Chapter 75
NOW
Paloma
Seven is whining.
Something is wrong—enough that I jolt awake and curse as I check the time on my phone just inches from my fingers.
Shit. It’s nearly eight—Bennett’s slept in.
And is still sleeping. Seven whines and paws at him as he rests on his back, twitching every now and then, skin flushed.
Things have seemed off for a month or so now, but more than usual in the last several days. At first, I’d blamed myself for disrupting his usual routines he so carefully follows.
Were it only the last two days, I’d put it all down to a mix of guilt, anger, and stress over everything. But it wasn’t. I know—something is wrong.
I’ve developed a sixth sense when it comes to Bennett Reiner, over three years of desperately watching him in hidden moments and more public ones, letting the hockey team boys flirt with me if it meant I had even a second in his intoxicating presence.
“Bennett.” I shake his shoulders until his eyes blink slowly awake. He stares at me like I’m some holy being, his hand reaching to cup my cheek.
“S’good dream,” he mutters, eyes slowly closing as he tries to trap me to his chest.
“No, Bennett. You’ve gotta wake up. You overslept.”
His body tenses beneath me. “What?”
“It’s eight. You’ve got to be on the team bus in, like, an hour?”
He jolts up after that, leaving his side of the bed messy. I try to ask what I can do to help, but he ignores me and murmurs under his breath as he strips naked in the light of his walk-in closet.
He comes out in suit pants, a button-up, and a suit jacket, grabbing a belt off the hooks on his wall—a belt that’s been wrapped around my wrists once or twice—and sliding it on as well.
For a moment, it’s as if I’m not in the room, like he’s forgotten I’m there entirely.
“Bennett?”
He startles. Seven sits on his feet as he straightens out the collar of the navy jacket.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.” He smiles, but it’s strained and makes something in my stomach roll. “Can you—do you mind driving me? I have a bit of a headache.”
The only time I’ve ever driven Bennett anywhere was when he was drunk—and that’s rare in itself. I can’t remember the last time I drove with him in the car. Still, I nod and he mimics the gesture, leaving the room just as abruptly.
Without his lucky sweatshirt.
I blanch, slipping on a bra beneath the long-sleeve Berkshire shirt I slept in, grabbing the sweatshirt and taking off after him. He’s already in the garage, not bothering to eat or cook—everything is off and wrong.
Bennett waits for me by the door, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, across his eyebrows, a slight grimace on his features before he notices I’m there and straightens.
The drive is quiet. I play Bon Iver and Ben Howard, hoping his favorite music will lull him slightly. He keeps a hand on my thigh like an anchor. It’s only then I realize I’m wearing boxers under the long-sleeve T-shirt and nothing else.
It’s a thirty-minute drive to Waterfell, but I make it with ease. I took a few days off from school but kept up with my assignments online—a note from Alessia, a lawyer, and my therapist had forced them all to be quite gracious with me.
Bennett used his sick allowances and then skipped the classes he wasn’t “allowed” to miss. I tried to get him to go, but he’d been antsy and shut down the conversation over and over, often suggesting a shower or rolling me into the sheets.
“Hey.” I lean over the console and grab his jacket in my hand before he can open the door. “You sure you’re okay? If something is wrong—”
“I’m fine, P,” he says, lips tight with a smile. “I’ll see you at the game.”
He pops out of the car with that, and a weight settles in my chest. Something about this is wrong. Think.
Bennett pauses halfway to the bus area where most of the team is loading up their bags, turning back to me. He comes to the driver’s side this time, opening the door and kissing me hard, pressing me back against the headrest until I’m almost breathless.
“Love you, P.”
“Love you, Bennett.”
And then he’s gone again, slinging his bag. No sweatshirt to be seen.
Just before I’m going to back out, I spot Rhys Koteskiy getting out of his fancy BMW, fixing a gray beanie over his brown locks. Before I can second-guess myself, I throw the car back into park and hop out—wearing slippers, boxers, and Bennett’s shirt—and run after him.
I thank my earlier self for slipping on a bra.
“Hey—Rhys,” I call, not too loud, but enough to get his attention. His brow furrows as he heads for me.
“God, Paloma, aren’t you freezing?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m gonna get back in the car and go get ready, I just . . . I need you to keep an eye on Bennett. I don’t think he’s okay.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s . . . everything is off. He overslept, didn’t eat, didn’t want to drive here.” I huff out a breath and raise the fabric in my hand. “He didn’t take his sweatshirt.”
Rhys’s eyes widen and he grabs it from my hands. “Got it.” There’s a more tense set to his shoulders as his eyes dart toward the bus like he’ll take off. I start to turn away before he grabs my shoulder carefully.
“Hey, you’re all right though, yeah?” he asks.
It might be strange, but there’s no awkward feeling between us.
No part of me feels strange around him. We’ve dated.
Kissed. I’ve seen him fully naked. But .
. . it just seems so unimportant and forgettable compared to my time with Bennett.
And while Rhys was nothing but kind to me, I’m sure he feels the same way about our time together.
I’ve seen him around Sadie. It’s like a thread loops between their fingers, tying them together. He worships the ground she walks on. He loves her. And she loves him.
And Rhys and I only have one shared interest now: Bennett Reiner.
Rhys’s hand fiddles with the loose hairs sticking out of the back of his beanie. “I tried to call Bennett to make sure. Sadie’s been worried sick—I just . . . he didn’t say much. And I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m . . . no, I’m not okay. But I will be.”
He nods with a smile, as if that answer means more than if I’d brushed it off with an I’m fine.
“Great. Can you do me a favor and call Sadie?”
“Yes, as long as you watch out for Bennett.”
“Deal.” He laughs, reaching his hand out to dramatically shake mine.