Chapter Seven - Henry
CHAPTER SEVEN
Henry
“WHERE ARE YOU going?” I ask Mirabelle, walking into the entryway with my protein shake as she slips into her towering heels. How the hell does she walk in those?
She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Um, work?”
“I thought you were taking the day off.”
Mirabelle raises her eyebrows in surprise. “One hundred percent sure I never said that, so I don’t know why you think that’s happening.”
“I don’t know? Maybe because your house was on fire last night, and there’s an arsonist who probably hoped you were in it?” I say, because I’m not sure she understands the gravity of the situation. Mirabelle could have been seriously injured last night.
“ Alleged arsonist . We won’t know until the investigation is completed,” Mirabelle corrects.
“Right, which is why you should take a day off.”
“Well, lucky for me, I wasn’t in the house, so I don’t see any reason why I can’t go to work,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.
“Mira, just take the day,” I say, not wanting to argue with her about this. I want her to stay here where I know she’ll be safe. Unfortunately, that’s assuming Mirabelle cooperates with me right now, and I see a low probability of that happening.
“I thought you of all people would get it, Henry. All the interns are just waiting for me to fail. We’ve been in the office for two—nearly three—weeks. I can’t take time off if I want to have a job,” she says, and while it makes sense after what Mira told me last night, I still think she should stay here.
“I do get it, and I still think you should take the day off. I’m not going to be there to keep an eye on you.”
Mirabelle takes a step back, her mouth falling ajar in shock. Perfect, now I’ve fucked up again.
“Well, I’m sorry I’m such a big fucking inconvenience for you. No one is making you keep an eye on me. If anything, it’s my job to keep an eye on you, since you can’t seem to get your shit together in front of the cameras,” Mirabelle snaps, and it’s my turn to be shocked.
We’ve never argued before, but I have witnessed plenty of arguments with her brothers. I’m the one she comes to after fighting with them when our families are together, which realistically was all the time growing up.
“Mira—”
She grabs her bag, glaring at me fiercely. “You are being an ass. A fucking asshole, Henry. You’re not my dad or my brother, so you don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I’m not being an asshole. I’m looking out for you,” I argue, my shortened temper getting the better of me after a late night, and Mirabelle flips me off, grabbing my keys off the hook.
“What the hell are you guys yelling about at seven in the fucking morning?” Wilson asks, his massive frame filling the entire doorway from the kitchen.
“She’s being unreasonable,” I say, looking to him for backup.
Mirabelle scoffs, swinging the door to the garage open. “Oh, I’m the one being unreasonable? You’re the one with a giant stick up your ass, because you’re being an ass!”
“Will you both just shut up? It’s too early for this,” Wilson says, shooting a look at me as if I’m the one to blame. So much for backing me up.
Mirabelle takes the opportunity to walk into the garage, slamming the door behind her.
“She’s right. You are being an ass,” he mutters under his breath, turning around. “You should never tell a woman what to do. I thought you were smarter than that.”
The sound of my car’s horn echoes through the house as she leaves in a very clear fuck you manner.
Apparently, I’m not smarter than that.
~
“How did you decide you wanted to be a quarterback? Wasn’t your father a lineman at Duke?” Stacey asks, and it takes everything in me to not ignore her. The click of Mira’s heels is driving me crazy—actually, she is driving me crazy because she shouldn’t be here today.
If I weren’t busy trying to figure out how to apologize to her, I’d probably be mad she took my car this morning. While I still believe I’m right, I probably shouldn’t have picked a fight with Mirabelle this morning. I’m just worried about her.
Last night was a lot for anyone to handle, and I get wanting to act like nothing happened, but something did happen. I’ve had this pit in my stomach I haven’t been able to shake since getting Sebastian’s call last night, because the idea of someone hurting Mirabelle wrecks me. I know it’s easier for her not to acknowledge that possibility until the investigation is completed, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what could have happened.
I’ve always tried my best to keep an eye out for her. I can vividly recall my dad pulling me aside when I was eight, asking me to promise I’d always be there for Mirabelle to help keep her safe. That promise always lingers in the back of my mind.
“Henry?” Stacey asks, and I stop walking to turn back at her.
“What was the question again?”
“What made you want to be a quarterback?” she repeats evenly, clearly not pleased to be repeating herself. I glance at Mirabelle a half step behind Stacey, taking notes on her phone.
“I wanted to be like Sebastian Walker when I was a kid. He’s a huge influence in my life.”
Mirabelle’s chocolate eyes blink at me in surprise. I’m not sure what else she thought my answer would be. I practically worship the ground he walks on, regardless of how long I’ve known him.
