25. Henry
twenty-five
“Unca Jerk!” Rap, rap, rap!
I wake to the sound of a toddler tyrant giggling, pounding on my door, and calling my “name.”
Phee heard Bronwyn call me a jerk yesterday and has found immense delight in repeating it. The more I react to it, the harder she giggles, so I’ve made a point to always react.
Franki stirs in my arms, and I untangle her hair out of my morning scruff with a smile. After brushing my lips across her forehead, I slip from the bed, put on my glasses, and pad to the door.
I’m usually the first one awake in any household, but given that Franki and I fell asleep near the time I’m normally rising from my bed, it makes sense that I slept in.
I slip out into the hallway and close the door behind me so that I can crouch next to Phee. Dean leans against the far wall with his arms crossed, looking stoic as always. Phee, wearing yellow footie pajamas, her hair a tangled blonde halo, and her cheeks full and pink, reaches for me.
“Good morning, Ophelia,” I murmur.
She throws her arms around my neck and hangs on, smacking a sloppy kiss against my bristled cheek.
I pat her head. “You behave surprisingly affectionately for someone who calls her wonderful uncle a jerk.”
“Wunnerful Unca,” she parrots.
I lift her as I stand, her little diapered butt resting on my forearm. “Why did you pound on Wonderful Uncle Henry’s door at this uncharitable hour?”
“Daddy said, ‘Time fo bekdrift.’”
“Bekdrift?”
“She wants you to eat breakfast. She’s afraid you’re hungry”—Dean pauses for effect—“because your muscles are puny.”
I’m not puny, but I’m not built like Phee’s father and have never had a desire to be. Gagging down protein shakes isn’t my idea of a good time. Besides, no amount of jerking my chain is going to put a dent in my fantastic mood this morning. “We both know, regardless of your muscle mass, that I’m faster and fight dirtier.”
He grunts in the affirmative. “You and your sister, both.”
I turn my attention back to Phee. “Thank you for your concern, Ophelia. I’ll get ready and come down for breakfast.”
“Yay!”
I kiss her forehead and pass her to Dean.
As he heads for the stairs, Phee stretches in his arms toward Franki’s bedroom door. “Fankeee!”
Dean shakes his head. “We’ll let Franki sleep. Only Uncle Henry is lucky enough to get your wake-up call.”
My bed is empty when I return to the bedroom. In Franki’s place, a folded piece of paper with something colorful sitting on top of it rests on her pillow.
When I get closer, I see that Franki has torn the paper from her sketch pad. She’s written me a note. Instead of my name, the folded paper has a quick sketch of the two of us in cartoon form. We’re lying on the porch roof together, with my hand raised to point out a constellation, and she’s looking at me instead of the stars.
Smiling, I lift the short length of braided string first. It’s maybe an inch wide and a combination of blues and browns.
I set it back down and pick up the note.
“Dear Henry,
I made this friendship bracelet for you, then I never gave it to you because I was worried about what your reaction would be.
I know this isn’t the wedding ring you wanted, but I hope you’ll accept this piece of sentimentality commemorating our years of friendship.
Always, Franki”
I stare at the note for a long time, reading and rereading. Trying to understand the layers of subtext in it. Friendship instead of a wedding ring. She was worried about how I’d react to her note.
I didn’t mistake her last night. I couldn’t have. But she’s changed her mind.
She told me she gets claustrophobic.
Dad warned me. “Don’t smother her.”
I should have said I lied to her father and dropped the actual wedding until we were further along. I shouldn’t have stopped her from leaving when she said goodnight. I admitted that I waited for her.
I’ll give her time and try again slower. I spooked her. I should have known it by her reaction last night when she tried to go back to her own room.
This is why I went numb,because emotions suck. They rip you up and make you bleed on the inside. I shower, shave, and dress on autopilot as I go over the events of last night in my mind on repeat, attempting to find the place where I went so completely wrong. By the time I knock on Franki’s door, she’s already gone downstairs without me.
The kitchen, when I enter, is in full swing, but Franki is nowhere in sight. The thought of food revolts me, so I search through the tea drawer. Who the hell doesn’t keep Earl Grey in the house?
I ignore the fact that my sister has been ill. Someone was responsible for keeping this place stocked, and whatever staff member that was has not been doing an adequate job. Resentfully, I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit at the table, scowling into the bitter black liquid.
