Page 17 of The Girl from Widow Hills
“No,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Who?” Elyse asked, leaning closer.
“Liv’s last boyfriend. The professor,” Bennett said in this pretentious tone. So that I could imagine him saying it before, saying it all the time to others, whenever I left the room.
“I should go,” I said.
Bennett grabbed my wrist as I reached for my purse. “Liv, come on. You just got here,” he said, letting go.Sorry, he mouthed, so only I could see.
“I’m just really tired,” I said. Another truth.
“I didn’t know,” Elyse said, fumbling with her hair, tying it into a high ponytail as she spoke. “I didn’t realize it was an old boyfriend.” She hadn’t been working with us back then. She’d never met him, and I sure hadn’t brought him up.
“He’s not even an old boyfriend,” I said. Which was sort of the problem. Jonah wouldn’t commit until I found my backbone and called it off. It wasn’t an ultimatum. I’d just grown sick of it.
There was always some excuse:
I shouldn’t—
If people knew—
What would the school say—
My reputation—
Except he did. And people already knew. As far as I knew, the school said nothing. And his reputation seemed to be getting on just fine, which now includedslept with former grad student.
Mine, on the other hand . . .
Bennett was right, though, whether he knew it or not. Generally speaking, my type was older. I found myself drawn to men more when they were no longer covering up their insecurities with bravado. The ones who told me:This is what I like. This is what I want of you. This is what I will give you in return.With a confidence that meant they’d already come to terms with who they were.
Jonah was probably drawn to me for the inverse.
My glass was still mostly full, and it tasted bland, watered down somehow. “One drink,” I said. “And then I’m going to bed.”
Bennett relaxed in his seat again, eyes scanning the room. “Speaking of exes,” he said, gesturing toward the entrance. His apologies always came like this, in tiny appeasements. In pieces of himself that he gave away, knowing full well he’d held on to them for far too long.
I followed his gaze. A woman in a casual black dress, long legs and long blond hair that fell in waves over her shoulders. She was stunning. I was stunned.
“Damn, Bennett,” Elyse said. She nudged his shoulder, but he remained stoic. Sometimes, like now, Elyse got it wrong, aiming for levity.
“Why don’t I know her?” I asked.
“Because,” he said slowly, “you never asked.” I must’ve physically jolted, because he put his hand up, shifting direction. “It was before your time, Liv. She worked in the ER for less than a year, left a month or two before you started. We were together for maybe six months.”
Yet several years later, she was still the ex in town for whom he needed reinforcements. Must’ve been one hell of a six months.
“What’s her name?” Elyse asked, eyes still focused on the woman across the bar.
Bennett looked from me to Elyse before answering. “Keira,” he said.
I’d made a mistake. These were things I should’ve asked. Back then. Right now. Jonah was probably the main reason we’d never discussed relationships. I avoided the topic; it was supposed to be a secret.
I’d thought I knew enough about Bennett’s life to matter: that he was single; that he was the youngest of five and had grown up in south Charlotte and moved away because, in his words, his siblings cast a long shadow; that he became a different person when he wasn’t working.
But these were all surface things. Not:Did she hurt you, do you miss her, why are you out with me tonight—for this?
That was the danger. If you didn’t want someone to pry into your past, you had to keep out of theirs.