Stacey’s phone begins ringing in her hand, pulling her attention away from me. Thank god. “I’ll be back in a moment, I have to take this call. Mirabelle, why don’t you ask Henry some of the other questions we discussed this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mirabelle says, and I wait for her to walk next to me, because that’s where she belongs. Not five feet behind me.
“What do you like to do outside of football?” she asks, and I’d actually prefer she tell me what an ass I am again over the politeness.
“Surfing, reading, swimming. You know the answer to that question already,” I point out, and Mirabelle doesn’t look at me as she writes it down.
“What are your weaknesses as a person?”
I chew the inside of my cheek as I think of how I want to word my apology, now that I actually have the chance to give it without Stacey listening in. “I worry too much about people I’m close to, and I can come across as an asshole, instead of trying to show how much I care about them. I’m sorry about this morning, Mirabelle.”
Mira sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I shouldn’t have called you an ass. I don’t exactly like being told what to do.”
“You forget I’ve known you since you were in diapers,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
“I’m aware,” she mumbles quietly, her cheeks flushing pink as she clears her throat. “So you were worried about me?” Mirabelle asks, sounding more like herself as she looks up at me.
“I was.” My voice unintentionally deepens, and I shift back, putting distance between us. “Are we okay?”
She smiles hesitantly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Yeah, we’re cool, Henry, but I did book a suite at a hotel nearby. I don’t want us to have any more problems, so I think it’s best if I stay somewhere else.”
“No,” I blurt out, causing Mirabelle to jump at the abruptness. “I just mean . . . I’d rather you stay at my house until the police figure out what’s going on.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. We’ve never fought, and not even twelve hours into me staying with you, we’re fighting. Plus, I don’t want to cramp your style or Wilson’s,” she says, but I think those reasons are bullshit.
“We were fighting because I stupidly tried to tell you what to do. That’s a bad excuse, too. Season is about to start, and our ‘style’ is usually just us going somewhere to hang out where we have cameras shoved in our faces the entire time, which isn’t exactly my definition of a good time. Besides, I’m not supposed to be going out anywhere like that, remember?” I point out, trying to reason with her, but Mirabelle proved earlier how easily she could tell me to fuck off. Her mouth turns downward, and I definitely need to start thinking before speaking. I didn’t get much further than my initial apology. “Not that I’m complaining or anything. I don’t want to go out to those places anyway, I’m much happier with a book at home, but the media portrays it to be worse than it actually is.”
Mirabelle hums a response, unfolding her arms as she scrutinizes me.
“Please stay. I can’t promise I’ll be less protective of you, but I’ll work on being less of an ass.”
She laughs briefly, a smile cracking through, and a warm feeling flutters in my chest. “If you insist, then I’ll cancel my suite. But you need to promise that you’ll tell me if you want me to go.”
Yeah, fat chance of that happening. I take a half step forward to pull Mira into a hug when Stacey approaches, looking like she’s on a fucking mission. Awesome, I’m sure this means I’m getting roped into something else I want nothing to do with.
“Did your family’s house burn down last night?” Stacey asks, looking to Mirabelle for answers. I can’t say I’m not relieved for the reprieve in questions being directed my way.
Mirabelle freezes like a deer in the headlights, and for that sole reason, I wish the question was for me.
“I wouldn’t say it burned down, but it was on fire. Why are you asking?” Mirabelle recovers quickly, straightening her shoulders back.
“Are the two of you involved in a romantic relationship?” Stacey asks curtly as my brain struggles to process the question.
“No, we’re not,” Mirabelle answers quickly, her face pale.
Stacey looks at me for further confirmation, and I shake my head. “I’m not dating anyone. We’re just friends,” I repeat, trying to piece together where Stacey is going with this line of questioning.
“Well, fortunately for you, Henry, someone took pictures of you hugging and leaving the scene together last night. Gossip magazines are reporting that you have been in a secret relationship for months, and it’s trending across all social media outlets.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I blurt out, waiting for either one of them to begin laughing and admit this is a bad joke.
Stacey’s gaze bounces between the two of us as my head spins. “It could work. I’ll be damned.” She chuckles under her breath.
“What could work?” I ask, glancing at Mirabelle who is frozen.
“It’s already having a positive effect on your socials. Mirabelle is a decorated Olympian who already has the support of the public in multiple demographics, including football because of her father.”
“But we’re not together,” Mirabelle says, dragging out each word.
“Mirabelle, your press team just called me, and they mentioned that you asked them for suggestions to help Henry,” Stacey explains, and Mirabelle looks worried.
