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“Ben?”
I’m not sure how many times Rhys has said my name before I realize I’m in my closet, still half naked. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, lost in my head. Everything’s felt fuzzy lately, hazy around the edges.
I grab a shirt off its hanger and slip it on, then reach for my phone—like I might call Paloma again—before pocketing it. Let her have her night. She’s with Sadie. She’s fine.
She’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is okay.
“Sorry.” I shake my head, eyeing Rhys as he slips on his belt.
His mouth opens, but before he can speak, a little voice calls out, “Can you please help?”
Liam’s eyes are wide as he opens the door to my bedroom where Rhys has decidedly made himself comfortable.
The youngest of Sadie’s brothers is small and sweet, but usually rambunctious. Right now, however, he’s frustrated, seeking out the comforting presence of my best friend. He holds out his hands to Rhys with a little navy tie with a pattern of wolves printed on it. Rhys kneels in front of him with a smile, talking quietly, softly to the kid as he knots the tie for him.
My gaze tracks movement at my door again—this time, the middle child of the Brown family, Oliver. He’s fully dressed, but his tie is stretched out and knotted incorrectly—and he keeps pulling at it.
“He reminds me of you,” Rhys confided in me one day, when he realized Oliver was doing his homework at the counter on the mornings he stayed with us, enjoying the quiet time with only me, and sometimes Ro, downstairs.
I heard everything he didn’t say, too.
“Oliver,” I say, half in greeting, half to garner his attention. “Lose the tie.”
He furrows his brow—he’s Sadie’s twin in most ways, dark hair, freckles and pale skin, gray cat-like eyes. He’s distrusting and skeptical like her, too. But it only takes him a moment to realize I’m not wearing one either—I never do—before he pulls his off and tucks it into his pocket with a quiet, “Thanks.”
Oliver comes to collect his brother, telling him their sister is waiting for him to send a photo of their outfits.
“Tell your sister we’re leaving soon,” Rhys calls to the boys, ushering them out and leaning against the door after he closes us in.
I watch him, eyes guarded and cautious.
“We should talk.”
“About what?” I say, cheeks flushing as I step to the other side of the room for my suit jacket, then into the bathroom, checking my hair and washing my hands.
“About Paloma,” he starts, and my eyes shut involuntarily. “Listen, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” I snap, before pressing my palms to the counter and hanging my head for a minute. I’ve dreaded this conversation, but I know Rhys enough to know he wouldn’t be able to put it off for much longer. My best friend is a good person who cares deeply—but he’s also a martyr. And it’s the exact reason I never confided in him about Paloma, especially after they dated.
I don’t like to think about it now, but I know that as much as it pains me, it hurts Rhys, too. The guilt of the betrayal he feels responsible for is blatantly painted across his face.
“Bennett,” he chokes. His arms are crossed, and he stands barely a foot away from me in the doorway, watching me through the bathroom mirror. “If I had known . . .”
“I know,” I whisper, eyes closing tightly. “You couldn’t have known. I didn’t tell you.”
He nods, and I know it’s not enough to rid him of his remorse. But for now, it has to be.
Rhys only gives me another moment before he sighs heavily and asks, “How long have you two . . .”
“It’s recent, us dating again.”
“Again,” he huffs. “Bennett, you’re my best friend. I know you, so I’ll ask again. How long have you been in love with Paloma Blake?”
“Since freshman year. Fall semester.” Probably since I first laid eyes on her in the hockey locker room. “A long time,” I say, sending him a bitter smile.
“Jesus Christ,” Rhys mutters, hands rubbing at his eyes. “No wonder Seven lost it that night.”
My brow furrows as I tilt my head up.
