Chapter Six - Henry
CHAPTER SIX
Henry
MY PHONE THAT I’m trying to ignore won’t stop ringing and I don’t feel like getting my ass chewed out for how today went with Mirabelle and Stacey. It wasn’t a complete disaster, but I was still an asshole. I probably need to apologize to Mirabelle tomorrow, because she didn’t deserve my shitty attitude. It’s not her fault I put myself in a situation where I needed a PR boost.
“Fuck, if you aren’t going to answer the phone, will you at least look and see who is calling you? I’m sick of listening to it ring,” Wilson snaps exasperatedly, glaring from where he’s sprawled out on the other end of the couch.
“It’s on vibrate,” I smart back. He’s probably right, though. I should check it. Avoidance only works for so long.
“Just because it’s on vibrate doesn’t mean you can’t still hear it, Price.” He flips me off, turning to focus back on the game.
I roll my eyes, setting my book down to flip the phone over just as it stops vibrating.
Five missed calls from Sebastian Walker.
I sit up abruptly, running a hand through my hair. What the fuck did Mirabelle say to him about today?
I run through a quick list of every interaction I had with her. I wasn’t mean to her in the weight room with Stacey, but I wasn’t necessarily nice either. I even cracked a few jokes with her, but I know I was standoffish for the most part. I gave her my shirt after Quinn fucking soaked her other one, but I didn’t feel the need to point out that her bra was showing through. She probably already knew, but I felt bad. I gave the shirt to Mirabelle for selfish reasons because I didn’t want anyone staring at her.
I call him back, waiting to hear what my death sentence is going to be after being a dick to his only daughter.
Sebastian answers immediately, his words hurried. “Finally, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for the last twenty minutes.”
“I’m sorry, Bash. I know I was a dick to Mira today, but I’ll call and apologize,” I blurt out before he can say anything. The last thing I need is to have Thalia rip me a new one. She’s terrifying when she’s angry. Thankfully, it’s only been directed at me a handful of times.
“ What ?”
Oh hell.
I just dug my own grave. Maybe I can figure out how to hit my head with the shovel, too.
I choke on air, scrambling to backtrack, but Sebastian continues. “For fuck’s sake. Henry, if you hurt her, I’ll . . . just never mind, that’s not important right now. I need you to go to the house to check on Mira. Thalia and I are on our way to Charlotte now, but we’re still a way out.”
My stomach drops at the thought of something happening to her while I ignored Sebastian’s calls. “What happened?”
“We don’t know all the details yet, but there was a fire at the house.”
“Was she there?” I choke out, grabbing my keys while slipping into my shoes by the door.
“No. Thank god ,” he says as I open the garage door, climbing into my car.
“I’m on my way now. I’ll stay with her,” I promise, pulling out of the driveway so fast I’m positive I left tire marks behind. Fuck, I should have answered my phone sooner.
Sebastian sighs. “Thanks, Henry. I appreciate it, but don’t think we aren’t going to fucking talk later about you being an ass to Mira.”
“I’ll text if there’s any updates before you get there.”
I hang up, and thankfully the Walker’s house is less than ten minutes away since it’s close to the stadium like mine.
I’m able to get to the house in record time, but I see and smell the smoke before I get to their street. I drive past the line of news vehicles on the other side of the street, taking advantage of filming this horrible moment. Parking behind Mira’s Audi, I get out of the car, leaving the door to my Corvette open as I search for her among all the first responders.
I know Sebastian said she wasn’t in the house, but I need her to be okay. I need to see for myself that Mirabelle isn’t hurt. My chest feels tight, and I hate that I was caught up in my own shit instead of being here for her sooner.
I scan quickly over faces, finally spotting her next to a fire truck, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she stares blankly at their house.
“Mirabelle!” I call out, unsure if she can hear me over all the commotion, but her head snaps immediately toward my direction. Mirabelle stands shakily, the blanket falling from her shoulders as she bolts straight toward me. She slams into my chest, and I fold my arms around her immediately, holding Mira tightly as some of the tension escapes my body because she’s okay.
The smell of ash is thick in the air, hanging like a cloud.
Her face is tucked into my chest as she clutches my shirt like a lifeline. She’s trembling, and I don’t know how to make this better, but I need to try. “Hey, you’re okay. The house can be replaced, but you can’t be.”
