Chapter 28
LIKE brOTHER AND SISTER
HENRY FINALLY RELAXES once the car parks in the motor lobby of Hotel Quinta Real in Monterrey.
He barely talked to me on the drive from the airport, which is fine.
It’s been a long day, and he didn’t get much sleep on the plane.
I practically slept through the five-hour flight, so even if it’s past nine p.m., I’m feeling recharged.
A bellhop hurries over to handle our luggage and follows us inside.
The hotel is busy, considering the time. Other players are arriving, tournament hosts are moving around, and small groups of men and women in formal clothes, with name tags and plastic badge holders slung around their necks, are scattered everywhere.
“?Hola, Belén!” A young, energetic woman approaches. “I’m Lydia. We spoke on the phone earlier. You must be Henry.”
We shake hands. Lydia is our assigned host for the tournament. Henry spoke to her earlier when we landed to coordinate our transportation. Everything’s been smooth sailing since we arrived.
“Let me help you get checked in,” she says. “You must be tired. Please follow me.”
Lydia turns around, and as we follow her to the front desk, she tells me how excited everyone is to have me at the tournament, highlighting how amazing it is that this is my first time playing in México. I quickly agree and tell her how happy and grateful I am to be here.
“Okay, give me one minute,” she says. “Let me grab your room keys.”
Lydia starts speaking Spanish with the receptionist.
“Hey.” I tug on Henry’s sleeve. He’s been so silent it’s starting to get on my nerves. I know he leans more toward the quiet, brooding side, but he’s just been off all day. “Are you okay?” I whisper.
“Just tired,” he says with a small smile. “I didn’t snore all the way here.”
I gape at him.
“I do not snore, Henry Mitchell!” I whisper back playfully.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. You still managed to look cute.”
“Ha-ha.”
Henry is about to say something else, but I lift my hand to stop him. Lydia’s voice cuts through the lobby. She’s arguing with the receptionist, and it’s getting heated.
My eyes widen.
Oh. Shit.
There’s a problem with our rooms. Lydia keeps insisting there should be two reservations: One under my name and the other under my dad’s. Apparently, my dad’s reservation—AKA Henry’s room—is nowhere to be found.
Henry tilts his head slightly, his brows knitting. “What’s going—”
I cut him off, pressing my finger to my lips and lifting my palm to keep listening.
A hotel manager shows up, and the room debacle escalates.
Lydia looks visibly flustered. Her neck is red, and the color quickly spreads to her face.
I can practically see the smoke coming out of her ears.
But she takes a deep breath and keeps arguing with the hotel manager, who insists they have no more rooms available and that they’re fully booked because of a medical convention happening at the hotel.
Henry is roomless.
Lydia is making calls. Other tournament hosts have stepped in.
“Tell me what’s going on, Bells,” Henry whispers in his commanding coach voice. He looks worried and exhausted. Mostly exhausted.
“There’s a problem with our rooms,” I whisper back. “They’re trying to sort it out.”
“What’s the issue?”
“Okay,” Lydia says, turning around to face us. She shakes her head, cups her rattled face with her hands, and smiles like she’s about to lose it.
“First of all, I apologize for the inconvenience, but apparently, your dad’s room was canceled when he told us he wouldn’t be coming.
We didn’t know he would be sharing a room with Mr. Mitchell, and no one stopped to double-check if a room was booked for him or not.
So his room got canceled, thinking it was just your dad’s. ”
Perfect …
It’s not uncommon for my dad and Henry to share a room at smaller tournaments since he became my coach and started traveling with us. They’ve known each other forever. Henry is like a son to him. My dad is all about economizing and being careful with money, even if it’s not his.
“Unfortunately, the hotel is fully booked,” Lydia says, her voice shaky. She looks mortified to the point that she could cry. “But we’re looking for availability at nearby hotels, so please don’t worry. We’ll get you sorted out in a minute.”
“No worries,” I say, trying to convey my sympathy. I feel bad for Lydia. It’s clearly not her fault, and she’s the one having to face us with the bad news.
“I’m sure we’ll find a solution.”
“Could you give us one moment?” Henry says, calm and collected.
“Sure, sure, sure,” Lydia replies. Her phone starts ringing, so she walks away to take the call, giving us privacy.
“I’m not going to stay at a different hotel,” Henry says, resolute.
Got it. Not open to negotiations.
“It will complicate things.”