Franki and Dad enter from the porch door, laughing about something. She’s not using her cane, and I assume from how smoothly she’s moving that her RA isn’t bothering her too much this morning. It comes and goes in flares.
Dad has an arm around her shoulders, and she appears happy and relaxed. No doubt an expression of relief after cutting me loose. Dad and Franki must have stepped outside for only a moment because neither are wearing a jacket, and they each have a cup of coffee in hand.
She catches me looking at her and smiles, giving me a little finger wave. I’m not ready to smile back. I will. Later. For now, I pretend to be distracted by Phee in her high chair saying, “Banananana”—big breath—“nanananana.” Even though there’s not a banana in sight.
There are too many people in this room. Clattering dishes, bacon sizzling on the griddle, talking, food smells. It’s way too bright in here, the sunshine pouring through the windows. My sister’s laugh reminds me of the porn audio from last night, and my mood sours further.
“The next time I sleep here, I’m bringing noise cancelling headphones,” I snarl.
Bronwyn whirls my way, then waves a spatula at me, precariously close to actually hitting me with it. “You will respect my husband, or you will leave,” she snaps.
Her reaction is over the top and completely inappropriate to the situation. “This has nothing to do with your husband. He’s not the one who makes me want to wash my eardrums with bleach,” I say acidly.
Then, to make sure she understands exactly what I’m saying, I clarify further, “My bedroom faces west. My windows were open.”
The spatula clatters to the floor. When she picks it up and limps to the sink, she sputters, “Why would you have your windows open in October?”
I glance at Franki, who looks as calm and content as ever.
“I was overheated,” I mutter.
Franki puts her arm around Bronwyn and tries to soothe ruffled feathers. “He was fine. He closed his window, and we went right to sleep.”
Silence descends. Does she not understand what she just did? How many explanations this could end up requiring? We’re just friends who fucked? In front of my mother, who freaks out if one of us says the word “dick” in her presence?
Mom looks at me with an avaricious smile I’ve never seen before. More than once she’s asked if I was interested in finding someone. She adores Franki. She would assume if we slept together, we’d be serious because she knows I don’t do casual. She’s already imagining the grandchildren we’ll give her. I can see it on her face.
“Are you seeing each other?” She turns to Dad where he’s refilling his coffee. “Arden, did you know this?”
I stand abruptly and attempt damage control. “We are not in a relationship. No.” I force a laugh. “That would be absurd.”
Then I leave because I can’t stand another second in this room. I glance at my watch. I’ll walk off some of this tension and give myself until ten a.m., then come back ready to be as friendly as Franki needs me to be.
I toss on a blue wool cardigan after pulling it from a wooden locker in the mudroom and take off for the tree line where the hiking path starts, nodding to security as I go.
This place is now even better fortified than my parents’ homes and my own.
The air is comfortably crisp this morning, but not cold. Bright morning sun slices through the remaining low-lying fog, making the dew sparkle on grass and fallen leaves. The air is redolent with the scent of autumn in Pennsylvania and reminds me of the pumpkin patch and our kiss in Grandma’s kitchen. Gravel crunches beneath my heels.
“Henry!” Franki calls my name.
I stop, adjust my glasses, and shove my hands in my pockets. Flick, flick, flick.
When I’ve managed to wipe the scowl from my face, I turn. “Hello, Fran—”
“You can take your ‘hello Franki’ and shove it up your asinine ego.”
Her expression has the air seizing in my chest.
“You didn’t have to pretend I meant something special to you to convince me to sleep with you. I’d already decided to do it. You’re the one who made me think it was more than a one-night stand. You didn’t have to play these stupid, cruel games.”
She laughs bitterly. “Was this your revenge because I said no to your proposal? Your ego is really that fragile?”
I stare at her for way too long before I manage to say, “You said you’d always be my friend.”
She glares. “I’m sorry. Should I have clarified ‘as long as you don’t treat me like straight-up trash’?”
“You left me a note.” Yeah, I sound accusatory and pissed, but, “What the fuck, Franki?”
“What does that have to do with you lying about me being ‘your person’ then freaking ghosting me the next morning in front of everyone?”
The import of her words soaks in, and a jolt of realization lights me up. I glance around. We’re on the path that winds into the woods, but given the security protocols here, we’re in full view of two different guards and on camera.
