I frown. “Go on.”
“And...you got a second wind or something, so we had to improvise.” Bentley gives me a sheepish smile.
“What were you planning on doing after you got me there, all ‘sloppy and ready to pass out’?”
“Definitely not what happened,” he insists. “Well, before you crashed, anyway.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Explain.”
Bentley sighs. “We were just after the pictures. Kingston wanted to get a few shots to make it look like we were both fucking you.”
"So, you could share them with the entire student body?"
“Yeah.” He cringes.
“Why?”
“Now, that really is a question for your boy. I can’t speak for him, but he definitely had his reasons.”
“Please stop calling him my boy. Kingston’s not my anything.”
“Aw baby, I wish that were actually true.” Bentley gets a sad look on his face. “Look, if it makes a difference, our make-out sesh, or the video for that matter, was never planned. But when you slid your tongue down my neck...the way you were so responsive to a simple kiss...I’ve never felt such explosive chemistry before. I’m pretty sure Kingston would say the same. Just the idea of a threeway with us totally got you going. You can’t deny that, Jazz; it couldn’t have been more obvious. I think Davenport and I were so stunned, our dicks kind of took over.”
“It doesn’t matter if I was into it. What matters is that you fucking set me up.”
Bentley smirks. "So, you admit you wanted to take a big bite out of a Manwich?"
I pin him with a glare. “Not the time, Bentley.”
He holds his palms out. "All right, all right. Lousy time for jokes. Does it help that we felt like major shit afterward? It would've never gone any farther than it did; I swear on my left nut, Jazzy. As fucked up as this sounds, we did our best to protect you. We were in complete agreement that any pics we released didn't show nudity. We made sure the house was locked up tight. Kingston even texted his sister from your phone, so she knew where you were. We wouldn't have put you in any real danger.
“Sure, we needed the pics to spark the gossip, but we never wanted to actually hurt you. Maybe embarrass you a little or piss you off at most. We would’ve never taken advantage of you sexually, drunk or sober. We may be pricks, but we’re not fucking predators.”
I scoff. “Am I supposed to thank you for supposedly protecting me? Yeah, I guess I’m relieved the entire school can’t pick my tits out in a lineup, but the damage was done regardless. There are other ways to hurt someone beyond the physical, Bentley. Slut-shaming is never cool, and staging a scene to do it is even worse! That shit hurt.”
Bentley hangs his head. “We were assholes, straight up. For the record, your tits are fan-fucking-tastic. If the entire student body did see ‘em, they’d agree.”
I growl. “Not the point, dickhead.”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Yeah, I know. Just sayin’. Quite frankly, we were all pretty surprised you forgave us as quickly as you did.”
"I didn't forgive you," I correct. "I just didn't see the point in dwelling over it. Not to mention some pretty great things that happened after that. But after homecoming night in the forest, it made me question my judgment on a lot of stuff. I don't know how I'm supposed to trust my own thoughts, let alone anyone else."
“You can trust me, Jazzy Jazz. The guys, too. I know we’ve done some shitty things, but those few actions aren’t indicative of who we are. Of what lengths we’d go through to keep you safe. You matter to us; very few people fall under that umbrella.”
“Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anything you’ve told me tonight?”
Bentley's gaze never wavers as he formulates his response. "Ask me about a girl named Carissa sometime. Not tonight...but soon. I promise you won't have any doubt whether or not we'd ever intentionally hurt you."
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued about this Carissa girl. “I matter, huh?”
“So fucking much, babe. It’d be a lot easier if you didn’t—especially for me—but that’s life, I guess.”
I take a moment to really digest his words. To study his body language. Seeing him like this, regret pouring off of him in waves, I’m pretty sure Bentley is being honest. I’m still going to be cautious because I’m not stupid, but I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Okay.”
“Okay? Okay, what?”
“Okay, I’ll believe you. For now. But if I find out you lied to me about any of this, I won’t give you a second chance. I’m not kidding, Bent.”
Bentley exhales harshly. “I swear I won’t need one. Honest Abe from here on out.”
I sigh. “So, now what?”
Bentley squeezes the back of his neck. “Do you wanna talk about what happened that night?”
I briefly close my eyes, warding off the images his words conjure. I can’t stop thinking about that night, and none of those thoughts are pleasant.
“Not really.”
He sucks his full lower lip into his mouth. “Can I ask you one thing?”
“I reserve the right not to answer, but sure; go ahead.”
“Were you...did the guy who hurt you, did he, um...”
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to finish the sentence. The boy looks massively uncomfortable. I’m pretty sure I know where he’s going with this, but I don’t want to assume.
“Did the guy who hurt me do what, Bentley?”
He swallows a lump in his throat. “Did he...force himself on you?”
“No.” I inhale sharply. “He tried...but he didn’t succeed.”
Bentley's head drops onto his forearms, which are folded over the back of the chair. He stays that way for a moment, his back rising and falling as he takes deep breaths.
I quirk my head to the side. “You okay?”
“Just...give me a second.”
Did he just sniffle?
When Bentley’s head lifts, his eyes are bloodshot and filled with unshed tears. Any lingering tension in my body immediately softens at the sight.
“Bent—”
“Jazzy, I know this makes me sound like a total pussy, but can I hold you? I just need to feel you.”
I nod. “Just be careful around my middle, okay? I’m still sore.”
Without hesitation, Bentley stretches out beside me and wraps his arms around my upper body, tucking his face into the crook of my neck. Neither one of us says a word; we just sit there, taking comfort in each other’s arms. I hug him as tightly as I can when I feel his silent tears dripping onto my skin, trickling down to my collarbone. What on earth is upsetting him so much? Who would’ve ever thought this guy, who’s a clown more often than not, would break down like this?
I pull off his ball cap and comb my fingers through his closely cropped hair. “Bentley, what’s going on in that head of yours?”
His fists clench around my hoodie. “I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I needed you to be okay—I couldn’t live with myself if you weren’t.”