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It’s not what I meant to say, but he seems to understand it.

“If I ever catch you even looking her direction again,” he says, half over his shoulder as he’s turned away to block me from their view, “I’ll kill you.”

His voice is terrifying enough that a jolt runs through me, only soothed by the fact that I know Bennett. He’s not like this—but he’s panicked.

It’s not until we get to the car that he manages to let go of me. I feel his hands buckle me in, shaking as he maneuvers and settles my body in place. But my eyes are fully closed, nearly completely passed out.

I swear I hear him crying softly as he drives.

• • •

I jolt up and sprint for the bathroom, groggy, slipping and falling to the tile almost immediately.

Though it’s mostly dry-heaving, I can’t stop trembling over the toilet, eyes barely open and awash with tears.

A hand gently pulls all of my hair up and out of my face, keeping it carefully snug as I continue to be sick for a long moment. Eventually, the heaving turns to soft sobs, head drooping—but before I can rest my cheek on the seat, my entire body falls back to rest against Bennett’s warm, solid chest.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” I try to mutter, words still half-caught in my dry, achy throat.

“Shh,” he coos. “It’s fine. I’m gonna take care of you, P.”

I take the suddenly proffered bottle of water from his hand and sip slowly.

“Do you want to shower?”

When I nod, he slowly releases me to walk over and carefully turn the knobs to get the water to the right temperature for me. I try to join him, but everything feels sludgy and heavy.

“Paloma?” Bennett asks, renewed concern in his voice as he sees my tears start up again.

“I . . . I can’t move my arms,” I whisper. “Everything feels numb.”

His jaw clenches tight, eyes closing for a moment before decision stamps his face with conviction. Unwavering in his movements, he cuts off the now-steaming shower and begins to run a bath.

It makes my heart throb, affection for him that’s never waned racing over my body like a wave.

In the quiet, I realize this isn’t his usual bathroom—it’s newer, larger than the townhouse dorm he used to stay in. Probably some nice off-campus housing. My chest aches for the time lost with him, for the differences and the way that I feel like I know him so deeply and yet . . . he’s different. His life is different.

It’s a pain I didn’t prepare for.

“Do you want me to help you?” he asks; the words seem pained. Still, I nod.

With anyone else, I’d suffer through the night with sweat-damp skin and vomit sticking to the strands of my hair. But no matter the circumstances, I feel safe here, with Bennett.

He undresses me carefully, slowly, but keeps me facing away from him as he helps pull off my jacket and dress. My feet are bare—which I assume Bennett did himself when we first got here, so that I could sleep more comfortably.

Then, he takes my arms in his massive hands, moving his chest to hover over my back as he helps me into the steamy hot bathwater.

Bubbles froth at the edges, and that deeply hidden little girl within my heart peeks out of her shadowed safe space.

Once I’m safely settled against the porcelain, Bennett steps back and closes the toilet, flushing and sitting atop the lid to watch over me. In the last nine months, I haven’t relaxed my shoulders once. This may be the first time I’ve even taken a full breath.

“I . . . I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize again, Paloma,” he says, voice fierce and loud in the echoey bathroom. “I can’t take it.”

“I think he put something in my drink.”

“Thought so.” Bennett nods, wiping his hands over his eyes and massaging his temple. I can feel the anger, the fury quietly brewing beneath his skin. “I thought you didn’t drink,” he says, aggressive.