Choosing You (Gravity Hill #3)

48. Chapter 45

T he next morning, I find Henry bundled up beside me. He’s scooted closer in his sleep, seeking warmth, most likely. I try not to let my mind hope he was searching for me while he dreamed. His dark lashes are fanned out across his cheeks, and the blankets are pulled up over his nose. His curly hair is a mess, strands stick to his forehead and neck.

I watch him for far too long until I hear the rest of camp moving around and decide to stop being a total creep.

Everyone’s awake, minus Tal, who I imagine is dead to the world asleep. Toby’s got his pack leaned up against his tent, waiting for Talon to wake up so they can break down their tent.

Dad’s by the fire, dousing it so it won’t accidentally start a forest fire when we leave. Creed and Luca are packing up their tent, and Nile’s eating a granola bar.

“Morning,” my uncle says between bites, throwing me a bar for myself. “Fancy still sleeping too?” He laughs, and I nod.

After we’ve downed our waters and eaten the granola, Toby wakes Talon up, and I head off to wake Henry. We have to cut this trip short so we can get back for the last week of school before finals. I’m not sure how I’m going to explain everything to Henry, but I know he needs the honest, whole truth from me.

For once. Pulling back the flap, I find him sitting up, with his hands buried in his hair. He looks like he’s warring with himself, and I want to scoop him up and hold him. Make him feel better, safe, wanted, loved.

Sitting down in front of him, I fold my legs underneath me, causing him to remove his hands from his hair and face me fully.

“I told you I’d tell you everything,” I swallow, waiting for him to give me a sign that he’s ready for this. When he crosses his arms and nods, I continue. “Charlie’s dad killed my mother.”

“He what?” Henry’s outrage makes my heart pound behind my ribs, as if it knows it belongs to him and only him.

“Because of the whole thing nearly three years ago with Fern, that’s where this all started. When Bridgett died, her father hurt Fern. So Creed and Mack hunted and killed him, along with twenty-four of his brother’s highly trained men. I’ll let everyone else explain that because I still have a hard time wrapping my head around it.”

He blinks, slack-jawed and staring at me.

“Charlie’s dad was Bridgett’s uncle. When Creed and Mack killed her uncle and all those men, he wanted revenge. All of us were supposed to die that night. It wasn’t an attack on Mom, specifically. Romero wanted to hurt Creed, and he thought taking away his right-hand man, my dad, would be the easiest way. But he fucked it up. Charlie’s been trying to figure out what went wrong and why he hasn’t tried again. That’s why she wanted the marriage. She needed help and leverage, and he agreed because he thinks she’s on his side. She wants to–” I stop and clear my throat as I try again. “She has a whole plan for her dad. He hits her, Henry. Because he can, and there’s nothing she can do about it.”

His head is shaking now, hands splayed in front of him as if he doesn’t want to hear anymore. But I promised, and if we’re going to pull this off, Henry has to know it all. He’s not going to like it. I know I sure as hell don’t.

“He… hits his own child?” Disbelief mixes with outrage, it’s clear in his tone and the way his face is set as I lay out the whole plan. Growing up with the father figures we did, I can’t imagine how hard it is for Henry to fathom a parent that would intentionally hurt their child.

“It isn’t my story to tell, and I won’t betray Charlie’s trust, but if you get the chance, you should ask her about him.”

“She knows about the plan to kill her father, and she’s still here?”

I nod, “It was her idea. We’ve been keeping tabs on her father, watching him from the inside for weeks.” Something about hearing this news and knowing it was all Charlie’s plan wakes something up in him. He blinks the tears away and straightens his spine.

“What do I need to do?”

Seeing him ready to jump in to save someone–the very same person he thought I chose over him–makes me want to weep. He’s the same Henry I fell in love with.

Only stronger.

Back on campus, I’ve been busy with the team preparing for our last game of the year. I’ve asked Henry to come, and I hope he doesn’t laugh at me when I give him the t-shirt Charlie helped me make for him to wear.

I’ve only met him a few times at the cafe since we’ve been back, our schedules haven’t exactly meshed well. He’s standing at a table delivering sweets and hot drinks that will drive away the cold to a table with four people.

He smiles at them, and the sight makes me want to kiss him, but I won't. Not until he tells me he’s ready. The wait might kill me, but with the help of my therapist, I’m learning to be more patient and less impulsive. When he looks up and spots me at the door, his smile turns shy, like it has the past couple of days I’ve stopped by. It’s as if what we have is new again, with butterflies and tight chests.

“Hey,” he says, excusing himself from the table and walking over to where I’m standing in the middle of the space between the counter and the door.

“Hey,” biting the inside of my cheek, I flex my hands around the present. “This is for you if you decide to come to the game.”

He eyes the box, then looks back up at me with one hiked brow. Taking the box from my hands, he turns and goes back behind the counter, turning to look over his shoulder as he says, “Do you want me to open it now?”

“If you want to,” I shrug, trying not to make it seem like a big deal and failing miserably.

Henry turns back to face me fully and slowly lifts the lid off, pulling the shirt out of the box, he unfolds it and holds it up. My number is painted in gold fabric paint on the green material, along with my last name above it.

Nerves light up my stomach when he doesn’t say anything as he stares. It’s too soon. I should have known.

This was stupid.

Shit .

Looking back up at me, he holds the shirt over his body and smiles, “It’s your number.”

I nod, unsure what he’s feeling.

“And you want me to wear it?” He attempts to hide his growing smile by looking back down at the shirt.

“Only if you feel comfortable,” I can’t help the needy tone from bleeding through my words. “You don’t have to come, don’t feel pressured, I know–”

“I’ll be there,” he chuckles, and my head snaps up to his.

The smile that splits my face almost hurts with the amount of joy I feel pulsing through my veins, knowing my man will be in the crowd, hopefully wearing my number.

There’s no better feeling.