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THEN: Freshman Year, November

Bennett

It doesn’t matter that I’m only halfway to her spot on the illuminated deck; I can feel her distress.

Part of me wanted to rush down the second I heard her slip out of the sliding door, but I kept my focus on the plethora of snacks I was gathering for her. Things she likes most—applesauce and Goldfish, snacks I bought and brought with me because she’d grown up without the snacks most children love.

She deserves some space to be alone and calm by the sea before I try to comfort her.

And I know being near the water soothes Paloma. It’s why I wanted to bring her here.

Paloma is completely still, silent, almost like she doesn’t notice me there—which in and of itself is a bit nauseating. I don’t like that she’s so out of it, out here by herself. The worry that’s been slowly building ratchets up to an almost insurmountable level.

“Hey, P,” I whisper, sitting close as the fire crackles behind us. “You, okay?”

Her hair is unbound, tangled from the wind that seems to have stilled, like some metaphorical rage of her emotions has now settled, too. I pretend it was me that soothed her. My hands.

I can still feel the silk of her skin against my palms, the warmth of her body pressed to mine. My fists clench to not reach for her again.

“Please, Bennett—”

“You feel so perfect. So perfect.”

My stomach swoops like the rush of a freefall just remembering it. My world has altered fundamentally. It feels wrong that I’m not holding her now, that I’m not making her come again and again until she’s soft and sleeping in my arms.

Instead, we’re here. In the cold, with just the sound of the water to soothe her, the way I wish I could. The way I’ll obsess over for years to come, until I can fix it. Make everything better for her. Never let her be hurt again.

“I was ten.” My stomach rolls with the knowledge. It’s hard to understand it, to imagine her as a child, unprotected and scared.

Tell me the rest, I silently beg. C’mon, P. Trust me to hold this for you. To never leave you alone in this pain. Be mine. Trust me enough to fall in love with me the way I am falling in love with you.

“I’m so sorry.” She swallows loudly. “I think I’m scared.”

At her confession, she scoots away from me just slightly and my stomach hollows out.

Say something.

I try, mouth opening and closing—but nothing comes out. My palms feel sweaty despite the icy cold. I fidget with my sleeve where it suddenly seems to be cutting into my palm.

“Of me?”

It’s not what I meant to say. It doesn’t even make sense, but the slight anxiety roiling through me feels strange.

“No. Never,” she says. Her voice sounds a little empty; her eyes are wide and watery as she glances at me before looking back out across the sea. “I just . . . I wanted this weekend to be good for you and I think I ruined it.”

“God, P—no. No, you could never ruin this. But this isn’t just—” I cut myself off, head shaking. “You’re perfect. I adore you. Why can’t you understand that?”

I’m tripping over my words, carelessly flailing through this important conversation.

Paloma’s hand presses hard over my thigh. “I want to trust you. I want to tell you. And—” Her voice starts to shake and she looks down at her hand on me, as if she’s just realized it was there. “And I’m sorry, okay?”

Instead of consoling her or begging her to tell me, I sit quietly and allow her to speak.

She opens her mouth, but no words escape. Only silent tears. The fire crackles behind us, waves lapping at the sand just out of reach.

There’s a beseeching look in her eyes, one I’m almost certain she doesn’t realize is there. Like something inside her is begging me to find this answer so she doesn’t have to, to speak it for her. Come on, Bennett. Think.

“Somebody hurt you,” I try. “You already told me that. I think I’ve known for a while. But you’re trusting me now, and I want to help. Let me carry this for you.”