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I get a mental image of me at sixteen having a meltdown in my parent’s kitchen, eyes blinking open, body sore as I realize I’ve blacked out. My mom’s tear-soaked face and distant body language. My dad’s arms tight around my body, holding me to his chest with his red-rimmed blue eyes. I can’t remember what it was about, but I remember the effects.

But even the thought of telling Paloma that I might have a meltdown over something, explaining the way I’m careful with my own emotions to prevent it—it makes that overly hot, sick feeling rise again.

“No,” I say, tone even. Quiet.

She nods before turning back to the laundry. As if nothing has changed. As if everything is normal.

Maybe, with her, it could be.

Chapter 29

NOW

Bennett

I’m not a fan of flying in general, but flying with the team isn’t so bad. Maybe because everything is taken care of—I just show up, other anxieties easily expelled once I’m seated, all my things arranged correctly in and around my seat.

But I’m more calm than usual—and it all dials down to the blond girl traipsing down the aisle toward me.

The grin on my face is unstoppable, even at the set of her furrowed brows and beautiful frown.

I pull my headphones down to circle the back of my neck, daring to reach my hand to graze her arm and gather her attention. She doesn’t jolt, only takes a steadying breath. Does she know she’s leaning toward me, like she wants to be closer?

Don’t make this something it’s not.

It’s impossible to crush the hope I have when it comes to Paloma Blake—so I stop trying.

“Hey, P.”

Her brown eyes seem a bit lighter in the overhead fluorescence, her bag slipping off one sweatshirt-clad shoulder.

“Hey, Bennett,” she says, soft and quiet.

Biting my lip, I look around. “Do you need somewhere to sit?” Fuck my usual routine—I don’t even care if it means we lose, if she will sit next to me.

Her features soften, mouth pulling into a slip of a smile. “I’m okay—I’m sitting with Lily.” She nods behind her, where Lily is traipsing through the aisle unsteadily, Coach LaBlanc just steps behind her.

A long pause sits heavily between us.

“All right, well—I’m just gonna—” She nods her head forward, gesturing toward the back of the plane. “See you at the game, Bennett.”

“Yeah. See ya, P.”

I slip my headphones back on just in time to half drown out the sounds of my teammates tossing pickup lines and flirting with her as she heads to find a seat.

• • •

“Reiner! Reiner!”

I close my eyes, preparing for the inevitable rest of their god-awful sieve chant.

“You suck! It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault! It’s all your fault.”

But I’ve played against this particular Michigan team before, in this particular arena. I’m used to it. I’m used to the sieve chants in general. They don’t really bother or distract me. Though I can tell from here that Paloma’s keyed up and furious. It makes me smile.

Tensions have been high the entire game, our teams neck and neck. Rhys, Freddy, and Toren have managed to make goals, but I’ve let in two, so closing in on the last few minutes of the second, the score is too close.

Right now, the Mt. Hart forwards are rushing my net, Toren and Holden both doing their best work while Rhys tries his hand at stealing the puck—one of the many things he’s shockingly good at.