Unbound, p.20
Unbound, page 20
“We should go up there,” Ro says, eyes bright with affection and excitement. She’s come entirely out of her shell since I first met her, much more confident with Freddy by her side. “To support them.”
The girls head over, but I opt to stay at the table, not wanting to block anyone’s view with my size. But the second they make it through the gathering crowd to the front of the stage, close enough that they could reach out and touch the guys, someone approaches Paloma.
I’m not surprised. She’s beautiful, perfect—everyone knows it. Part of me wants to intervene. I’ve had to watch this for years. Should it be different now that we are friends?
We’re just friends now. Leave her alone.
But brown eyes flicker over and find mine, a clear pleading look in them, and I’m heading to her immediately, cutting through the crowd with ease. The second I’m at her back, the frat boy wannabe takes me in and blanches, ducking his head and walking away.
I stand behind her like a sentry, covering her body with my bulk easily, trying to hide the smile that wants to pull at my face.
“This one’s for our girlfriends!” Freddy shouts into the mic, making the feedback go off and several patrons flinch—including Paloma, who scoots herself back into me before straightening again, staying close.
Sister Hazel’s “All for You” starts up and Freddy and Rhys sing vibrantly into the mics. Rhys is tipsy enough to give something of a performance, but Freddy as usual steals the show. They both make a mess of the verses but manage to keep it together for each chorus.
Freddy is the loud one, but Rhys has the actually decent voice.
Freddy ends their performance on his knees, reaching for Rosalie’s head to kiss her soundly in front of everyone, while Sadie shakes her head with a shimmering, rare smile as she watches Rhys blushing and singing.
It isn’t until he climbs down off the stage that the figure skater runs to him, jumping into his waiting arms for a movie-worthy kiss as he holds her up, her legs around his waist.
“Feeling like the third wheel?” Paloma asks, leaning back so that her hair sweeps over the skin of my forearms where I’ve rolled up my flannel sleeves.
I look down at her, seeing the slight flush to her skin from the heat of the crowd and alcohol. The relaxed features of her face, the clear safety she finds in me.
“No,” I say quietly. “I’m not.”
The music interlude before the next karaoke performance is “With or Without You” by U2—I recognize it, almost certain I heard it in this exact bar three years ago, a more painful memory.
This time, I don’t let it hurt.
Paloma turns, looking up at me with soft brown eyes. One hand still holds the neck of her beer tightly. My body is blocking her from the others nearly entirely as my heart thunders to the same beat:
Hers. Hers. Hers.
She can say that we’re friends. I’ll always be hers.
Her other hand falls from the protective hold across her middle, fingers curling deftly around my belt loop. She doesn’t pull. She hardly moves, just sways slightly.
As if we’re dancing, slowly, barely touching.
My desire for her has only grown, whether we’re distant or she’s asleep and safe in my bed, in my arms. It never goes away. I can’t rid myself of it, and I don’t want to.
I’ll never pressure her for anything, but I will always long for her. Fingers in soft wet hair, hands on damp skin, and Paloma Blake soft and vulnerable and trusting beneath me. Moonlight and the sound of waves. A blue backpack and stuffed rabbit. Coconut cake and salt air. Damp skin warm against mine. Words pressed from my mouth and into hers, like I could breathe poetry into her lungs.
“P,” I whisper. We aren’t touching, but it feels like I’m buried inside her, just as overwhelming and intense.
Her breathing is somehow louder than the music, a pattern I recognize from late nights and early mornings and every single time she let me have her.
I step closer and the bubble bursts, a stricken look crossing Paloma’s face. I feel her leave before she actually does. She takes her seat at our table, where Sadie, Rhys, Freddy, and Ro are, and smiles politely as Rosalie asks her something.
I follow her—I always do—standing next to Rhys at the side of the table and offering a clap to his shoulder.
“Great work up there,” I say.
He shakes his head, tucking a few loose strands of shaggy brown hair back behind his ear. “Shut up.”
I laugh and he beams.
“I’m glad you’re here, Ben.”
My gaze finds Paloma’s, the eye contact just as intense as everything is where she’s involved, and I smile at her, bright and warm. If being friends with her means having her here, with the people that have become my family, then I’ll take it.
Rhys is still smiling at me, watching me watch Paloma with a twinkle in his eye, one dimple showing as he tilts the bottle of beer back. He’s different, from freshman year, from last semester. A good different. We both are.
“Me too,” I say, smiling at him, reaching for his arm to squeeze it.
CHAPTER 40
NOW
Paloma
“I’d like to talk about your relationship to intimacy.”
My eyes don’t move from the torn-up section of the carpet where the roller wheel of Dr. Sutton’s office chair has pulled at the threads over and over. Brow furrowing, I bite down on my lip.
“You mean sex?” I blurt.
“Sure.”
I shrug, playing with the end of my sloppy braid. “It’s not a big deal to me. You can just say sex, it’s whatever.”
Watching her expression carefully, I can’t help feeling like I’m revealing my cards without meaning to.
“What do you mean? Do you enjoy sex?” she asks bluntly.
