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1.Rhys and Paloma are the best people I know.
2.Rhys has more girls chasing after him now than I’ve experienced in my life.
3.Paloma is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
If I introduced her to him, would she see the way he fills my gaps? That in so many ways he is everything that I am not? That he would’ve taken her on several dates, perhaps even kissed her by now?
My stomach tosses again, and I focus on setting the cast iron skillet atop the stove. I shove the image of her into the back of my mind, a secret I’ll keep from him for now. Just mine.
Instead of obsessing over Paloma, I spend the evening laughing and playing video games with my best friend. Rhys’s never-faltering presence heals something in me, like he always does.
Everything will be fine.
Chapter 26
THEN: Freshman Year, October
Bennett
It’s our first away game series of the season, about four hours on the bus and one night at a hotel, and I feel sick.
We’re playing Vermont twice, back-to-back, which happens with the longer distance games. Still, as I load onto the bus, everything feels off.
“You sure you’re good?” Rhys asks, tossing his bag next to mine in the lineup. “You seem . . . more tense than usual. You can talk to me about it, you know?”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “I know.”
Rhys would never shut me out. He would never do something to hurt me. But I can’t stop the fear of his rejection engulfing me until I can’t see the way out.
My best friend pats my back with a bright, dimpled smile. “Alright, Ben.”
For a moment, I consider opening up—telling him that my anxiety in this moment is from something unknown to me—a girl. Maybe he could help. But then another wave of fear rushes my spine.
They’re both too good for you.
It’s startling enough to keep my own promise to myself: to keep Rhys and Paloma as separate as I can.
Though, maybe that won’t be necessary if she’s decided to remove herself from me entirely. I haven’t spoken to her since that day in Dr. Britton’s office. She hasn’t answered my texts. And if I think too hard on it, I start fidgeting worse and spiraling through darker thoughts.
Two steps onto the bus and I stop, thankful that Rhys is far enough in front of me that he can’t hear the audible huff of breath as I spot her.
Paloma Blake, light brown hair piled high into a messy bun, tendrils swirling around her face. She loops one over and over on her finger, tongue slightly out between her lips and brows furrowed while staring intently at her phone. I’ve seen the expression before; she’s reading something. A book, probably, though the idea that maybe it’s a poem spurred by the one I left in the Tupperware container makes my chest squeeze.
She’s incredibly beautiful, tucked into a back row where some non-players sit and chat. And yet no one seems to notice her. She’s good at blending in, but I can tell it’s intentional.
No one notices Paloma. She isn’t in our practices or the locker room except with me. And still, here on the bus, it’s like she’s made it that way on purpose. Unless she wants you to notice her, you won’t.
For a moment, I consider going to her, sitting at her side.
But I always sit by Rhys. It’s my routine, the one that relaxes me when it comes to hockey.
I look at her a little longer, memorizing the soft curve of her chin and the deep well of sadness in her brown eyes that makes the thing in my chest pull tighter, before turning and settling myself into the seat next to my best friend.
• • •
My entire world feels like it’s crumbling. I’m not rooming with Rhys because the assistant coach screwed up the assignments. I played my worst game yet, letting in five to the opposite goalie’s shutout.
Paloma wasn’t there for our postgame routine, which should be fine, except it isn’t. My anxiety is too high. Everything feels like it’s breaking—which is most likely the reason I’m standing at the door of Paloma’s hotel room, hair wet and dripping onto my shirt.
