Benny
The house smells like bacon, which isn’t something I’m used to.
I enjoy a brief fantasy that Bree crawled in through another window and is waiting in my kitchen, but then I remember that one: she can’t cook, and two: Colby is still here.
He’s been staying with me for three days now, and in that time, I haven’t seen Bree once.
I’ve texted to invite her to have dinner with us, asked if she wanted to walk down to the beach and play volleyball, and sent messages to check in, but she’s ignored everything.
I’d be worried, but there’s been signs of life in the house next door, like a bag of trash in the outdoor can and lights from the windows pouring onto the back lawn in the evening.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I pad into the kitchen in my sweats and find Colby frying eggs with the bacon.
His gray shirt is dark with sweat, and his hair is still damp at the neck. “Morning.”
“You worked out without me?”
“I figured you needed the sleep after last night.”
He’s not wrong. I nod to his sizzling pan. “Enough for two in there?”
“Of course. I have to earn my keep somehow, right?”
“Not really, but I’ll take it.” I sit, fighting a yawn.
Something about the song Bree and I have been writing together has been eluding me.
I’ve been trying to hammer out the arrangement for the last few days.
I got some of the piano worked out, but the rest is proving more difficult than I’d expected.
Last night I was working on the melody until four in the morning, but I didn’t make much progress.
I guess I don’t know exactly what vibe she wants to go with now that Jaida victimized herself further.
It’s also hard to know how to feel about everything when I don’t know what happened. Bree’s definitely remorseful, but short of that, how much Jaida deserves to be a victim here is still a mystery.
“That song is catchy,” he says.
I give him a look. “It’s not even a song yet. I have the words down, but nothing else is falling into place.”
“Then move on to something else and come back to it later.”
I scrub a hand over my face, my gaze dragging toward the window facing Colby’s backyard. “This one is kind of time sensitive.”
He brings two plates to the island counter with toast, eggs, and bacon, and sits beside me. “Old flame, eh?” He correctly surmises it has to do with Bree.
“It’s not really like that.”
“I saw how you were looking at her when she was over here.”
I take a bite of bacon. “I’ll always care about her, man.”
“Yeah, but is it mutual?”
“How would I know?”
“She broke your heart.”
“I’m the one who broke up with her. I couldn’t handle…I needed to get away from the pressure and the crowds.”
Colby leans back, eyeing me. “I remember it pretty well. You were a mopey mess for years.”
“Thank you.”
He shoves a piece of toast covered in egg into his mouth. “It’s true.”
“Yeah, but none of it was her fault. My anxiety was out of control.” I focus on eating.
Technically, he didn’t say anything that isn’t true.
I hadn’t wanted to end things with Bree, but I saw how our lives were diverging, and I couldn’t handle living in the spotlight anymore.
I couldn’t keep playing that game when it felt like my parents were bleeding me dry and pushing me to do more and more.
If I hadn’t cut the whole industry off the way I did, it would have killed my spirit.
I’m not cut out for that kind of life, and I didn’t enjoy all the fake people and schmoozers and suck-ups—everyone wanting to be my friend because I was the Benny Rhodes.
It was exhausting, and I was just a kid. Facing a lifetime of that was…it became unthinkable if I wanted to keep my sanity.
“It was hard,” I finally say. “I didn’t want to leave her, but I didn’t see how we could stay together if I was going to cut off that whole part of my life.
With the way her family is and the reality show and her dreams of singing one day…
it wasn’t realistic. I had to choose, and I chose myself, I guess. ”
“It’s fair. I’m not blaming you.”
What does it mean that I blame myself? I don’t have a chance to say that, though, because there’s a beeping sound at my door—someone keying in the code—and it unlocks.
“Where are my boys?” Grandma calls, letting herself into the house and swinging the door closed.
Colby is up and around the corner immediately. “Grandma,” he says warmly, pulling her into a hug as though we haven’t gone to her house every day since he came home.
“Have you eaten?” I ask. “I can make something.”
“I’ve eaten.” Grandma turns steely eyes on me. “I’m worried that a certain friend of ours hasn’t. Should we go speak in the garage, Benny? Alone?”
“You mean America’s least favorite brunette?” Colby asks, heading back to the kitchen.
Grandma coughs in surprise.
“He knows,” I tell her. “It’s a Rhodes family secret. No one in the country—except the three of us—are aware of her location, as far as I know.”
Grandma tsks. “Her mother is probably worried sick.”
I won’t ruin the rest of the Belacourt family for Grandma, but I would find it more likely that Bree’s mom is annoyed by her disappearing act than worried about her safety.
She’s not heartless, but she’s probably perfectly aware Bree is capable of taking care of herself and hiding from the world. “That’s none of our business.”
“Still, maybe I should head over and check on her.” Grandma glances at the back window where the ocean is shimmering blue in the distance. “Someone needs to watch out for that girl.”
We agree on that.
“Want us to join you?” Colby asks from the kitchen, his mouth full.
“You need a shower, Cole,” Grandma says. “I’ll do this on my own.”
She heads toward the door like a woman on a mission, which I’m slightly envious of. If Bree wanted me around, she would’ve responded to any of my texts. I’m not about to push myself on her, even if I need her help to finish the song.
Maybe she doesn’t want the song anymore. Her silence could be a message.
Unless she’s retreated so far from the world that she hasn’t seen her messages from me, either. Her phone could be dead by now. I would totally believe that she’s created a blanket fort for her and Captain Crunch and stayed inside for the last three days.
“Don’t worry,” Grandma says, patting my shoulder.
Am I that transparent? I clear my throat. “Let me know if I can do anything.”
“Shower.”
I’m not the one who’s stinking up my kitchen right now post-workout, but I smile, watching her scurry through my front door and close it behind her.
“Lovesick puppy,” Colby calls.
“Shut up.” I make my way back toward him and my cold breakfast.
He shovels more eggs into his mouth, grinning around his fork. “You just stood there and stared at the back of the door. I know you want to go check on her.”
“Maybe.”
“Then do it.”
I shoot him a look that tells him how ridiculous his blasé attitude is.
Colby shrugs. He takes his plate to the sink and proceeds to load the dishwasher. “I told Sierra I’d help with Jack’s practice this morning. Want to come? Remind everyone you can pitch a ball?”
It takes everything in me not to make a sarcastic comment about the wisdom of Colby spending time with Sierra, but I have the self-control to keep my mouth shut. He knows he’s stringing her along. There’s only so many times I can speak up.
Besides, if Sierra’s asking for his help, what can I really do about it? “I have to finish this song.”
“Why?”
“Because I told Bree I would.”
His brow lifts. If I could guess what he’s thinking now, it would be something along the lines of, who’s stringing who along now, Benny?
Which…that’s fair. I’ve been one of those super old school wooden puppies on a rope since Bree showed up last week, following her around on wheels.
Am I pathetic? Maybe.
Do I care?
Jury’s still out.
Colby shakes his head, walking from the kitchen. “Your desperation is showing.”
I don’t even bother replying. Why should I? He’s right. I really need to get out of my house.
When I’ve showered and I’m swinging my leg over my bike an hour later, a brief flash of hesitation fills my chest. Grandma never returned to my house, which means she’s probably still with Bree.
I look at the front door to Colby’s house for longer than I want to admit, my bike idling, my feet planted flat on my driveway.
At what point do I leave her alone? Again, at what point do I walk into her house and drag my well-meaning but obsessive grandmother away to give her peace?
They are both full-grown women who can take care of themselves.
They don’t need me butting in. My mental health needs me to be as far away from this street as possible, right now.
My fingers tap against the handlebar as I let out a long, weary sigh.
I know what I need to do.