A flash of ocean-blue eyes, a scratchy voice asking me to look at him. The feeling of hands in my hair. “Sometimes.” I shake my head, attempting to double down. “It’s just… it’s not important, really. It’s just sex.”
Not with Bennett. I shut the thought down before it shows across my face.
“Right.” She nods.
“I’ve been having sex since I was fourteen, so it’s not that big of a deal, okay?” I say, feeling the defensiveness rise but unable to quell it. “We don’t even need to talk about it, really.”
Lies. Lies. Lies.
“Did you feel ready for that at fourteen?”
No. I shrug.
“I guess.”
Dr. Sutton nods. “And when you lost your virginity, was it something you wanted? A boy you liked?”
Slowly, I shake my head, dipping my gaze toward my fingernails as I pick at them. “No.”
She doesn’t ask anything else for a moment, and I roll my eyes.
“Sex is fine. I’ve had times where I liked it and times where I didn’t—is that enough?” I blow a breath heartily through my lips. “Can we talk about something else?”
“We can talk about something else,” she says, voice calm. “Does something feel more important than this?”
My irritation with her only ratchets higher.
“You wanna know everything? Fine—when I was fourteen, I lost my virginity to a thirty-eight-year-old man. I had a relationship with him for almost three years. And then—” A ragged exhale. I close my eyes, trying to center my suddenly swirling thoughts. “And then, I had a boyfriend. My age. He was the first person who made me feel… I don’t know, good? But I fucked that one up, too.
“And since then”—I shrug, half lifting my hands in the air with a smile that feels wrong and twisted along my face—“sex is just sex… I don’t enjoy it. It hurts most of the time—I don’t know what you want from me.”
It’s only when she hands me the tissue box that I realize I’ve been crying.
“Let’s take a breath,” Dr. Sutton says, voice soft and calm over the harshness of my hiccupped breathing. I take my time, breaths slow, deep. “Everything is okay. You’re safe here.”
I want to roll my eyes, but I can’t. Because the words are making me feel calm and safe. Slowly, but it’s happening.
“Why do you think you choose to have sex when it hurts or doesn’t feel good?”
My stomach sours. I try to shrug again. “I don’t know.”
Dr. Sutton nods. “Try to think. You know yourself and your body better than anyone else. Think about those moments. Think about the times when it felt good, with your boyfriend. What is the difference for you?”
“It didn’t feel like he was taking anything away from me.”
“Who?”
“Bennett.” His name pours from my lips before I can stop myself. I watch her vigilantly, but she doesn’t write it down, just watches me back—steady in the torrent of my inner turmoil.
“And with others? When you choose to have sex now?”
My eyes feel waterlogged again, and I dip my chin. “It’s… I don’t know how to explain it. It feels better in my chest when I do it, even if I hate it. It’s like… like I’m getting relief from something.”
“From what, do you think?”
The word comes out before I can stop it. “Guilt.”
My stomach churns.
The truth is that I feel like I’m paying some sort of penance. Like punishing myself feels better than allowing myself to sink into Bennett’s arms—though I indulge in that more often than I should. But saying that out loud feels too raw. I’m just not ready for it yet.
“Paloma,” she says, her voice firmer and more intense than it has been since I got here. “Sex is important, and it’s complicated for you.”
I shake my head.
“I wasn’t attacked. I wasn’t—”
“You were fourteen, Paloma,” she says. Still that same firm voice, but it isn’t harsh or scraping, though the words feel like knives all the same. “He was an adult. You didn’t choose that.”
“It’s not that simple,” I say, shaking my head. “He helped me. We were together. It wasn’t like he forced me. It was fine—even if I didn’t always like it. That’s just how relationships are sometimes.”
“So, when you were with Bennett, did you have sex when you didn’t want to? Did he force you to?”
The words make me flinch, desperate to defend Bennett, to separate the two in my head.
“No, no—he didn’t—”
“Relationships shouldn’t hurt you. Sex should be your choice. It’s your body, Paloma.”
I shake my head. “I know.”
“You didn’t want that, Paloma,” she continues. Her voice is steady. Not soft anymore, but firm and clear. “You were a fourteen-year-old girl. A child. You didn’t choose that. You didn’t have a choice. You need to understand that.”
That little version of me that I keep deep inside peeks around the corners she lurks in, peering up. Even if I can’t trust Dr. Sutton’s words, that part of me wants to, desperately.
“What is intimacy?”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“What is intimacy to you, Paloma?”
There’s still a part of me that wants to roll my eyes and shrug, but this feels too important.
I know my answer. I know what intimacy is to me. I feel it like the waves lapping over my toes across a beach I’ve spent every birthday laying on. Like the rainfall water of a shower I feel safest in.
It’s hands in my hair, soothing, never painful. It’s homemade food and the taste of salt air on my lips. It’s hands on my waist only after asking Is this okay? It’s eye contact with Bennett Reiner across a crowded bar top. It’s him.
Him.
CHAPTER 41
NOW
Bennett
“Busy?”
“No,” I say too quickly, stopping inside the door to the garage and turning to where Rhys is standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Why?”
“Thought we could ride to practice together,” he offers, squeezing my shoulder as he walks past me for his bag. “We haven’t gotten a lot of time together recently.”
