Page 91 of Unbound

We don’t talk for much of the rest of the ride, our anxieties warring for space in the cab. I tell him I’m going to stay in the car for a little longer, and though he seems worried, he lets it go.

I fumble with my phone, the need to call my dad warring desperately with the need to avoid speaking with him at all costs. I can’t talk to Rhys. I can’t talk to my dad. I can’t talk to anyone because everyone I try to hold closer seems to slip further from my grasp.

Just go inside. Do your usual routine and everything will be—

My hand is on the gearshift suddenly; I back up and drive out of the parking lot with no real plan. I dial the number I know by heart.

“Bennett?”

“P—” I breathe, hating that my voice sounds as shaky as I feel. “Hey, are you . . . are you busy?”

“Just got home from class,” she says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—can I come see you?”

Can I come over, was what I meant to ask—like a normal person. Resisting the urge to slam my forehead into the steering wheel, I stop a little too briefly at the stop sign before turning and idling on the corner.

“Yeah,” Paloma says. I hear a door close before, “Bennett? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I just don’t know where you live.” I laugh, shaking my head.

“I’ll send you the location. Just—drive safe, okay?”

She hangs up and shares her location with me, something that makes my chest feel warm. She used to do it all the time, so I could come get her wherever she was. So that I could always find her.

I march up to the front door of the pretty townhouse on shaky feet with trembling arms—like I’m running on adrenaline taken through an IV.

I knock twice before she answers, her beautiful brown eyes going wide at the sight of me in her doorway.

“Bennett,” she greets.

“Sorry.” I huff a breath, but a smile breaks through. “I didn’t want to bother you. But I just needed to see you.”

“You’re fine.” She smiles up at me. “More than fine. Come in.”

It’s warm in her home—and a thrill shoots up my spine that there’s a place I can call that for her now. That Paloma has a home that’s warm and safe, and that she seems to want to be in. The foyer is dark green and half-paneled with brown wood. There’s a pretty woven carpet taking up most of the living room with a well-loved gray couch and several multicolored pillows—some that I recognize from her dorm freshman year. She has music playing softly on the TV.

And she’s there in the center of it all, so warm and beautiful. Happy, I realize with a jolt.

“Is everything okay?”

I nod. “I just . . .” My voice trails off as I rock slightly on my heels, hands tucked into the pockets of my sweatpants.

“I don’t want to be just your friend, Paloma.” My confession is soft, quiet in the warm space as it floats over her. She basks in it slightly, lips parting with a puff of breath. “I never wanted to be just your friend. I love you.” A short laugh works from me as I shrug my shoulder. “And that’s just never going to change for me. I’m always going to want you.”

“Bennett—”

I hold up my palm to stop her.

“I know,” I say, eyes straying from hers toward my feet. “I am not trying to change your mind or force you to be with me, you know I’d never do that. But I want to be clear. I will be your friend if that’s what you need. But I will never want less from you; I’m always going to hope for more.” My voice drops lower. “For you to let me have you again. Take care of you.”

“Bennett,” she breathes, and I finally look at her. Her eyes look glassy and my stomach drops at the idea I might’ve upset her. But before I can try to fix it, she continues. “I do want a fresh start with you. But I . . . I want you, always.”

“As more than friends.”

She laughs, the sound wet but genuine. “Yes.”

I nod. “Okay.”