She did that?
“I was only tr—”
Stacey waves her hand, silencing Mirabelle. “You’re not in trouble. I applaud you for using your resources because I believe they gave us the solution. Can you tell me why you weren’t aware our client is trending online right now?”
Mirabelle glances up at me briefly, but I can’t get a read on her anymore. “If Henry’s name is trending with mine, I wouldn’t have received any notifications because I have all alerts involving my name blocked.”
“I see,” Stacey says. “Your team has suggested the two of you enter into a fake relationship to boost Henry’s PR in a way that these interviews won’t. The only thing I’m mad about is that I didn’t think of it first.”
My mind goes blank.
Stacey stares expectantly at us. “Can one of you say something?”
“I . . .” I trail off because after how the rest of the day has gone, I don’t trust myself to not say the wrong thing. My mind immediately goes to the initial meeting where I found out about my shadows, and the way I’m trying not to look at her again, despite every intrusive thought that pops into my brain telling me otherwise.
I’m not supposed to see Mira as anything other than a friend. I mean, how exactly does this fit into my promise to protect her? Won’t our age gap be concerning to the fans and media?
“Are you serious?” Mirabelle asks in disbelief.
Stacey clasps her hands together. “Obviously, there are some finer details that need to be hashed out, and I can’t make you do this, because it’s not under your initial job description, but I think the circumstances warrant something like this based on the positive effect it’s already having from the speculation alone.”
“The circumstances warrant me dating Mirabelle? I’m sorry, but I think there’s a disconnect here. I know I haven’t been the most forthcoming with the media and fans, but is it actually that bad we’re considering doing this?” I ask, laughing at the absurdity of it all. I’ve heard of shit like this happening, but it never dawned on me that it could happen to me.
“You need this, because during the offseason this year, the public perception of you was poor and over half the front office wanted us to trade you despite Coach Lewis fighting against them. No one knows who you are, and as of this moment, they don’t care to. Your actions during training camp made sure of that, so congratulations, Henry. They’re doing what you want by leaving you alone because you’re seen as the guy who doesn’t care about the fans—fans who make all of this possible. The fans, whose hard-earned money pays your salary, think their quarterback cares more about partying than about football. This whole PR plan that you hate was created to keep you from getting traded when your rookie contract is up,” she says. I can feel my face drain of all its color. I knew there was talk of trading me and bringing in fresh meat after Bash retired, but they decided to keep me. I didn’t realize it was that bad.
“This girl right here?” Stacey motions to Mirabelle as I swallow the lump in my throat. “She’s football royalty in everyone’s eyes. Dating the daughter of your mentor who happens to be Sebastian Walker is a huge step in the right direction. People are excited and talking about you right now in a positive way. If I were you, I’d stop laughing and say thank you .”
I’m speechless.
I had . . . I had no idea about any of that.
Dragging my hand over my jaw, I turn to look at Mirabelle, but she won’t meet my eyes.
“I’ll do it,” she says, making the choice for us.
Stacey doesn’t wait for me to protest, which at this point, I’m not even fucking sure I would do. “Great. I need to go handle the logistics so we can release something this afternoon to the press. Figure out some details between the two of you like how long you’ve been together, when you started liking each other, and some other details to make it more believable. I’ll come find you in an hour. You’re a trooper, Mirabelle.”
“No problem.” Mirabelle smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. When it’s a genuine one, her eyes crinkle at the corners, and her smile is brighter than the goddamn sun.
Stacey walks away quickly, typing at the speed of lightning on her phone.
What the fuck just happened?
“Mirabelle—” I begin to say, and she shakes her head.
“If you actually meant your apology, don’t tell me I’m not allowed to do this. You need this, and I’m doing it, so let’s not fight about it.”
God, Mirabelle’s . . . incredible. I look at her in amazement, wondering how I could ever deserve this kindness she’s offering. There’s no denying Mirabelle’s beautiful, and if I’m being honest, she’s exactly my type, which is why I’ve fought so hard to keep my mental block in place to only see her the way I’m supposed to.
Mirabelle’s long blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail with pieces framing her face, the unruly waves flowing down her back. Her eyes reflect how tired she is, and the splash of freckles over her nose are prominent from a summer spent in the sun. She carries herself with confidence and grace, and she’s smart.
She’s the total package, but she’s untouchable .
I can’t forget that during this charade.
“Thank you,” I finally say. What else can I say? She’s right, I can’t tell her what to do. I might not be a fan of the idea, but Mirabelle’s not wrong. I think I do need this.