She doesn’t say anything, simply melting into my body. She’s clinging tightly to me, and despite this absolutely being the wrong moment, I don’t think I’ve ever held her this way. We’ve always been friends, but she’s five years younger than me. Mirabelle’s always acted mature for her age, but at some point, I started distancing myself because I never wanted to cross any boundaries that couldn’t be taken back. It’s hard not to notice she molds perfectly against me.
“ Tu vas bien ,” 9 I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say. “You’re okay.”
We stand there for a long time, while I run my hand up and down her back, repeating my words in both French and English. Mirabelle’s not crying, but she won’t stop shaking.
“Mirabelle,” I say gently, and she untangles herself from me but that’s the last thing I want. I didn’t say her name so she’d back away.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you,” she says, running her hands over her face, exhaling a short breath. Is she seriously apologizing right now? “I just—I was happy to see a familiar face. Well, not happy necessarily. Ah, fuck, you know what I mean,” Mirabelle mumbles, and guilt hits me at full force because if I had answered Sebastian’s first call, I would have been here sooner.
“Don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” I resist the urge to ask what happened because I’m sure she’ll tell me when she’s ready. She seems overwhelmed. I’m an idiot. Of course, she’s overwhelmed. Her house was on fire.
“I promise, I didn’t fucking set my house on fire accidentally,” she tries to joke, but it falls flat. Mirabelle closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The police think they found a broken window around the back. The alarms didn’t go off because I think I forgot to set it this morning when I left in a rush. I guess they think someone broke in and could have started the fire, but we won’t know until the official report is back. Until then, the house and everything in it is part of a crime scene.”
“ Shit. ” I wish I could stuff the words back into my mouth after I say them because she opens her big brown eyes, staring at me. Then, to my relief, she relaxes into a smile.
“Yeah. Shit is kind of all you can say to that.” Then her smile fades. “You know, I keep running all the What ifs? through my mind. I didn’t think those twits from work did me a favor by inviting me for drinks tonight, but what if I were home when . . .” Mirabelle trails off, stepping back to wrap her arms around herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get all depressing. I’m fine, I promise. You don’t need to worry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, and you certainly don’t need to pretend to be fine.” The thought of Mirabelle being home when this happened nearly brings me to my knees. I look at Mirabelle, seeing this determined, kind, and stubborn person who is always willing to help others. Her family are some of the best people I’ve met so I’m not sure why anyone would want to light their house on fire.
She pulls her phone out of her pocket, staring at it for a moment. “It’s Bailey.”
I take it from her hand before she can answer it because Mirabelle’s all over the place. I’m not sure she’d make it through a conversation with her little brother without bursting into tears again. “Hey, B,” I answer, trying to keep my tone light.
“Henry?” he questions, and I watch Mirabelle’s face as she stares at me.
“Yeah. You okay?”
“Is Mira okay?”
“She’s okay. A little rattled, but I’m with her while we wait for your parents to get here,” I say, trying to ease him.
And then I hear the kid sniffle, and my heart nearly cracks in half. I figured out a while ago that Bailey lashes out at people because he feels things so deeply, and he doesn’t always know how to deal with his emotions.
“Bailey, I promise she’s okay. The house is still there, it’s just a little crispy in some spots.” More like charred, and lucky to still be standing, but I don’t want to worry him more than he already is.
“Can I talk to her, please?”
I offer the phone to Mirabelle, who hesitantly holds it up to her ear. She walks a couple feet away for privacy as she talks to him, and I take the time to send her parents a quick update like I said I would. I leave out the part about it potentially being arson because they’re driving. They’ll find out when they get here.
When she returns, Mirabelle’s eyes are red and swollen.
A police officer finds his way toward us, repeating the same information Mirabelle already shared with me. It still doesn’t make it any easier to hear, but I can only hope this was the result of a tragic accident, instead of the unthinkable.
“Your parents will be here soon,” I say, leaning against the front of her car. “I’m sorry I was an asshole to you and Stacey today. You didn’t deserve it.”
She smiles at me, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. “You weren’t that bad.”
Mirabelle sucks at lying.
“Except I was.” I snort, shaking my head. I appreciate her trying to make me feel better, but I was an ass. “Where are you going to stay tonight?”
Mirabelle shrugs, looking away. “I’ll probably end up staying in a hotel or at Uncle Owen’s. Aunt Blake has an event for her firm tonight, or they’d be here instead of you. I’m sorry my parents called you—”
“I’m not sorry they called me,” I interrupt her. “Stay with me at my house. I’ve got plenty of room,” I offer without thinking it through. I probably should ask Wilson if he’s okay with it, but I’d rather she stay with us than in a hotel by herself if there’s a potential arsonist on the loose.