“She says it’s close by,” I remind him. “It’s—”
“No,” he says, shaking his head in that stubborn, distinct way that usually gets on my nerves.
“I will not leave you here alone. I’m fully responsible for you on this trip. And the things I’ve read about the security issues this city is going through right now …” He stops to take a deep breath. “I will not stay at a different hotel.”
“We could both move to another hotel.”
Henry shakes his head.
“This hotel is the headquarters for the tournament. It makes sense, security-wise. Drew also sent me your press agenda earlier this week, and you have a few interviews scheduled to happen here. The transportation logistics would be a nightmare, and—”
“So what are you suggesting?”
The part of me that knows him better than I do myself knows what he’s going to suggest. If there are no available rooms here, and he refuses to move to another hotel, we’re only left with one option. An option that makes my breath hitch and my blood pressure rise just thinking about it.
“I’m staying here,” he says, his eyes boring into mine like he’s trying to let me know he’s not fucking around. “With you. We’re sharing that room. I don’t see what the big deal is. We live together.”
Yeah, but you sleep in your room, and I sleep in mine.
“Joe would prefer this,” he says, as if wanting to believe it himself. “Most rooms have two beds. It won’t be an issue.”
For you.
I look over my shoulder, and Lydia is talking to two other tournament staff members, her hands moving effusively as she explains the problem.
“Lydia!” Henry calls out, darting her way with determination.
I scramble behind him, heart hammering against my chest, pretending I’m just casually following and not about to short-circuit on the spot.
“Yes, Mr. Mitchell,” Lydia says with a strained smile, but I can see it’s about to cause her an aneurysm. The two other staff members peel away from the scene.
“Belén and I will share the room,” Henry says without further preamble. “Problem solved.”
He smiles at her, and it’s the visual equivalent of ta-da!
“Oh!” Her neck perks up, and her eyes fly open as she lets out a nervous chuckle. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware you two, um … you know.”
“We’re not,” Henry says pointedly, and too fast for my liking. God forbid someone thinks we’re an item for more than two seconds.
“We’re like brother and sister,” he adds. “We’ve known each other since we were born. It won’t be a problem.”
A sharp, sudden pain slices through my stomach, so fierce it nearly knocks the air out of me. I would’ve fallen to my knees if we weren’t surrounded by so many people.
We’re like brother and sister.
It won’t be a problem.
Right.
Tell that to the part of me that flinched like he’d just taken a bat to my chest.
“Oof!” Lydia rests her hands on her hips and lets out a breath she’d probably been holding since she walked up to the front desk to check us in.
“That settles it then. Please follow me,” she sings.
My pulse picks up.
My breaths are shaky.
And I can’t tell if I’m angry, sad, disappointed, or a terrible mix of all of the above. What I know for sure is Henry’s statement is upsetting me more than I was prepared for.
We’re standing behind Lydia, watching her argue on our behalf one last time. She insists we should at least get an upgrade, but the receptionist repeats for the hundredth time that they’re fully booked for the week.
Henry is clueless about what the real problem is when supposedly everything’s been settled.
Lydia turns around on her heel dramatically.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she says with a grimace, handing over two keys. One for me and one for Henry. “The room has a king-sized bed.”
Of course it does.
We take the keys.
“We’ll be fine,” Henry says. “Seriously. Don’t worry.”
We’re like brother and sister.
“Yeah, my big ol’ brother Henry here loves a good couch,” I say, patting his shoulder.
He flinches slightly. Good.
“He’ll survive.”
Lydia deflates once again with relief.
“Okay.” She claps once. “You’re on the 2nd floor. Your bellhop will take you up to your room. There should be a welcome package on the table. Let me know if it’s not there.”
“I will.” I smile. “Thanks for everything.”
“Bye!” Lydia waves us off like we’re about to board a ship to the New World. “Call me if you need anything!” Then, “Bye!” again.
We follow our bellhop to our room.
Henry tips him after he helps us unload our bags and closes the door, making the room feel smaller than it actually is. I walk around the suite to evaluate whether the room is big enough to hold us both.
Physically? It is.
The ceilings are high, the walls are painted in a soft, elegant cream, and the furniture has that solid, heavy look that says it will outlive all of us. The bed is massive, piled with enough pillows to build a small fortress if I feel like it.
The marble bathroom screams fancy, and it’s large enough to host a small party.
I spot the couch by the window. Unfortunately, it’s a loveseat. The only way Henry would fit is if he slept in a seated position.
