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Dean eyes Bennett over my shoulder. “Hey,” he says, giving Bennett a head nod. It’s polite and more than I expected.
“Hey.” Bennett holds out his hand for Dean to shake. “I’m Bennett.”
“I know,” Dean says coldly. His tone of voice suggests that he’s done some research on Bennett and he’s none too pleased. So much for that politeness.
“Right,” Bennett says awkwardly, letting his hand fall when Dean doesn’t accept it.
Dean takes his seat across from me and picks up the menu. My dad has yet to acknowledge Bennett. It’s like he’s not even here. I can handle the silent treatment over yelling or flat out hostility, though.
I clear my throat. “Dad,” I say firm enough to get his attention. He lowers the menu and his eyes portray the sadness he’s trying to hide. “This is Bennett.” I know he already knows that but it felt rude not to make some sort of official introduction.
He grunts in response and narrows his eyes on Bennett. “So, you’re the dirt bag that dragged my daughter into your media firestorm?”
“Dad,” I hiss. “Stop it.”
Bennett touches his fingers to my knee under the table, silently telling me that he can handle it. I know he can, but the problem is he shouldn’t have to. Yes, this isn’t real between us, but my dad doesn’t know that. He should, at least, treat Bennett with some respect.
“I admit the media isn’t in my favor, but I wouldn’t say I dragged Grace into it.” I don’t miss the twitch of his lips as he tries to hold back laughter because that’s exactly what he did.
“Mmhmm,” my dad hums in disbelief.
This is going nowhere and we don’t even have our food yet. Which tells me this is going to be one long-ass dinner.
Bennett clears his throat and takes a sip of his water. I hadn’t even noticed the waiter bring them and I grab my glass as well, taking a huge sip to quench my suddenly dry throat. I don’t do well with awkward situations.
“Bennett plays hockey,” I say stupidly. Of course, they already know this and we talked about him some when I was here for Thanksgiving but I hate the quiet awkwardness
that has settled in the air. My family is never quiet: with three kids and a dad that’s a bit outlandish, there’s never a dull moment with the Wentworth’s so when things do get quiet it doesn’t feel right. I shake my head. This is stupid. “Dad,” I say calmly. “You don’t have to like Bennett, but you do have to accept him. I’m a big girl now. I’m grown up and on my own and I’ve chosen to have Bennett in my life. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon and this would be a lot easier on me if you’d be nice to him. When you’re rude to him, it’s a slap in the face to me, and that hurts.” I take a deep breath. I’m not normally so forward, but I’m learning that I have a voice and it’s okay to use it.
The table is silent. My brothers, mom, dad, and Bennett all stare at me like I’ve grown three heads.
I’ve always been more like my mom. Quiet, go with the flow, and easily embarrassed, but there are brief moments when I’m not afraid to speak my mind—also something I get from her. When she has something to say, you better listen up.
My dad speaks first. “Okay.”
That’s it. A simple okay but it speaks volumes.
I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
The silence breaks, and suddenly, the table is full of chatter. My mom and dad are talking about his day at work, Lincoln and Dean talk about cars, and Bennett turns to me with a small crooked smile.
“You’re amazing,” he says with a bit of awe in his voice.
I blush. “I didn’t say much.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You defended me even though you didn’t like speaking against your dad and that … That means a lot. I know how much you love your parents and that you don’t like to go against their wishes, so the fact that you’d defend me? Well, thanks, sweetheart.” He leans over and kisses the side of my head quickly. No one at the table misses the gesture, but none of them say anything. In fact, I see what looks like approval in my dad’s eyes.
The waiter comes for our order and I suddenly feel ravenous.
Idle chat is made through the rest of the dinner and then we head home. It’s getting late, and after spending the day on the road, I excuse myself to shower and go to bed early.
Before college, I never realized what a luxury it was to have my own bathroom. The communal bathroom at school has been one of the hardest things to get used to. I like my privacy, and there’s not much when you’re sharing a bathroom with an entire floor of girls.
I take a longer shower than normal and change into a pair of pajamas. I blow dry my hair—sleeping on wet hair is not fun—and apply my moisturizer. I wonder idly if Bennett’s come up to go to bed but I don’t want to be caught seeking him out. After my rant at dinner, I think it’s best not to rock the boat.
I move some of the pillows off my bed and turn back the covers. It’s funny how in a short time my dorm room has become home to me and this room feels like a stranger’s.
I burrow under the covers, stifling a yawn. There’s a TV in my room but I don’t really feel like watching it.
