CHAPTER 41 BENNETT
BENNETT
“Anyone else sick of coming to the zoo?” OC asks as he places an informational brochure with a picture of us on the front into a paper bag. “This shit could be done by assistants, and yet we’re stuck here packing bags for an event they’re having. Why is this something we have to do?”
I agree with him, but then again, I’m not going to complain about it. I’m just going to do it.
“Do you really think they have assistants that can do this work?” Graydon asks. “They’re not raking in multimillion-dollar contracts like us.”
Valid point, but I stay quiet as I work to just get this done.
When Gretchen said this is what we were doing today, I was fucking pissed. Even though we won the wild card, we have two games left before the playoff game, and I want to spend those spare moments in my day helping out Bower, not stuffing gift bags while a photographer takes pictures of us.
Things have been off with us. I can feel it. She worked late last night again and skipped dinner, but I made sure to go to her place so I could at least spend the night with her, which I did, but we just held each other all night.
She wasn’t all over me like before, but rather just let me wrap my arms around her and pull her into my chest.
I’m fucking worried.
I know we had that awkward conversation about the boyfriend/girlfriend thing, and I’ve tried to pull back on that. I don’t want to push her. I know she’s going through a lot right now and trying to figure it all out—the pressure is mounting—but fuck…the pressure is mounting for me too.
If we can push through into the playoffs, it could be the kind of revitalization we need for the team, more than any zoo PR or book club could ever help with.
But things have to work out in our favor, and I’m just not fully confident in that. We have injuries plaguing the lineup, we’re tired, overworked, and there’s still a disconnect among all the players, between the old—who cheated—and the new, who are trying to reform the ball club.
There’s a lot going on, and the pressure of losing Bower is weighing on me.
“I think I got all the pictures I needed,” the photographer says to Gretchen, who is sitting in the corner, tapping away on her phone.
“Great, I’ll walk you out.” She points her well-manicured finger at us and says, “Keep working. We need all those bags filled.” With that, she takes off with the photographer, leaving us alone.
“She’s such a fucking beast,” OC says, his eyes lingering. “I swear she makes us do this shit just to fuck with us because she can and she knows we’re scared of her.”
“I’m not scared,” Graydon says.
“Me either,” I add.
OC looks between the two of us. “You mean when you hear her heels clacking, your taint doesn’t swallow your balls whole?”
Graydon looks to me and then says, “Shit like that is why you don’t have friends.”
“I have friends. I’m looking at them.”
“Acquaintances,” Graydon says.
“I’ve heard you have sex, so I think that counts as more than just acquaintances.”
Graydon’s jaw tightens and I fear if I allow them to keep talking to each other, it’s going to go south. “I’m unsure how things are going with me and Bower.”
Of course that draws OC’s attention immediately. “What do you mean? I thought shit was good with you two.”
“So did I,” I say, plopping a bag to the side and picking up another. “But we had this awkward moment and I really don’t know what to do with it. I feel her pulling away a bit, and, I don’t know, the fear of her leaving is stressing me.”
“What was the awkward moment?” OC asks.
“It’s dumb,” I say, feeling slightly embarrassed about it.
“Probably,” Graydon says. “But just fucking say it. We don’t have all day.”
And that is his level of empathy.
At least it’s something.
“I called her my girlfriend and she wasn’t expecting it and then it got weird after that.”
“What do you mean she wasn’t expecting it?” OC asks. “I thought you two were a thing.”
“So did I,” I say. “And then she fell asleep on the couch after the wild card game night and she was supposed to celebrate with me. I know she was overworked, but fuck, I keep thinking that she’s pulling away and I can’t figure out how to stop it.”
OC takes a seat at the table and thumbs through his phone. “You know, I thought that maybe this was old or something, but…do you think this has anything to do with it?”
He turns his phone to me and I see a picture of Bower and Cougar together, his hand on top of hers.
“What the fuck?” I whisper as I take the phone from him and scroll through the pictures. One of them laughing. One of him holding her hand. One of them hugging.
I scan over the picture, trying to figure out when this was taken, but I don’t fucking know at this point.
“Is it old?”
“I don’t know,” I say as Graydon steps up behind me and looks at the pictures himself.
I can feel him tense next to me, but then he goes back to stuffing the bags.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, keeping his eyes down.
“No, not nothing. Fucking tell me,” I say.
He glances at OC quickly and then back at me. “Cougar just got that haircut. It’s a new picture.”
