I, on the other hand, have found mine again. I start unwrapping another Kit Kat.

“Maybe they’re hiding you from people like that.”

“What, so I can make a big stack of diamonds that will disappear in five minutes?” I say through a chocolaty mouthful.

Benson shrugs. “Maybe with some kind of—I don’t know, training?—it wouldn’t disappear.”

“That might make sense,” I say, sifting through the bowl for another Snickers. “But if so, why wouldn’t they tell me?”

“Stress, recovery,” Benson says, spreading his long arms out to the side. “It sounds like at least Reese wants to tell you.”

“Maybe.” I don’t want him to turn them into good guys. If he does, who will I have to be mad at—to pour my frustration into?

“What about Quinn?” Benson asks softly, and the awkwardness is back.

“What about him?” I say, feigning disinterest as I try to keep from squishing my candy bar. It’s not fair; Benson deserves a straight answer. But if I had a straight answer, I’d be giving it to myself.

Benson hesitates, then looks up and meets my eyes. “He’s got to know something. Reese said the triangle changed everything, and the first time you saw it was at Quinn’s house, right?”

“Above the door, yeah.”

“And didn’t he tell you he couldn’t explain, but that he would bring something to show you? Isn’t that what he said?” Benson pauses. “Maybe he’s going to show you what you can do.”

I pull the cuffs of my jacket over my suddenly chilled hands when a thought occurs to me. “Maybe he can do it too.”

Benson gives one jerky nod. “Maybe.”

Whoever Quinn is, he’s wrapped up in all of this. Benson’s right—he has to be. I’m not sure I want to talk about Quinn with Benson, not after … but what choice do I have? “Do you think I should tell him I already know?”

“I guess you have to decide how much you really trust him,” Benson says quietly.

With my life.

The thought comes unbidden—feels more like an invisible someone whispering in my ear. Reflexively, I pull away, but of course no one is there. I try to shake off the eerie feeling and rub the goose bumps from my arms.

“Tave.” Benson hesitates and I know what he’s going to ask. “What … what is he to you?”

I swallow and look at up Benson—the person who has single-handedly gotten me through the last few months, to say nothing of the last forty-eight hours. Yes, there’s been Reese and Jay and Elizabeth—not that I’m certain anymore that they had my best interests in mind—but really, the person who pulled me through was Benson. Benson, who I’ve now been kissing for twenty-four hours.

I wish I could talk to him about anything but this.

“I don’t know,” I finally whisper, looking down into my lap.

“Even now? After … after everything. You don’t know?”

I lift my shoulder into a shrug, hating that it’s the truth.

“It’s just that—” He cuts off, his fingers gripped tightly together. “I’m not sure I can keep doing this if it’s only … if it’s only kissing for you. If that’s all I wanted, honestly, it would be great. It’d be fun. But … but it’s more than that to me,” he finishes, looking up and meeting my eyes for just a moment before turning away. “You’re more than that to me.”

To me too! The words are on the edge of my tongue, but I can’t say them, not until there’s only one guy in the arena. Until then, I can’t take anything to the next step. It wouldn’t be fair to Benson, but it’s not fair to me either.

The thing is that it should be easy. I have no reason to even like Quinn, much less be obsessed with him the way I am. I know what I want; I want Benson. So why does my heart ache at the thought of never seeing Quinn again?

A door slams downstairs and startles me from my haze enough to glance at Benson’s clock. “Crap! I gotta go. Reese and Jay are going to start wondering where I am and I can’t let that happen,” I rattle distractedly as I grab my backpack. “Would you mind taking me home? Maybe dropping me off a block from the house so Reese doesn’t suspect anything?”

“You’re going back? Tave, don’t. It’s not safe. Stay here with me,” Benson says a little too seriously, then breaks the tension by tacking on, “I promise I won’t let Dustin grope you in your sleep if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll make him stay on the couch. He passes out there half the time anyway.”

“I can’t,” I say, and my voice sounds utterly defeated even to myself. “I have nothing with me and I don’t know what I’m up against yet. I need some time.”

Benson reaches out for both of my hands in a gesture that speaks more of desperation than affection. “It doesn’t sound like you have much time, Tave.”

“I have some,” I say, squeezing back. “It’s just one night.”

“And tomorrow night?” he asks.

“I guess I’ll make that decision tomorrow.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Despite vehement protests about the rain—which, of course, started up again about two minutes after I got into Benson’s car, stupid weather—I make Benson drop me off down the street from the house. I want everything to appear normal.