Chapter 22 #2
He pushes my heel up, angling it until the stretch kicks in again. His hands are steady, but his questions aren’t.
“Did you guys … date?” Henry asks. He seems to be trying to keep his emotions in check, but he’s failing miserably. This is the most fun I’ve had in a while.
“Not exactly.” I smirk.
“Define ‘not exactly.’” He switches legs, his grip firm. Careful.
“A lady doesn’t kiss and—ow!” I wince as he pushes too deep into the stretch, but he immediately readjusts. At least he has the decency to look guilty.
“Better?” he asks, brushing a curl off his forehead before steadying my leg again.
I nod.
“So, you’ve kissed?” His eyes darken, and I quickly lose myself in them.
“And stuff.”
Henry wants to play detective? Fine. This is what happens when someone asks a question. An answer usually follows.
“What kind of stuff?” His voice softens like he’s trying to sound casual instead of territorial.
I shrug, feigning innocence.
“We’re done, Bells.” He looks away, inhaling deeply. Slowly.
“With the stretching or the interrogation?” I tease, pulling myself up with his help.
He hesitates. His hand lingers at my elbow. “Both.”
After grabbing my belongings, I sit on a nearby bench to put my sneakers on.
Henry follows and sinks down beside me. He props his elbows on his knees, dragging his hands through his hair before letting his head hang for a beat.
To say he’s on edge is an understatement.
He looks exhausted, like sleep’s been dodging him for weeks.
“I respect your father. You know I do,” he says, his voice steady. “But I have to disagree with him on this one. I don’t think bringing up the subject about his coach tonight is a good idea. Let your dad handle the paperwork behind the scenes. He already is, anyway.”
Henry’s eyes are practically pleading for me to avoid Theo tonight.
“It would make me feel better to tell Theo myself,” I say, tying my shoelaces. “It’s the right thing to do. I’d appreciate it if the roles were reversed.”
I also wouldn’t mind seeing Henry squirm a little more.
“And seriously,” I say, glancing at him as I tug the laces tighter. “Can we stop with … whatever this is? You barely answer my questions, so why should I keep answering yours?”
“That’s not true.” His brows lift like I’ve accused him of something absurd. “We talk all the time.”
“Never about you,” I refresh his memory, standing up. He does the same, trailing me out.
“I do talk about my stuff with you,” he says, pulling my arm to stop me just past the glass doors. “Ask me anything.”
“I already did,” I reply, lifting a brow. “Yesterday. And, as usual, you didn’t cooperate.”
“Bells,” he exhales, exasperated. “The answers aren’t complicated. I just hate bringing it up because I know you’ll try to fix things for me. Or worse, offer me your money again to get back into tennis. I appreciate it, but it’s pointless. I’m trying to move forward, not look back.”
I snort, shaking my head, unimpressed.
“You realize you’re still not saying anything, right?”
His jaw tenses. “What do you want me to say?” He drops his hands to his hips, waiting.
“The truth, Henry.” I walk toward the elevator and press the button.
“The truth is I’m applying to colleges in New York like I’ve told you countless times, because that’s where I want to be.
I originally thought MIT was what I wanted.
I even considered getting into coaching.
Permanently. You know, once my time here was done.
But that was before—” He stops as the elevator chimes, announcing its arrival.
Thankfully, it’s empty.
We step inside.
I think you were born to be the one holding the racket and standing on the court.
But I don’t say that.
“Before what?” I say instead.
“Before realizing I can’t stand the thought of being away from you. I’ve done that once. I’m not doing it again,” he admits. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stay in your orbit.”
My heart skips a beat as I force myself to breathe through the nagging thoughts that plagued me all night and this morning.
I need to be sure Henry’s feelings run deeper than a jealousy-fueled reaction to being around me all the time. That this isn’t just habit, or attachment, or something fleeting.
But I can’t trust myself right now.
Henry is my biggest weakness, always has been. He’s too smart not to realize it. I’m all too transparent around him. That is why I need to be level-headed about this.
“Are you injured?” It’s my turn to ask the questions.
Henry shakes his head no.
“Why did you stop playing tennis?” I cross my arms.
“Money. Logistics.”
“Expand.”
He looks down at his feet and gives his head a quick shake.
“My mom. I didn’t want to leave her alone after my dad died. You know how brutal the tour can be. The constant travel, the grueling training hours.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”
“It’s different,” he replies quickly as the elevator doors slide open. We step out and head down the hallway toward my room.
“How is it different?”
