Page 56 of Unbound

I shouldn’t be here. It’s an invasion of privacy.

Not to mention stealing the room assignments sheet was an obsessive, awful thing to do. Still, I raise my hand and knock.

It takes a long while but the door cracks open, just slightly. Paloma hesitantly peeks around the door, eyes going wide as she spots me.

“Bennett?”

She’s in a big T-shirt but no pants. My eyes dart back to hers after a quick skim over her long, muscular legs. I’ve never seen so much of her skin before. To prevent my blush from growing, I try to inspect her face. Her skin looks a little flushed, and dark circles are starting to develop under her eyes.

“Are you all right?” I blurt out. “You look tired.”

She grimaces and darts her eyes down, away from me. “You’re not supposed to tell people that.” Her words aren’t reprimanding, however. She sounds exhausted—proving my point.

“But yeah,” she continues. “I know I look terrible. I am tired. I’ve . . . I’ve been having nightmares again. So, I’m not sleeping.” The words seem to come out almost accidentally and she shakes her head, rubbing her hands over her eyes and slumping against the doorframe.

Something throbs in my chest. She’s so beautiful and sad. I want to fix everything for her, despite knowing logically that I can’t. Is this how my dad feels with me all the time?

“What are you doing here, Bennett?”

I avoid the closed-off tone of her voice, shifting from foot to foot.

“I played horribly,” I confess. “We lost. I—it was my fault. I screwed everything up for everyone and now . . . I don’t know.”

“You’re the goalie,” she whispers. “Not surprised you’re taking all the responsibility. Though I highly doubt it’s your fault. What was the score?”

“Five to zero.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a whole team effort to lose, Bennett. Not on you.”

I let her words wash over me, absolving some of the guilt I feel weighing on my shoulders. Part of me wants to confess that this is one of the reasons I’ve never loved hockey like the others do, because it’s a constant pressure in my chest when I play.

“You were gone.”

Her eyes dart down, away from my gaze as her hand grips onto the door tighter. I wonder briefly if she might slam it in my face.

“Um, yeah. I just . . . I wasn’t doing well,” she says.

“Oh.” When she offers nothing else, my mouth opens unbidden. “Did I do something wrong? I just—” A frustrated breath puffs from my lips. “I can’t always read your expressions. I don’t know if you’re angry or upset with me. You have to tell me if I do something wrong or upset you.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Bennett,” she says sincerely. “I promise. I just . . . with the nightmares again, I sleep a lot during the day to make up for not sleeping at night and I needed some time for myself.”

I nod, biting my lip to not press for more.

“What would help?”

“What?”

“I just . . . Is there anything I could do to help you? To sleep?” It’s invasive, but I can’t stop myself. The obsessive center point of my anxious thoughts has shifted to her, her, her.

“Oh.” She darts her eyes back to the floor, biting at her lip. “I don’t know. I—my—”

“Maybe I could stay awake with you?” I blurt again, unable to keep my damn mouth shut around her. “Or, if you are going to sleep and you have a nightmare, I could stay awake and wake you up?”

She’s hesitant, standing a little straighter with effort and crossing her arms over her chest as if to hug herself. A long moment passes as she considers my offering.

“You can trust me,” I vow, blue meeting brown in a rare show of direct eye contact. But I want her to see the sincerity in my gaze, the truth of my words. I won’t hurt you. Please, trust me. Let me help.

“Okay.”