Page 113

“Sounds good.” His dad smiles back. “I think I’ll head to Max and Anna’s for a bit, all right?”

Bennett nods and takes my hand to pull me up the stairs, leaving his dog behind with his dad.

He lays me on his bed, the lamplight warm, the sight of his well-loved poetry books a comfort. I pull him on top of me, fingers pressed into his sweater-covered shoulders as I kiss him. He tastes like sparkling grape juice and sugar cookies. And mine, mine, mine.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, pulling back slightly, just enough that his forehead is pressed to mine and I can only watch his lips move—turning up into a half smile before he says, “I love you, Paloma. So much. So deeply.”

My stomach rocks. My eyes glimmer with unshed tears as the genuine care in his words washes over me. It feels the same as it did when I fell into the pool as a kid, awash in cold water and something new on the other side.

Something better.

“Bennett—”

“I’m not saying these words to hear them back,” he says, pulling his head back farther to lock his ocean eyes on mine. “I’m saying them because I need you to know. To make sure you know.”

I want to say them. I feel them; it’s the only time I’ve ever felt them, really.

My mouth opens, ready for the intense, terrifying confession. Just say it. Say it. Three words.

Only I’ve said the words before. I love you.

I was sixteen and desperate for the scraps of affection that had been offered to me. Instead of being strong, of finding it in myself, I’d burrowed deep, lodging myself into the only person who seemed to want me, like that might make them love me.

We’d had sex, laid in his bed afterward, and I’d whispered to him those three words, eyes glittering, face red.

And he’d smirked, lips pulling so sharp I thought he might laugh. “Sweet girl. Already in love with me?” He’d tsked, before shaking his head and petting one blond curl back behind my ear. The affectionate move was so at war with the words, making my stomach toss and bounce until I felt nauseous.

“So touch deprived,” he’d chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you now.”

It was easy, once he said that, to trick myself into thinking that was his I love you. That he cared for me.

Tears well in my eyes as I look at Bennett. He’s so handsome, skin flushed and eyes glinting—the depths of the ocean there, my peace. My comfort. Home.

“I’m sorry,” I say, wiping at my eyes. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

He shakes his head with a saddened smile. “It’s okay, P.”

It’s not. He takes me into his embrace, a tight grip that calms my body.

“I do, too,” I whisper into the safety of his arms. “I love you.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and I can feel his grin against my hair.

“So much. So deeply.” More than you’ll ever know or understand.

I stay with Bennett and his dad through Christmas and it’s just as magical and perfect as I’d imagined it might be. Time passes slow and fast all at once, like stars winking out against the inky sky, and I can’t quell my desperation to keep this memory close and unmarred, to make this moment last forever. Bennett gifts me a complete set of Mary Oliver books from his own collection, littered with his black pen script from years of reading. It’s like holding a piece of him.

The days bleed together until it’s the day before New Years and we’re drinking expensive champagne and sparkling grape juice, dancing to music off the stereo in the main room—celebrating the holiday early as his dad insists on.

I step over to the CD player, flipping through the selection in their “favorites” basket. My fingers ghost over a few familiar ones before settling on one I love.

“That’s a good one,” Adam Reiner says, stepping up behind me slowly. He’s always overly cautious now, as if that moment in the kitchen has stuck with him. I wish he’d forget it.

“You have a thing for CDs?”

He nods with a smile, taking it from my hands to insert it into the old system.

Stepping away and back toward Bennett, I observe him for a long moment in the silence before the music starts up again.