looks between us. “I had no idea you knew my daughter, Reiner.”
The reality is that I’m only putting together the connection just now, but I nod anyways. “Her roommate is my girlfriend,” I say to my coach, before my eyes scan back to Lily. “Paloma’s here, too, and I’m sure she’d love to see you.”
Her eyes dart to her dad, as if asking permission, but he shakes his head sharply.
“Stay here,” he says, voice different than I’ve heard it before. “You can talk to her when you’re back at your apartment.”
My dad furrows his eyebrows, watching carefully.
“Lily?” I ask again, but she only bites her lip and stares directly at the breast pocket of my suit jacket.
“I’ll talk to her later,” Lily says, before her eyes turn back to the polished floor. “At home, I mean.”
I offer her a smile and nod my head; Lily is important to Paloma, kind to her, one of her only friends, I think. And therefore, she’s important to me.
Excusing myself, I turn to head across the room.
“Ben,” my dad calls, careful with his tone. “We still need to talk.”
I nod, but don’t offer much else. There are too many people—and with the ballroom filling more and more with guests, I feel a desperate edge to my need for an escape.
Crossing the ballroom quickly, I head down the hallway to the men’s room—my shoulder slamming into someone as I stomp forward.
“Sorry,” I offer.
Holden shakes his head, eyes downcast. “It’s fine. I’m—you’re good, Reiny.”
He stalks off without another word. I want to focus on him, to ask and make sure he’s all right, but I can’t. My heart is still racing, the threads of panic making themselves more known.
I just need a few minutes to calm myself.
Turning on the sink, I wet my hands with cold water and pat my cheeks, carefully dabbing the back of my neck while I box-breathe to calm down. The anxiety feels like it crept up out of nowhere, but it’s undeniably strong. Maybe it’s been building for weeks. Still, I manage to get it under control.
In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. Hold for four.
Again. Again.
Slowly, the haze around my vision disappears. My heart feels calmer, slower in rhythm—back to my baseline.
Everything is fine.
The creak of a stall door echoes in the otherwise empty space.
“Shit,” I mutter, eyes up, clocking Toren Kane through the mirror.
He’s in all-black like an idealized version of Hades himself—his button up slightly undone and tie hanging loose around his tattooed neck, and matching onyx suit jacket slung over one shoulder.
His russet skin is bright under the warm lighting of the chandeliers in the polished marble bathroom, making his eyes seem like pools of pure gold—striking and unsettling like always.
“You good?” he asks, no teasing or biting tone. Just mild concern, brow furrowed.
“Fine,” I say, washing my hands.
He smirks, his free hand pressing a thumb along his bottom lip, the silver of his rings glinting. “Yeah?” He snorts. “You and Blake are both terrible liars.”
I don’t say a word. Don’t acknowledge anything.
He takes the silence as an invitation. “Sounded like you weren’t okay—”
“I don’t need your help,” I snap. “I’m fine. Leave it, Kane.”
Before he can add anything, I spin on my heel and leave the bathroom, feeling moderately worse than before.