Page 80
My hand hits the steering wheel again, a strange sort of grief welling up in me that I couldn’t get to the first step because one thing in my routine went wrong and now nothing for this night will be okay.
I need to call her back. I need to cancel and tell her we can do it next weekend and it will be better then—
A knock sounds at my window, making me jump and drop my phone to the floor.
It’s already dark outside, but the multiple streetlights illuminate Paloma against my car window. Her hair looks darker without the light, long and wavy. Her makeup is done—it might be the first time I’ve seen her with any—and she’s dazzling.
So much so that I almost knock her over trying to open the door, forgetful of the state of my clothes and my eyes still wet with tears.
“Hey,” I breathe, angling my body toward her without getting out of the car completely.
She’s dressed in a long white skirt with a floral pattern and a navy cardigan, with little heeled boots peeking out from the ends of the skirt.
“You look beautiful,” I say, words muddled. Her brow only furrows, making my stomach sink. Why can’t I get this right?
I try to picture what she sees—my clothes rumpled and sweat-soaked, my eyes bloodshot and still teary, and my skin pale. Not exactly the image I want her to have of me. My eyes squeeze tight at the desperation to make it all stop, to go back in time and just be normal enough for this one goddamn night.
“Bennett . . .” My name sounds like a plea. “What happened? How—how long have you been out here?”
“Not long.” I shake my head. “What time is it?”
Her eyes are wide pools of sad mahogany.
“It’s almost eight.”
My head spins, hands shoving through my once-styled curls until I’m sure they’re a rat’s nest atop my head.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, shaking my head back and forth. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Hey,” she whispers, suddenly close. Her scent works into my nose and mouth, stifling the apologies waiting on my tongue. Her arms slip up and over my shoulders as she presses herself into my body hard, stepping up to the cab between my legs.
“Can I—”
She doesn’t get the question out before I’m hauling her to me, holding her as tightly as I need. My body is still trembling. I war over explaining myself or just letting her comfort me, which only causes more distress.
She coos into my ear, hands bracing me instead of attempting any soft touches—because she knows me now. Paloma has taken the time to understand what I need, what soothes me.
“What happened?” she asks, her voice muffled with her face pressed into the collar of my flannel.
“I don’t know,” I lie, only to immediately ramble on with, “It’s—my plan was perfect. I just had an issue with Seven. He . . . it rained today, and he tracked mud in, and I didn’t realize it until after. So, once I finished cleaning, I was off my schedule and rushing and everything just . . .”
“Spiraled?”
I nod.
“Okay.” She pulls away from me and I feel the loss of her immediately. “Let’s come up with a new plan.”
My brow furrows, head already shaking. “It’s— We can still go—”
“Maybe something a little smaller?”
“I don’t want you to be disappointed.” The words ache, raw and vulnerable.
Paloma’s eyes soften, hand reaching out for mine. “I would never be disappointed. Please trust me, Bennett. I just want to spend time with you.”
Chapter 37
THEN: Freshman Year, November
