Chapter 69
NOW
Bennett
“Hate to say it like this, but you’re glowing,” Freddy says, clapping me on the back.
Toren laughs and shakes his head. “He’s not a fucking pregnant woman, Fredderic.”
Freddy frowns up at the defenseman like he might want to start something, but Holden shoves in between them to settle against the kitchen bar we’re all standing around.
“You gonna kiss him again?” Freddy asks, eyeing Holden’s shoulder pressing into Toren’s bicep where he’s squished into the group.
At Ro’s birthday party in February, apparently they’d played spin the bottle, which resulted in a kiss between the defensive pair.
Holden smirks. “If you’re jealous, I can plant one on you, too.”
Rhys and I laugh, while Toren merely smirks and rolls his eyes. Holden makes a kissing face toward Freddy who shoves him off.
“All this”—Freddy gestures to his body—“is a Rosalie-only zone.”
It feels good to be here with my friends, drinking and laughing. Rhys is near to wrestling Sadie where she’s standing in her tall boots on top of the counter, him crawling up after her. They’re both drunk and giggling—blissfully happy.
Paloma, Lily, and Ro are dancing, laughing, spinning in a circle. Mostly, they keep Lily in the center, the slip of a girl nearly disappearing between them.
Suddenly, Rhys is back on the ground, Sadie slung over his shoulder before he slides her down his body and toward the group of girls, whispering something into his girlfriend’s ear that makes her blush bright red before he heads toward me.
“We’re gonna Uber home soon and get some pizza. Do you guys want to join?”
I nod, and Freddy joins in, until eventually our entire line, including Toren and Holden, all agree to head out together. We call the cars and gather the girls. Rhys, Sadie, Paloma, and I pile into one, while Freddy, Ro, Toren, Holden, and Lily opt for the other.
Our car arrives first, just in time to grab the pizza that Rhys had the presence of mind to order ahead. Paloma stays outside to wait for her roommate, so I cuddle her close. Seven joins us once someone opens the door, settling at our feet after we both give him a scratch.
“It looks like a clown car,” Paloma whispers with a laugh, watching leggy Ro and Freddy get out of the front, revealing Lily squished between Toren and Holden in the back bench seat.
They all hop out, Lily darting for Paloma the moment she’s free, cheeks flushed to nearly match her hair. Paloma loops her arm around her roommate’s shoulder as they strut ahead, heads leaned together.
Sadie plays her music, and we all lounge across the sofas and chairs in the front room. Rhys scoops her up in a bridal carry and sits on one end of the couch. He unzips her heeled boots and massages her feet as she eats her pizza and queues up more music.
Freddy sits at Ro’s feet after giving her one of the chairs, head tipped back while she plays with his hair and feeds him a slice of pizza upside down, drunk and giggling.
And maybe it’s because we’re all drunk and sleepy, but I don’t read too much into the odd trio in the other plush chair. Toren sits with Lily perched on the edge of his thigh, legs dangling. He’s not touching her at all, but her scarf is half wrapped in Toren’s fist.
Holden is on the ground, his shoulder pressed to the side of Toren’s leg. Lily’s legs keep swinging toward him, while Holden tries to catch one of her ankles with his hands as if they’re playing a little game.
Paloma settles at my side on the sofa, resting across my chest, sleepy and soft, her fingers dancing over my pec. I feed her pizza with one hand and comb my fingers through her hair with the other. Seven lays down happily against the edge of the sofa.
It makes me remember all those months ago, when I’d wished for exactly this—her in my arms, with this family we’ve built all around me.
Safe. Here. Real.
Later that night, I tuck a sleeping Paloma into bed. Seven climbs in after her and huffs a contented breath. I try to sneak back down to clean up, but as I turn, Paloma’s fingers grasp at the hem of my shirt.
“Can you just stay? I don’t wanna fall asleep without you.”
She’s so beautiful lying against my sheets, amber light from the lamp that I always keep on for her glowing across peachy skin. Her hair is a mess from my fingers and her twisting and turning.
“Yeah, P. I’ll stay.”
I don’t think I could love her more if I tried.
· · ·
I feel a bit like Superman standing next to Paloma’s car, getting my final moments with her before we load up to head to Connecticut for regionals.
We’re playing Dalton. I know a few guys from the team; we’ve played them before in season and partied with them after. But this game has more riding on it.
