Page 90 of Unbound

“You were fourteen, Paloma,” she says. Still that same firm voice, but it isn’t harsh or scraping, though the words feel like knives all the same. “He was an adult. You didn’t choose that.”

“It’s not that simple,” I say, shaking my head. “He helped me. We were together. It wasn’t like he forced me. It was fine—even if I didn’t always like it. That’s just how relationships are sometimes.”

“So, when you were with Bennett, did you have sex when you didn’t want to? Did he force you to?”

The words make me flinch, desperate to defend Bennett, to separate the two in my head.

“No, no—he didn’t—”

“Relationships shouldn’t hurt you. Sex should be your choice. It’s your body, Paloma.”

I shake my head. “I know.”

“You didn’t want that, Paloma,” she continues. Her voice is steady. Not soft anymore, but firm and clear. “You were a fourteen-year-old girl. A child. You didn’t choose that. You didn’t have a choice. You need to understand that.”

That little version of me that I keep deep inside peeks around the corners she lurks in, peering up. Even if I can’t trust Dr. Sutton’s words, that part of me wants to, desperately.

“What is intimacy?”

My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“What is intimacy to you, Paloma?”

There’s still a part of me that wants to roll my eyes and shrug, but this feels too important.

I know my answer. I know what intimacy is to me. I feel it like the waves lapping over my toes across a beach I’ve spent every birthday laying on. Like the rainfall water of a shower I feel safest in.

It’s hands in my hair, soothing, never painful. It’s homemade food and the taste of salt air on my lips. It’s hands on my waist only after asking Is this okay? It’s eye contact with Bennett Reiner across a crowded bar top. It’s him.

Him.

Chapter 41

NOW

Bennett

“Busy?”

“No,” I say too quickly, stopping inside the door to the garage and turning to where Rhys is standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Why?”

“Thought we could ride to practice together,” he offers, squeezing my shoulder as he walks past me for his bag. “We haven’t gotten a lot of time together recently.”

“You’ve been busy,” I offer. Rhys winces and my stomach sinks. Never can get this right, huh?

“Right,” he says. It’s silent for a moment while we both climb into my car before he continues. “But you know that doesn’t mean I don’t have time for you, yeah? You’re my best friend. Nothing is going to change that.”

It feels so ridiculous. I want to snap at him that I’m not a kid and we’re not in high school. He doesn’t need to apologize to me for falling in love and having less time to be my crutch—because in so many ways that’s exactly what he’s been.

And that same fear rouses, rising like a tsunami in the back of my mind to crash over and terrorize every memory—that he sees me as a needy, pathetic, attached, and forced friend that he was never able to rid himself of.

I swallow it all down, though it feels like trying to swallow rocks.

“I know,” I say instead.

“Maybe we could get dinner or something, just you and me.”

Another nod is all I can manage as I navigate the icy roads toward the arena. “That would be nice, I think.”