Every fucking piece of hope drains from my body as I stare down at the image of the two of them.
The joy in her eyes as she looks at him.
The way he’s holding her hand, almost as if his thumb is rubbing over the back of her knuckles. Their hug, how it’s their bodies pressing against each other rather than a friendly hug where pelvises stay as far away as possible.
Fuck. “Do you think…do you think they’re seeing each other?”
“No,” OC says with a headshake. “I don’t. She seemed committed to you.”
“Then what the fuck is this?” I ask, flashing them the screen again.
“I think that’s a question you need to ask her,” OC says. “Don’t make assumptions. Talk it out, because the worst thing that could happen is you don’t communicate those feelings and you wind up doing something stupid.”
“He’s right,” Graydon says. “Talk to her.”
I glance down at the time on OC’s phone and say, “I have to be at the stadium in two hours.”
“We can finish up—”
“OC,” Gretchen snaps, coming into the event space again. “What are you doing?”
OC springs out of his seat and starts stuffing bags again, not paying any attention, just working as if that’s what he’s been doing this whole time.
Graydon whispers, “Just go.”
I glance at him and he gives me a curt nod, so I grab my shit and head toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Gretchen asks.
“I have shit to do,” I answer, moving past her as I hear Graydon say something to her in the background. I don’t care what it is. I’m just on a mission to go talk to Bower. We said we were going to be open and honest with each other, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I rock on my heels, hands in my pockets as I stare at the stained-glass doors in front of me, nerves wreaking havoc on my stomach.
The entire drive over here, I thought about what I was going to say, how I was going to approach this, and every scenario, it ended with me trying not to fucking beg her.
I’m not going to do it.
I’m fucking not.
She either wants to be with me or she doesn’t, and I’m going to have to accept that.
I’ve been in a position where I’ve liked her much longer than she’s ever even thought about giving me a chance, and if she needs a break, to gather herself, then I’ll give her a break.
But it doesn’t mean I’m fucking throwing in the towel.
Just means that I will wait. I’ve waited as long as I have already, so what’s longer?
The door opens and Bower stands on the other side, surprised, wearing high-waisted jeans, a button-up shirt with one side tucked in, and her hair loosely tied back, a few strands falling forward, framing her beautiful face.
Fuck, I love her.
So fucking much.
“Bennett,” she says, surprised, before looking behind her. “What are you doing here?”
“Can we talk?”
She comes closer, closing off the open space between her and the door. “Bennett, I’m at work.”
“I know, baby, and I’m sorry, but I really need to talk to you.”
Concern draws her brow together. “Is everything okay?”
“Not really,” I say.
“Okay, umm, give me a second—”
“Who is it?” Adalade calls out.
Bower winces and then says, “Umm, it’s Bennett.”
“Bennett? Well, what on earth are you doing? Bring him in.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing this is crossing the fucking line, but Christ, I just need to figure this shit out before my game tonight.
“It’s fine,” she says and then to my surprise, takes my hand and pulls me into the old Victorian-style house.
Adalade walks up, decked out in a maroon silk blouse and matching silk skirt, her hair tidy in a bun at the nape of her neck, and delicate gold bracelets framing her wrists.
Posh and sophisticated, it’s the only way to describe her.
“Bennett, it’s so great to see you.” She comes up to me and presses a kiss to each of my cheeks.
“Hi, Adalade, I’m really sorry that I’m barging in on you like this.”
“Oh, it’s fine, we’re just trying on outfits for my dinner party.” She steps back, showing off her skirt. “What do you think?”
I give her a loving smile. “I think you look great in anything you put on.”
Adalade winks and then says to Bower, “He’s a keeper.”
“Do you mind if we step outside for a moment to talk?” Bower asks, her hand still clasping mine. But for how long?
“I do,” Adalade says. Fuck. Again. “I don’t want you outside, so please, use my office.”
Oh…well, thank fuck for that.
“Thank you,” Bower says. “I won’t be long.”
“Please, take all the time you need. I have to make a call to Greta anyway. She spoke of wearing maroon, and I believe I might claim the color for the evening. She’s quite the talker, so I might be a while.
” Adalade heads toward the living room, while Bower takes me past the ornate staircase and wallpapered walls, past the kitchen, and to a den in the back where she shuts the door.
She brings me over to a green Victorian-style couch and sits us both down. “What’s going on?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.
This is it. Communication.
“Babe,” I say, feeling my throat grow tight.
Fuck.