Fuck.
I didn’t know things were this bad with my contract. My agent never said anything about how close I was to being traded, so clearly I need to have a conversation with Calvin.
It’s no secret that the Panthers planned to play Sebastian until he retired. I knew that I wouldn’t get much playing time, and I could have put feelers out with other teams, but I wanted to learn from Sebastian. I wanted to stay close to my family. I want to be a Panther, but I was too stupid to consider the effect my actions would have on my career. I guess I thought the fans would give me more of a chance to prove that I’m still the guy who led Duke to back-to-back championship titles.
“Well, I guess we should figure this all out, right?” she asks, looking at me for confirmation.
“Probably,” I agree, trying to push the thoughts of how thoroughly I’ve fucked myself to the back of my mind.
We start to walk silently around the stadium, the tension in the air thick. I need to say something, literally anything.
“We’ve been together for a couple months. It’s still new, which is why we haven’t told anyone?” I suggest, scratching the back of my neck. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to plan a fake relationship when I’m not very good at legitimate ones under the best circumstances,” I admit, racking my brain for a better cover story.
It’s not that I haven’t tried to make relationships work, but I have a hard time trusting that people want to be around me for the right reasons. I know my birth mother is to blame for this, reinforcing my belief love isn’t worth the pain it can cause, but I don’t know how to fix it. Being alone doesn’t bother me either; I’m an introvert, despite the reputation I’ve earned.
I’d be lying if I said the media didn’t play a role in my hesitancy to get over my fears. It’s easier to take a girl home for the night and never see her again than to fall in love, only to find out she’s interested in my money or the fame that she’ll undoubtedly earn by tying herself to me.
In the past, it’s made me nervous to think about the invasion of privacy I would face in a relationship, along with my partner’s, but I guess I don’t have to worry with Mirabelle. She understands it better than anyone else would, and since these interviews are ensuring my lack of privacy, a fake relationship might not be the worst idea in the world.
“Me either, but we have to figure something out. We can say I’ve had a crush on you for years—I’ll finally be living out my childhood fantasy. That’ll be a good headline for Stacey,” Mirabelle jokes, and I shake my head immediately. She’s doing this to help me, I’m not throwing her under the bus.
“You’re already agreeing to fake date me for the sake of my reputation. The least I can do is say that I’ve been interested in you for a while, and I pursued you. We could tell everyone that something sparked after the Super Bowl, and we’ve kept it under wraps until now.”
I can see Mirabelle’s brain processing it over, and the more I think about it, I think it’s the first smart idea I’ve had in a while.
“That might actually work,” she says, an impressed note in her voice. Mirabelle hits my arm with the back of her hand. “Henry, this could work.”
“Thank you. Hopefully it’s not for too long. I don’t want you to have to do this any longer than necessary.” If people simply speculating that we’re dating has already helped my image, this might be enough to fix everything if I make more of an effort with the fans and the media.
Mirabelle pulls her ponytail over her shoulder, playing with the ends. “I don’t mind. You heard Stacey: I’m football royalty.”
“What if you meet someone you’re actually interested in?” I ask, lowering my voice as a few maintenance workers walk past us.
“What if you do?” she counters, twirling her hair around her finger.
“The chance of that happening is slim enough it doesn’t even justify an answer.” I snort when Mirabelle rolls her eyes at my response. “You were right this morning, Mira. I’ve done a brilliant job of fucking this up for myself.”
She smiles, but it’s more sympathetic than anything. “Well, if the shoe fits . . .”
“It does,” I agree as another potential problem pops into my brain. “What the hell are we going to tell our parents?”
“Oh shit. I forgot about them.”
I don’t particularly want to tell my parents or hers how close the team was to trading me. I’ve worked so hard to be ready for this season, and it’s already a steep climb to get everyone’s approval without them knowing I was almost traded.
“I think it’d be fun not telling them the truth,” Mirabelle says, a slow, mischievous smile curving her lips upward, her dimples peeking through.
I’m not sure “fun” is how I would describe the way I’m predicting they’ll react, but I’m so damn relieved I don’t have to tell them the truth.
“Then we need to be pretty damn convincing if they’re going to believe us. Maybe it’s a good thing you have this fascination with my ass after pointing it out so many times this morning,” I joke, attempting to lighten the mood as she gapes at me.
“There’s a difference between discussing your ass and calling you an ass, Henry.”
I chuckle under my breath, considering the possibility that maybe everything will be okay. Aside from this morning, we’ve always gotten along.
Perhaps a fake relationship isn’t much different from a friendship.