I wrap my hand around hers. “Come with me.”
She trips along behind me for a few steps before planting her heels and yanking against my grip. “We’ll talk here.”
“You want to make up in front of an audience?”
“What audien— Oh, crap.”
It’s not just security guards and cameras now. Up the rolling hill, Gabriel, Mom, and Janessa are gathered at the end of the porch and virtually hanging over the railing watching us.
“This”—I indicate the two of us—“is a misunderstanding. I need privacy to beg your forgiveness.” I swoop in front of her and haul her over my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” She kicks her legs.
I pat her ass gently as I stride in the direction of the driveway. “I’m taking you somewhere quiet to woo you.”
“Woo me? Who says that?” She squirms, and I tighten my grip so she doesn’t fall.
“I do.”
“Put me down.”
“In a minute, darling.” I take a bracing breath of fresh, autumn air. “It’s a beautiful morning, you should relax and enjoy the view.”
My ass cheek twinges. “What is with you and the pinching?”
“Your ass is my view. I was enjoying it. You’re the one who said to fight dirty.”
“If you want to fight dirty, use your elbow and go for a solid strike to the kidney. I only have the one, so I’m extra attached to it. Another option: my sidearm is within easy reach for you. Steal it and shoot me. Or hold on tightly to the waistband of my pants, then buck your body up and toward the ground headfirst. When I adjust my hold for even a second, vault yourself forward and use your grip on my waistband to assist your flip so you land feet first.”
She goes quiet and still for a moment, then says, “I think that last one would take practice. I could take a bobby pin out of my hair and stab you somewhere extra-sensitive.”
“Good thinking.”
“I could give you an atomic wedgie.”
“You’re in a prime location for that. I’d drop you like a hot potato. I cannot abide anything in my ass crack.” I shudder. “The horror.”
Franki swats my butt.
“Joke’s on you, darling. I think I liked that,” I say.
She lets out an inadvertent snicker before she swats me once more. This time it feels more like a grope than anything.
There it is again.She is 100 percent feeling me up.
We’re close enough to the house now that our audience can hear us, as well as see us, so I call out in stentorian tones, “I want all of you to know that Franki and I are most definitely in a relationship. You may ignore my earlier remarks.”
She freezes. “They’re watching us?”
“Are you okay, Frank?” Gabriel hollers.
I roll my eyes.
“I’m fine. Thank you,” she wheezes back.
“Yes, they’re watching us,” I drawl.
When I continue around the house to the circular driveway where my car is parked, she fidgets once more. “I thought we were going in the house.”
“I’m absconding with you. This place is crawling with people. If we stay here, they’ll continue to watch every single thing we say and do. If I take you upstairs to our rooms, we’ll have people knocking on our doors and constant interruptions.”
I tip my head to a nearby guard as I open the passenger door of my car. “Good morning, Ryan.”
“Mornin’, Henry.”
“Ryan, Henry says he’s kidnapping me,” Franki says sweetly.
“I am, indeed, kidnapping her, but if anyone plans on taking her from me, you’ll need more than reinforcements. I’d recommend an army. And a missile launcher.”
Ryan runs a hand over his military-cut, dark-blond, bristled hair and peers around my back to get a look at her face, then straightens with a grin and a shake of his head. “Have fun, I guess.”
“Ryan,” she scolds with a laugh in her voice, even though I guarantee she’s never met the man in her life before this moment. “Shame on you. What happened to your duty to serve and protect?”
Gently, I settle her in the passenger seat as Ryan says, “Ma’am, you know I’m not a cop, right? I’m loyal to The McRae.”
“I’m loyal to The McRae,” she mimics.
My lips twitch at her snark as I close the door, then jog around the vehicle to slide into the driver’s seat. I’m unsure if she’s going to cooperate or attempt to get out of the car, but she never makes a move to open her door.
When I hit the ignition, she folds her arms across her chest. “Should I call you ‘Laird’?”
I reach for her seatbelt, drawing it across her body. She drops her crossed arms long enough for me to snap the belt in place, then resumes her former position.
I put the car in Drive and maneuver through the security checkpoints on my way to the main road. “The McRae refers to this family, not to me. However, if you’re into role-play, I’m happy to accommodate you. Bridenapping is a well-loved trope in Highlander romance novels, according to my research.”