I should’ve insisted he moved to another hotel.
The room is beautiful and cozy without trying too hard. Quiet without feeling empty. The kind of place that makes you want to take a deep breath and shake the exhaustion out of your bones.
That is if Henry and I wouldn’t be sharing it.
I have no idea how I’m going to get any sleep for the rest of our stay.
Hopefully, I’ll grow used to Henry’s presence or learn how to pretend he’s not here.
Henry and I have had countless sleepovers growing up. No big deal. This will be like any other. We’re here to focus on the tournament. We’ve got plenty of things to plan and discuss, so now that things have panned out the way they have, it’s best to see the silver lining. We’ll be more efficient.
“I’ll take the couch,” he says, rolling his suitcase deeper into the room. “Do you want to order room service and go to bed?”
He kneels in front of his suitcase, places it flat on the carpet, and unzips it like it’s a regular occurrence. Like this is what we do every tournament.
All the while, I stare at him, trying to come to terms with the fact that this is really happening.
I laugh under my breath at the absurdity of his statement.
“Have you seen the couch?” I point at it like it just insulted my entire bloodline. “You’re not exactly petite.”
He snorts.
“I’ll manage.”
“Your shoulder,” I remind him.
He knows he’s injured.
I know he’s injured.
The fact that it’s taboo doesn’t make it any less true.
I don’t care if he doesn’t want to fully admit it or tell me the real story behind the injury. Or maybe I do. I’ve had no choice but to let go of wanting to know.
The point is he can’t sleep on the couch. It’s not feasible.
“You’re sleeping on the bed,” I say. “It’s not up for negotiation.”
My hand stutters as I angrily scroll through the lock numbers and unzip my luggage to unpack.
I don’t even know what I’m angry about. I just am.
Maybe it’s because I can handle being around Henry all the time despite my feelings when it’s under a certain set of circumstances and within a specific parameter of unsaid rules.
Or maybe it’s because he said we’re like brother and sister.
What the fuck was that about? We’ve kissed in the past. It’s gross.
It’s … frustrating.
It’s going to be a challenging week in more ways than one. It’ll be hard, but I’ve been known to do hard things. I’ll just hide his stupid cologne so he can’t spray himself with it and impregnate the room with his scent.
Yes.
That’s item number one on the list of Surviving Mexico with Henry without falling apart.
“You’re not sleeping on the couch. I can’t risk you waking up with a stiff neck,” Henry says, pulling open the bottom dresser drawer and carefully placing some of his things inside. “You can take the rest of the drawers and the entire closet. I’ll make it work.”
Like I care about closet space and drawer distribution when his presence alone is already taking up the whole room.
“And I can’t risk you waking up with that shoulder of yours acting up,” I taunt.
He snorts out a chuckle.
“My shoulder is fine.”
I refuse to give in to the urge to yell back at him: No, it’s not!
It’s gotten me nowhere in the past.
“You have two choices to choose from,” I say, angrily unpacking my things, my hands fumbling before I force them steady, trying not to mess up Gemma’s intricate folding work. “You can either sleep on the bed or take Lydia up on her offer to check in at a nearby hotel. Those are your options.”
“Joe would be upset to find out I left you to your own devices,” Henry says. “This city is going through a bad moment. It would help me sleep better at night if I knew you were safe. And I know I’m more than capable of taking care of you. So just … let me.”
My pulse flutters in my neck.
I swallow past the swell of emotion it causes me to see Henry worked up about wanting to keep me safe. But I quickly settle down once I remember it’s nothing more than his sense of responsibility and the promise he made to my dad to look out for me in his absence.
It’s not about me. It’s never been about me. It’s about pleasing my dad and staying in his good graces.
“And knowing we shared a room wouldn’t upset him?” I muse.
“There’s no reason for him to find out,” he says with a shrug, like he’s suddenly become Mr. Practical.
He’s infuriating.
I hate the way he’s selective when it comes to keeping things from my dad.
“Then it leaves us no choice but to sleep together,” I say, choking on my words after hearing myself say that out loud. And how I phrased it.
Henry makes a rough, low sound in the back of his throat.
“Sharing the bed … I mean.”
“I know what you mean.” His voice comes out low and raspy.
“So what’s it gonna be?” I keep unpacking like I can’t be bothered by the exchange. “Are we sharing the bed, or should I give Lydia a call?”
“We’re sharing the bed.”
And rip the heart out of my chest while you’re at it.