The vintage diner setting with a bipolar jukebox spitting out Gwar one minute and Britney the next didn’t exactly set the mood. And then there were the eyes on us... Most folks were used to seeing me around town, but our combined star power seemed to be attracting more attention than usual.
I cleared my throat. IthoughtI was prepared, but I’d crafted myspeech without considering how it would feel to be sitting across from him again. I wasn’t sure which part was safe to focus on—his unwavering stare, the set of his angular jaw, or the mouth that looked like it was seconds away from curling into a smile despite the tension.
Notthe mouth. Definitely not the mouth.
“Do you know how much you hurt me?” I began, trying to keep my voice steady.
He finally broke off eye contact to glance down at the mug clutched in his hands. “I do.” Ben looked up to meet my eyes again. “And I’m sorry.”
I’d expected excuses, not him copping to being a dick right away. I had reams of supporting evidence to make my case, but here he was, apologizing right at the jump. Admitting that he’d been wrong was the equivalent of a bucket of water on my five-alarm fury.
“Good.”
It was all I could come up with as I recalibrated my approach.
“I’ve thought about it a lot over the past few years, and I came close to reaching out, but you seemed like you were doing well,” Ben said.
“No thanks to you,” I shot back at him. “And it took time for me to get to that point. I went through hell.”
“Yeah, I figured.” He sighed and fidgeted with his mug again.
“That night, you told me not to worry.” I hoped the tremor in my voice wasn’t obvious, because I didn’t want him to think he had access to that part of me again. “Your exact words were “I’ve got you.” And Ibelievedyou, Ben.”
Saying it out loud made me feel needy, but of course he already knew I was.
After our time in Switzerland, Bennett Martino knew every single one of my secrets.
Now I had to make sure he wouldn’t be sharing any of them with his viewing audience.
“Why did you act all invested in me?” I demanded. “I told youeverything. From the bullshit with my mom, to the way Carol treated me.” I leaned across the table to hiss-whisper the next part. “I told you about my fucking eating disorder!”
He winced.
“If you were so worried about me, then why didn’t you reach out once we got home, when Ireallyneeded you?”
It felt so good to pin the question on him like he was a bug on corkboard. Ben frowned at me.
“I know this might sound hard to believe, but it was for the best,” he insisted.
My mouth dropped open.
“Wow.” I nodded my head when I finally snapped out of my shocked haze. “Okay. Really patronizing. Leaning into the age gap thing, huh? Mr. Been There Done That knows all.”
“No, it’s not like that,” he said. “Not even close. The stuff we talked about that night... I don’t know. In a way I feel responsible for what you did when you got home.”
“You mean quitting?”
He shifted. “Yeah. I was terrified that I pushed you to it.”
“Please. Don’t give yourself so much credit for my good decisions,” I mumbled as I fiddled with a sugar packet.
“You were spiraling that night. I was worried about you, and when you started talking about which competitions you were going to plan for next, and how you and your coach—who youhated—could rework your routines... Quinn, you sounded...robotic. There was no passion for your sport, just this zombielike drive to win again. Like you had something to prove.”
“You think?” I asked sarcastically.
“Come on.”
I hugged my arms to my chest and scanned the room again. Thankfully, everyone was focused on their food, not us. I watched a group of teenage girls laughing and downing waffles and felt a twinge of jealousy. Did they consider calorie counts, or was it possible for some people to just... eat? Because at that age I’d forgotten what waffles tasted like.