“You sure you want to come?” I ask again. Paloma worked three games on the bench as part of her internship already, but Harris gave her tickets to the rest of them if she wanted to attend. “You don’t have to.”
“Hush it,” she snaps. “I’m all decked out beneath my jacket; you just haven’t seen it yet.” She smiles brightly up at me. “Besides, I’m going with Sadie. We’re gonna shop around a bit before heading to the game and we will meet up with you after.”
“Are you driving?”
“On the way back. We’re taking my car, but Sadie’s gonna drive us there.” She reaches a gloved hand to my cheek. “Everything will be great.”
The normal anxiety and heaviness on my chest are only multiplying with the weight of this game, the pressure to make it to Frozen Four one last time. But here with Paloma, I feel a modicum of calm. Like standing on the beach at Speyside, letting the waves lap at our toes.
Everything will be great.
· · ·
We win. Thank god.
It’s a hard game—low scoring on both sides because we’re so evenly matched. Kane gets in another fight with the same guy from last game, which only seems to irk Holden, who goes after him the next play. Still, everyone mostly plays a clean game.
It’s all thanks to Rhys that we end the game 2–1, securing our spot in the Frozen Four tournament.
After the game, we head to a bar Rhys found online—one that we could get to easily in an Uber while avoiding enemy territory. It’s a country-style bar, all wooden with neon signs and something twangy playing on the speakers.
Freddy opts not to go, to stay at the hotel and call his girlfriend. It’s different, a break in his usual away-game celebratory routine, but I couldn’t be happier for him.
“Jesus Christ,” Rhys mutters, ducking his head, a groan pouring from his mouth.
My eyes shoot wide with concern. “What? Are you okay?”
“No. My girlfriend is trying to kill me.”
Brow furrowed, I look up, seeing Sadie pushing her way through the crowd with a twisted-up smirk.
She’s dressed in jeans and a very cropped shirt that shows off the solid plane of her stomach .
. . and makes me slightly worried that if she lifts her hands, she’ll flash the whole bar.
The kicker is that I recognize the shirt—Koteskiy is printed across the back in big bold letters, but it has to be from when we were kids and cut most likely by the girl wearing it.
Laughing, I shake my head at my best friend. “And you’re not happy about this because . . . ? Are you two in some competition?”
“Back to my usual build-up routine for Frozen Four.”
Meaning he won’t have sex with her. I almost snort out my beer.
“You’ve been playing fine, Rhys. Why punish yourself now?”
“Hey, regional champions,” Sadie greets, refusing to slide into the booth with her boyfriend. “Hotshot,” she whispers, hand doing something I don’t want to know.
I nod to her, and flit my eyes away from the display when I spot who is right behind her.
The love of my goddamn life. Paloma Blake, dressed in an oversized jersey with my number and name on the back, baggy jeans, blond hair pulled back into a slicked ponytail. She smiles softly, relaxed as she approaches my side and slides into the booth with me.
“Hi.”
“Hey, P.”
I press a soft kiss to her temple as she curls her hands around my biceps and cuddles into me.
“Good game today,” she offers.
“Yeah?” I grin. “Thanks for cheering me on.”
She rolls her eyes before leaning in toward my ear. “Maybe you can read me poetry in bed when you get back. So I can see you really perform.”
I’m hard as a goddamn rock—from her words, from the feel of her breath against my skin, from her.
“Anything for you, P. ‘I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens,’” I whisper, before pulling her clasped hands to my mouth, kissing her fingertips and adding, “‘Not even the rain has such small hands.’”
She shakes her head with a fake frown, skin flushed. “You forgot the line about my eyes.”
“I’d rather talk about your hair.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “Let me touch your hair. Wrap it around my fingers, tightening the farther from my grasp you wander. Let me inside you. Let me sew my soul to yours like some great patchwork quilt across a sandless beach—just you and me. And the water between us.”
I pull back from her ear, inspecting the contours of her face cast in shadowy light.
“I like that one. Who wrote it?” she asks.
“Me,” I say, my own blush rushing up my neck and into my cheeks. “Every poem I write is about you, remember?”
She nods. “Will you let me see them all?”
I kiss the corner of her mouth, pulling her closer into this little bubble of bliss around us. “One day.”
Forever will never be enough with her. I’ve known that since I was eighteen years old. But I’ll take whatever she’s willing and ready to give.