“You’ve been busy,” I offer. Rhys winces and my stomach sinks. Never can get this right, huh?
“Right,” he says. It’s silent for a moment while we both climb into my car before he continues. “But you know that doesn’t mean I don’t have time for you, yeah? You’re my best friend. Nothing is going to change that.”
It feels so ridiculous. I want to snap at him that I’m not a kid and we’re not in high school. He doesn’t need to apologize to me for falling in love and having less time to be my crutch—because in so many ways that’s exactly what he’s been.
And that same fear rouses, rising like a tsunami in the back of my mind to crash over and terrorize every memory—that he sees me as a needy, pathetic, attached, and forced friend that he was never able to rid himself of.
I swallow it all down, though it feels like trying to swallow rocks.
“I know,” I say instead.
“Maybe we could get dinner or something, just you and me.”
Another nod is all I can manage as I navigate the icy roads toward the arena. “That would be nice, I think.”
We don’t talk for much of the rest of the ride, our anxieties warring for space in the cab. I tell him I’m going to stay in the car for a little longer, and though he seems worried, he lets it go.
I fumble with my phone, the need to call my dad warring desperately with the need to avoid speaking with him at all costs. I can’t talk to Rhys. I can’t talk to my dad. I can’t talk to anyone because everyone I try to hold closer seems to slip further from my grasp.
Just go inside. Do your usual routine and everything will be—
My hand is on the gearshift suddenly; I back up and drive out of the parking lot with no real plan. I dial the number I know by heart.
“Bennett?”
“P—” I breathe, hating that my voice sounds as shaky as I feel. “Hey, are you… are you busy?”
“Just got home from class,” she says. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just—can I come see you?”
Can I come over, was what I meant to ask—like a normal person. Resisting the urge to slam my forehead into the steering wheel, I stop a little too briefly at the stop sign before turning and idling on the corner.
“Yeah,” Paloma says. I hear a door close before, “Bennett? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, I just don’t know where you live.” I laugh, shaking my head.
“I’ll send you the location. Just—drive safe, okay?”
She hangs up and shares her location with me, something that makes my chest feel warm. She used to do it all the time, so I could come get her wherever she was. So that I could always find her.
I march up to the front door of the pretty townhouse on shaky feet with trembling arms—like I’m running on adrenaline taken through an IV.
I knock twice before she answers, her beautiful brown eyes going wide at the sight of me in her doorway.
“Bennett,” she greets.
“Sorry.” I huff a breath, but a smile breaks through. “I didn’t want to bother you. But I just needed to see you.”
“You’re fine.” She smiles up at me. “More than fine. Come in.”
It’s warm in her home—and a thrill shoots up my spine that there’s a place I can call that for her now. That Paloma has a home that’s warm and safe, and that she seems to want to be in. The foyer is dark green and half-paneled with brown wood. There’s a pretty woven carpet taking up most of the living room with a well-loved gray couch and several multicolored pillows—some that I recognize from her dorm freshman year. She has music playing softly on the TV.
And she’s there in the center of it all, so warm and beautiful. Happy, I realize with a jolt.
“Is everything okay?”
I nod. “I just…” My voice trails off as I rock slightly on my heels, hands tucked into the pockets of my sweatpants.
“I don’t want to be just your friend, Paloma.” My confession is soft, quiet in the warm space as it floats over her. She basks in it slightly, lips parting with a puff of breath. “I never wanted to be just your friend. I love you.” A short laugh works from me as I shrug my shoulder. “And that’s just never going to change for me. I’m always going to want you.”
“Bennett—”
I hold up my palm to stop her.
“I know,” I say, eyes straying from hers toward my feet. “I am not trying to change your mind or force you to be with me, you know I’d never do that. But I want to be clear. I will be your friend if that’s what you need. But I will never want less from you; I’m always going to hope for more.” My voice drops lower. “For you to let me have you again. Take care of you.”
“Bennett,” she breathes, and I finally look at her. Her eyes look glassy and my stomach drops at the idea I might’ve upset her. But before I can try to fix it, she continues. “I do want a fresh start with you. But I… I want you, always.”
“As more than friends.”
She laughs, the sound wet but genuine. “Yes.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“That’s… that’s all I came to say.”
Her brow wrinkles as she watches me for a long moment, waiting for something. For once, I do what I want without overthinking it—stepping forward and kissing her. Hard and intense like I always crave to do.
Her hiccup of surprise melts into a moan as she latches her hands onto my shoulders. I scoop her up into my arms, heart thumping.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I’ve been thinking about that since the bar.” Far longer, if I’m honest with myself.
“Me too,” Paloma admits quietly. “I’m glad you’re here. I… I missed you.”
The words feel weighted. I missed you. How long have I waited for this from her lips? I’ve yearned for them. It’s like water to my parched soul. I’m desperate for her.
“Can I see your room?” I ask with a grin. She giggles into my neck and nods, leaning back with bright eyes. This is all I want. Forever, this is all I need.
She directs me up the stairs and to her room. It’s just as warm and cozy as I thought it would be. So her in every way. I want to stretch out across her bed and swim in the scent of her.