A snort of laughter escapes her before she cinches her mouth tight. “I’m not playing Maiden Stolen by the Highlander.”
“Unfortunate. I’d look great in a kilt.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“A cabin about a two-hour drive from here. I’ll have someone bring your luggage. Is there anything else you need?”
“You’re not actually kidnapping me,” she says in disbelief.
“Just for tonight.” I bounce my head back and forth. “Maybe a week. It depends on how long it takes me to grovel effectively.”
“Stealing me away is the opposite of groveling.”
“I’m going to be honest, I know a lot more about kidnapping than I do apologizing. I’m following my instincts.”
She scowls and pokes a finger into my thigh. “You’re the most frustrating man I have ever known.”
“I hear that a lot,” I say.
She pulls out her phone, and with a contemplative expression, taps the side of it for a moment. “You’re not a very good kidnapper. You didn’t even take my phone. I could call the police right now. Or your sister.”
The word “sister” has a distinctly sinister bent to it. I know a threat when I hear one.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and hide my smile. “You’re a special case. I’m usually less friendly about my abductions. Of course, they’re terrible people, as a rule.”
I reach into the backseat and pull a green and blue plaid blanket from the back. “This is for you. It’s heated. I figured if the seat warmer feels good on your joints, this might work too. It’ll warm up your knees.”
She spreads the blanket over her lap, and I hand her the attached thermostat controller.
“Thank you.” She leans back and turns only her head toward me with an expression I can’t read. “Make sure when someone brings my suitcase that they don’t forget my meds. They’re in a blue case on the top shelf of the linen closet in my bathroom. I didn’t want to leave them anywhere the baby might find them. I’m due for my injection tonight.”
“You give yourself a shot?”
“Only once a week. It’s not a big deal.” Her words are in direct contrast to the tense set of her shoulders and tightness in her voice.
“It bothers you, though.”
She shrugs. “It’s hard to do it myself. My hands . . .” She flexes her left hand then shakes her head. “My insurance wouldn’t cover an auto-injector.”
“Did your mother give you the shot when you lived with her?”
She laughs, but the sound subsides quickly, and her expression becomes the bland, placid one I know hides something else. It’s her “Sometimes dads don’t want to be dad” face. The one she’s used since early childhood when she’s trying to convince herself that the things that hurt her don’t.
“Caretaking isn’t exactly in her wheelhouse,” she says at last.
She watches the scenery pass, and I make a phone call to make arrangements for Garrett to meet us at the cabin with her things.
When I hang up, I glance her way. “I’m sorry for rejecting you at breakfast.”
Her mouth tightens. “Why did you do it?”
“I misunderstood your note. I was trying to give you the space I thought you were asking for. You said relationships make you claustrophobic, then you offered me friendship instead of a wedding ring. In the note, you said you were afraid to tell me. I thought what you said in the kitchen was you slipping up.”
“I’m not an idiot, Henry.”
I scowl. “I know that, but social subtext does not always . . . come easily to me, particularly when my emotions are engaged. I don’t have much recent experience allowing myself to feel things. My brain, apparently, goes offline around you far too often.”
Her chin wobbles. I shouldn’t have done this while we were driving. I want to hold her, and there’s nowhere safe to pull off the road at the moment. I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss her knuckles, instead. “Please forgive me.”
She squeezes back. “I wasn’t asking for space. The bracelet was meant to show you I cared. I was hesitant to give it to you because it was something my friends and I used to do as teenagers. I worried you’d think I was strange. People think I am. If I act like myself, anyway. My friends don’t. But . . . other people.”
“You’re not strange. You’re wonderful.”
Her frown dissolves, and her lips curve. “That’s a nice thing to say.”
I’m not trying to be nice.
“This whole thing was my fault. I should have made an excuse to Charlotte and waited for you to get out of the shower instead of going downstairs without you,” she says.
“The likelihood of the two of us having a problem that is your fault, rather than mine, is virtually nil. Let’s establish that as a baseline,” I say.
“I can’t tell if you’re being facetious or ridiculous.”
“Darling, I’m a pain in the ass. I’d like to say I’ll stop, but—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t be a pain in the ass?”
“No.” Her lips twitch in a repressed smile. “Don’t stop.”