Page 67 of Slay Ride

Brushing her hair away from her face, I look into her eyes. If I want this—and it’s becoming clear that I do—I’ll have to put in a little more effort. She likes Maverick because he’s an open book, so maybe I just need to crack open my cover and at least give her a peek atsomething.

But not the feelings I have for her. I’m not ready for her to read that part of my story yet. Those words may stay buried in a chapter I have to close at the end of the retreat.

“My mom . . .” The words jumble in my throat, choking me with their truth. It’s one thing to lie to Ezra about my mother’s condition. It’s another when I lie to myself about it. Telling someone the truth makes it real. “My mom is dying.”

The words tumble out before I realize I’ve said them, and the situation almost cheapens them. In a way, I’m spilling my guts to manipulate Cat into liking me more than Maverick. But in a way, I’m telling her these things because she’s the person who can put me back together when I break, even if she doesn’t realize it.

Cat leans down, enveloping me in her arms and resting her head on my shoulder. “Bennett, I’m so sorry. We all knew she was in a care home, but Ezra hasn’t mentioned her condition.”

“Because he doesn’t know.”

“No wonder you walk around with a chip on your shoulder and a glare in your eyes.”

“Everyone eventually dies. I don’t know why this is affecting me like this, but it is.”

“No, I don’t mean your mother’s situation.” Her fingers trace lazy circles on my back beneath the water. “You’re a man alone on an island. You depend on yourself for everything.”

“Isn’t that what men are supposed to do?”

“No, jackass.” She giggles against my neck, and that taunt becomes a term of endearment as it falls from her lips. “No one should be expected to get through a shitstorm alone. It’s okay to let other people care about you.”

“I’m not stopping anyone from caring about me.”

“But you are.”

“How?” I tilt my neck so I can look down at her.

“If you don’t tell people when you’re hurting, how can they care?”

I scoff. “You’re talking about pity. I don’t want anyone to pity me.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t pity you. I care about you.”

She snuggles into me as her words dig barbed hooks into my heart. The girl is making herself right at home there.

If only she’d stay.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Cat

Warm water burbles over my skin as Bennett holds me in his arms. I’m scared to move, afraid I’ll shatter the illusion he’s created if I animate more than my lips to offer a reply. Even the words I speak feel packed with trip wires. One misstep, and he’ll raise the defenses and blast me away so that I can’t get close to him.

“It’s a form of dementia,” he says after a long silence. “Her brain is essentially shrinking, and there isn’t much time now. I try to adjust to the rapid changes in her personality, but it’s like meeting a different person every time I visit. I rarely see my mother anymore. I mean, physically she looks the same, but . . .”

“I understand what you mean,” I say when he doesn’t continue.

“Do you?”

His walls are rising again, and I need to find a way to stop them. If I want a ceasefire, I’ll have to agree to the terms of this war, and that means I’ll need to lower my walls as well.

I’ll have to explain how I understand what he’s going through.

“I wasn’t always an only child,” I say. “I had an older brother.”

“With dementia?”

“No, cerebral palsy. It was pretty severe. He never walked or talked, and he spent most of his life in a wheelchair, but he was my brother and I loved him.”

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