“This is temporary.” His voice is firm and resolute. “I’m not going to be your coach forever. We knew that from the start.”
“And what about your mom? Won’t you still be far away from her if you go to college in New York? Or if you take on a new athlete to coach?” I ask, sliding my key card into the door.
We step inside, and I head straight for my Sportaid-stocked mini-bar. I grab a blue one and toss another to Henry. He catches it, but neither of us moves toward the living room. We stay near the door, hovering in an unspoken standoff. I want him to know I’m not inviting him to stay. Not yet.
“She said she might be moving back to Jersey soon,” he says, his smile tight.
That’s new. Progress. I should send Theo a thank-you gift.
“That’s amazing,” I say, taking a sip of my Sportaid. He mirrors my move with a few nods, his eyes unreadable.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he doesn’t bother to check who it is.
I step away, heading for the tennis ball he gave me. I want to thank him for it, but I also want to test something.
“Are you sure you won’t miss it?” I call out.
“Nope!” he replies. “It’s all yours now.”
“Catch!” I spin around and launch the ball across the room.
Henry lifts his right arm. The second he catches it, his face twists, and a strained exhale gives him away.
I rush toward him, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.
“Take off your hoodie.”
“What?”
“I said take it off.” My tone leaves no room for negotiation.
He hesitates. That’s all the confirmation I need. There’s a reason he’s kept that shoulder hidden from me, and I’m about to find out why.
“Bells.” Panic flashes in his eyes again. He’s lying. Again. I heard the pain slipping past his lips.
He’s injured.
“Joe could walk in here any second. Gemma and Robbie are on their way too. It won’t look good if I’m standing here half-naked.”
His phone buzzes again. He ignores it without hesitation.
“It’s that Evan girl, isn’t it?” I don’t bother hiding my jealousy. The thought of them meeting up makes my skin crawl.
Henry pulls out his phone, glances at the screen, and exhales.
“It is.” His voice is flat. “She’s just a friend.”
“Who’s very much looking forward to spending time with you tonight.”
When will I learn to shut up …?
This is exhausting and more frustrating than I thought it would be. It’s not my business, and I know it, but I can’t help but feel so irrationally jealous. I’m back to square one with Henry, feeling like he’s hiding something from me. Or a few things.
“Evan is my ex’s little sister,” he finally admits. “I broke up with her a few weeks before I left, and she didn’t exactly take it well. I just … walked away and never looked back.”
Henry never mentioned any girlfriends. Not that I asked, but the omission makes me feel like he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me about his time in Chicago. It’s like I don’t know him anymore.
I still remember the day he came home for Sunday brunch with his parents and with Becky Rogers clinging to his side. His first girlfriend.
I was ten and didn’t speak to him for a week afterward.
“Evan and I trained at the same tennis complex. She introduced me to Madison.” A flicker of pain crosses his eyes. He might still be hung up on her, and that’s the reason for this confusing mess between us.
Madison.
“That’s your area of expertise, isn’t it? Leaving.”
I know I’m being unfair, but I can’t help it.
“I feel like I don’t know you. It makes me feel so stupid that I’ve been nothing but an open book, and you …” I throw my hands up and let them fall to my sides, exhaling in defeat.
“Bells, it’s me,” he says, stepping closer.
I instinctively back away.
“Nobody knows me better than you do. I mean it.”
He keeps coming, slow and steady, like he’s not going to stop until I hear him.
I move again until my back hits the wall.
He stops in front of me, close but not touching.
“And I’d rather no one else ever does.”
Something in me buckles. That should mean something. It does. But instead of warmth, it fills me with doubt.
“Evan looks older than me, and she’s your ex’s little sister?” I aim for steady, but I don’t pull it off. “How old is Madison?”
It’s a dumb thing to fixate on, but there it is.
“She’s twenty-three,” he reveals. A full five years older than me. No wonder he’s struggling to see me as more than a childhood friend. He’s already been with someone older. With a woman. And I’m just now figuring out how to become one.
Henry leans in slowly. Carefully. His face is so close to mine that I would’ve kissed him in a different scenario. It’s the only thing I think about before I fall asleep every night. The way his gaze lingers on my lips tells me he probably wants me to.
I won’t kiss him.
My chin lifts slightly, and he bends lower, meeting me halfway. I part my lips, searching for a reply, my eyes locked on his.
“Take off your goddamn hoodie or get the hell out.”
“No.” He steps back, sets his Sportaid on the table, and crosses his arms.
“Then you know where the door is.”