Her eyebrows skyrocket upward in surprise. “Are you sure? You don’t have to offe—”
“I know I don’t have to, but I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t serious, Mira. I have a spare bedroom Kaitlyn uses when she visits, I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“Henry . . .” Mirabelle looks unsure, twisting her hands.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”
Her eyes are searching my face for something before she nods slowly. “It’ll only be until I find a place. Thank you,” Mirabelle says, and her parents pull into the cul-de-sac, barely having time to park the car before Thalia is climbing out to hug Mirabelle tightly.
I hang back, letting them have their moment as a family, and take the opportunity to call Wilson. It’s not like he pays rent or anything, so I shouldn’t feel bad for extending the offer without checking with him.
Wilson sends me to voicemail, and I roll my eyes, calling him again. I’m sure his ass is still glued to the couch, and this will be easier to say over the phone than to explain in a text. He finally answers, irritation seeping into his voice. “What could you possibly need right this second? The game just went into extra innings,” he grumbles.
“I need you to put fresh towels and an extra set of my clothes on the bed in Kait’s room. I told Mirabelle she could stay with us until . . . well, I guess my offer doesn’t have an expiration date. Is that okay with you?”
“Why does she need to stay here?”
“Because someone tried to burn the Walkers’ house down tonight.” The words almost stick in my throat. It’s hard to say. I mean, what the hell would possess someone to do this?
“Oh shit. Yeah, of course. I’m cool with her staying here as long as she needs.”
Thalia and Mirabelle approach me as Sebastian heads toward a cluster of police officers. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I gotta go, I just wanted to check with you quick.”
Wilson mumbles something about grabbing towels and clothes after the inning ends, but I hang up. “Thanks for being here, Henry,” Thalia says, hugging me briefly. She’s always been there for me and I’m thankful to be able to return the favor.
“Of course. I’m sorry about the house.”
“ C’est juste une maison. Je suis content que personne n’ait été blessé ,” 10 she replies, looking at the house, but I can’t look away from Mirabelle. The thought of her getting hurt is worse than a knife to the heart.
“Me too.”
“Sweetie, I know you want to stay, but Dad and I have this handled. You need to get some rest,” Thalia says to Mirabelle.
“But, Mom, I want to stay with you,” Mirabelle protests, and Lia smiles, patting her cheek.
“I know, but you had a long day. You don’t need to be here.”
Shit, I was the reason she had a long day. “Wilson’s setting out clean towels and clothes on the guest bed,” I add, and Thalia shoots me a grateful smile.
Mirabelle’s gaze bounces between us. “Okay, but call me if you find out anything please?”
“I will, now follow Henry back to his house. We’ve got this covered here.”
I’m not sure Mira should be driving.
“We can go back in my car. We’ll come back for yours tomorrow?” I suggest, and Mirabelle looks a little relieved at the idea, hugging her mom again. Thalia says something to her that I can’t hear, but it makes Mirabelle smile.
She slips into the passenger seat of my car, sitting in silence as she stares at the house until I pull out into the street. It makes me sick to see all the people standing nearby watching. “I didn’t mean to give you a hard time today. I promise it won’t happen again,” I say, needing to apologize again for making her day harder than it needed to be. I only thought about how it affected me, and not any of the potential repercussions Mirabelle could face due to my lack of cooperation.
She looks at me in surprise. “Henry, I said it’s fine. That’s not a promise I’m sure you can keep anyway.”
I’m not sure it is either, but I’m willing to try a lot harder to keep it.
“I feel bad, okay? I could have been fucking nicer today. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Is this about what my mom said?” Mirabelle asks, shifting in her seat to face me.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to keep my eyes on the road. “It was my fault you had a long day.”
“She wasn’t talking about you. Mom was talking about the drinks I got with some of my coworkers. They don’t like me very much because everyone assumes my parents pulled strings instead of considering I’m actually qualified for the internship.” She exhales, shaking her head. “It’s whatever, though. I can’t make them like me.”
“They’re jealous. Mira, everyone in your life knows how hard you work for everything you have.” I mean, for fuck’s sake, she’s an Olympian. They don’t just hand out gold medals based on last names.
“I know, it’s just frustrating, but I don’t want you to think it was your fault I had a bad day. Despite how awesome I am, I’m allowed to have bad days,” she says, chuckling quietly. It takes a special kind of person to be able to laugh after the kind of day she had.
Tomorrow will be a better day, I’ll make sure of it.