Page 133 of Unbound

He lets the word hang. A ringing starts in my ears, the warmth of Bennett’s palm on my waist disappearing as my body goes numb.

“Considering what?” my boyfriend asks.

Ethan’s brow furrows, but I can see the slight upward curve of his lips hidden behind his glass as he takes another sip. “Did Paloma ever tell you that we actually know each other?”

Ice shoots through my veins and I stagger slightly in my heels.

“No,” Bennett says, eyes confused and almost hurt as he looks down at me. “P?”

“I—”

Ethan smiles and reaches his hand out toward me, patting my arm lightly. I barely hold in a flinch.

“It’s okay, Paloma. No need to be ashamed,” Ethan says, serious. The same caring intensity he had when I was thirteen and terrified.

Then, to the entire circle—Adam, Max, Helen, Rhys, Sadie, and Bennett—he tells the story. My story.

“I met Paloma when I was still a cop, assigned to the area where she lived—a trailer park we tended to frequent. Her mom was hooked on several drugs and usually had some lowlife guy or other in and out of the house. And Paloma was so young—god, how old were you? Ten?”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen. Wow.” He smiles at me. And I know that the web he’s weaving is ensnaring them all—that he took pity on a poor little girl. I feel sick. “Anyway, I didn’t recognize her before, but with the blond hair . . . it’s impossible not to see that same girl. And I am just so happy to see you doing so well now.”

He turns his chin back to Mr. Koteskiy and nods. “Paloma is exactly the kind of kid this new charity will help. I’m so thrilled that you two have put this together.”

I stumble back, away from the group, barely keeping down the vomit I can feel coming up.

“I-I need to go,” I say, words garbled and half-formed. “Sorry. I-I—excuse me.”

It’s the best I can get out before I take off across the ballroom as fast as I can in my heels, transitioning into an all-out sprint the second the doors open to the refreshing cool night air.

So much for not running away anymore.

Pathetic, the hateful voice whispers. Only this time it doesn’t sound like him.

It sounds like me.

A hand wraps around my shoulder.

Chapter 58

THEN: Freshman Year, New Year’s Eve, 5:30 p.m.

Paloma

“P? You okay?”

I nod. “Just nervous.”

Bennett’s music is soothing and soft in the cabin of the car but I’m distracted, folding and unfolding the bottom of my maxi skirt with its ditsy floral pattern. It’s a little too cold for it, but I want to make an impression—modest, but girlish. Pretty.

I desperately want them to like me.

When he notices I’m still fidgeting toward the end of our two-hour drive, Bennett reaches over and smothers both my hands in one of his massive paws.

“It’ll be perfect.”

“Yeah,” I agree, easy under the weight of his calming, intense presence.