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I chew on my lip and hesitate, eyeing him as he dips his chin to meet my eyes.

A mischievous grin I don’t normally see on Bennett suddenly appears. His hand tucks a strand of blond hair back.

“I wouldn’t mind if it was a date,” he says.

The words feel electrifying, so memorable. They’re a perfect display of how intensely the power has shifted between us. It gives me hope . . . that maybe someday we will find our footing. Together. Maybe this is the first step.

“A date, then,” I say, remembering his reply just as clearly as he remembered my teasing words.

He takes my hand. I can feel that touch in my soul, like the darkness is slowly washing away. Permanently.

Chapter 43

THEN: Freshman Year, November

Bennett

“And how is everything with Paloma?”

I sit a little taller on the comfy cloth sofa across from Dr. Anya for a rescheduled session. I’d had to move it around for a rare weekday game. Usually, sessions like this make me more anxious, less open to sharing, so I consider them nearly counterproductive. But today there is a whisper of excitement threading through time and space because I know what is coming after.

“It’s good. We’re going away this weekend.”

“The whole weekend?” Her eyebrow raise is the only betrayal of her shock.

I’m breaking my routine and going somewhere not as familiar, doing something new with someone who also hasn’t done this before—in more ways than one.

“Yeah—leaving tonight and back Sunday. I have an off weekend from hockey since we played Thursday this week.”

“That’s exciting. Are you two doing well then?”

“Yes.”

“You told me last time that you opened up to her about your OCD, right?” I nod again, tapping my fingers hard against my kneecap. “Did you tell her anything else about yourself?”

Most people know I’m OCD, or at least they spot the compulsions and don’t ask. Some even make jokes—about the way I wash my uniform or how I warm up—without knowing that it’s serious for me. That my brain feels like it’s attacking me with anxieties that seem ridiculous said out loud. But I can’t shake the thought that something still might happen, so I have to do these things. I don’t necessarily want to.

Sometimes, I actively don’t want to.

But I don’t really go around introducing myself as “Bennett Reiner, autistic guy with OCD,” so most people don’t really know that part of me. I’m just Bennett Reiner, silent hockey goalie who doesn’t like people.

It’s not true, but it works for me. It’s fine.

But I want Paloma to know, to understand me in the way she seems so desperate to.

“Yes. We talked about my thing with touching,” I say, fidgeting further in my seat. “And I told her. About me, not just the OCD stuff.”

Dr. Anya nods, tapping her pen once, twice, and then setting her notebook down.

“She’s important to you.”

“Very,” I say, not hesitating.

“Tell me more about her.”

“I like to touch her hair,” I say impulsively, a blush creeping up my cheeks after. “Is that . . . is that wrong?”

Her brow furrows slightly. “Do you have to touch it? Do you get anxious if you can’t?”