Chapter Thirteen - Henry
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Henry
I KNOW IT’S not common knowledge today was Mirabelle’s idea, but if the other interns knew she was behind today’s success, maybe they’d stop fucking with her and making snide remarks in her direction. She’s smarter and more capable than all of them combined, but Mira’s so determined to prove she belongs here that she isn’t going to breathe a word to anyone who has the power to put a stop to it.
I only know because I overheard her talking to Emily in the pool last night, but I guess they’ve been piling this extra responsibility on her which explains all the multi-tasking when she’s helping Stacey shadow me at the stadium and with the PR responsibilities that I have.
If Mirabelle ever wanted to quit her job for the team, I’d hire her in a heartbeat to run my PR team full-time.
I feel like I’ve barely seen her this week since our date last weekend, but a best friend trumps a fake boyfriend, regardless of how real that kiss felt.
The kiss I can’t stop replaying in my mind as I try to come up with an excuse to selfishly do it again. Until that happens, I’m stuck grasping to the memory, trying to place the flavor of her lip balm.
That kiss was unlike any I’ve had before. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s embarrassing how many times thinking about it has given me a reason to rub one out in the shower.
Is it wrong I’m hoping I’ll have an opportunity to kiss Mirabelle today? With both of our families here, it’s probably not the smartest choice, but I have to know if it was a fluke.
So far, everything has been a hit. In addition to the animal shelter here, Mirabelle also reached out to one of her old classmates who works with a youth special needs organization to spend the afternoon at the stadium.
Between all the children and puppies, I’ll come out of this weekend looking like a saint, unless I throw an interception. My relationship with Mirabelle has been trending all week, and the photo of us kissing has vastly overshadowed the single gossip article posted about the couple from dinner.
Everyone has been all smiles today, but no one’s shining brighter than Mirabelle. Her energy is infectious.
Despite Mirabelle not being on speaking terms with her family, they showed up today. It’s how the Walkers roll.
Her parents and the twins came into town this morning with my parents and Kaitlyn, but I’ve been avoiding my parents after the lecture I got from my dad when he finally called after news of our relationship broke. I’d been holding out hope he’d react better than Sebastian and Thalia, and that him waiting to call was a good sign, but I was wrong.
Mirabelle is standing with her best friend, Emily, holding a fluffy puppy in her arms as they pose for a picture with Tyler, an offensive lineman and a friend of mine. She’s wearing a pair of denim overalls that show off her legs, and her hair is pulled back into a long braid down her back. Mirabelle looks happy, but I can tell it’s taking a toll on her to have her parents so close, yet so far at the same time.
“You guys are doing a good job of selling the relationship,” Stacey says, pulling me back to reality. I blink rapidly, tearing my gaze away from Mirabelle.
“Thanks,” I mumble, dragging my hand through my hair.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually had feelings for her. You’ve been staring at her every chance you get,” Stacey says, turning off her phone to slide it into her pocket. Have I been staring at Mirabelle today?
Stacey’s in a surprisingly good mood today, giving me more leeway with her questions than usual, even without Mirabelle with her. “Make sure you get a good picture together,” she instructs. I must be hallucinating because I think she might be smiling at me? What the hell is going on today?
“Do you have enough for the interview?”
“Take the opportunity to flee while I’m offering it. I could always find more questions I’ve been meaning to ask.”
The dots connect in my brain, and I think I smile in Stacey’s direction for the first time ever. “Nope. I think I’ll get that picture with Mirabelle instead.”
“Maybe you do have a brain in that head of yours,” I hear her say as I walk away, but I couldn’t care less. Instinctively, I head in Mirabelle’s direction as she kneels down to chat with a child holding a speech tablet. It makes my heart flop funny when she beams at this child, and I wish I knew the right things to say to make her smile like that all the time.
My stepmom darts in front of me, forcing me to stop, and my stomach drops. I knew it was too good to be true I’d managed to avoid my parents so far. “Do you have a moment?” she asks, smiling at me.
Hearing what my dad thought of me the other day was awful, but I’m not sure I could stomach hearing how disappointed she is in me. She didn’t have to love me after falling for my dad, but she chose to, and finding out what she thinks of me might break me.
“Are you planning on yelling what a horrible person and predator you think I am for dating Mirabelle?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
She snorts, shaking her head as her smile grows. “Hell no. If you marry Mirabelle, it’d be my dream come true. I’ve been waiting for this to happen, but maybe don’t tell your father I said that.”
Excuse me, did she really just bring up marriage? Marriage? I know she doesn’t know this is a fake relationship, but even if it weren’t, it would be far too early to bring that up. I cough abruptly, choking on the breath caught in my throat. “Then, yeah. I have a moment,” I croak out, my voice rough as some of the tension seeps from my shoulders. It feels nice to finally have someone on my side, even if she doesn’t know the truth.
Mom hooks her arm with mine, leading me away from the main area of the event to a quieter part of the field where only a couple of volunteers are lingering, but thankfully, none of them are in earshot.
The few inches of height I have on her don’t feel like much at the moment, and I know she said she wasn’t going to yell, but I think I have good reason for being a little doubtful. “Are you ready for the game tomorrow?” Mom asks, a proud glimmer in her pale blue eyes.
What is she up to? I say stupid things, but I’m not dumb. I know she wants to talk about Mirabelle, so why is she asking about football? Normally, if Mom has something to say, she just says it.
“I’ve never been more ready for a game,” I answer honestly. I’m in the best shape of my life, having worked harder than I ever have. I never imagined I would come so close to losing it before it was ever mine.
“I bet Mirabelle is excited to see her boyfriend in action,” she hums, and I feel my cheeks flush.
“Mom,” I complain, and her smile grows wider. I guess I don’t call her “Mom” as much as I should these days. Penelope married my dad when I was eight, so I was old enough to understand that my biological mother didn’t want me. I loved Penelope, but when I found out they were getting married, I fought against it because the only thing worse than one mother rejecting me, would be two mothers rejecting me.
I had Thalia as a maternal figure, and I knew she would never go anywhere. Her love wasn’t conditional on my dad’s love, so why did I need someone else who was only going to leave?
But then Thalia helped me see that Penelope didn’t love me because of her relationship with my dad. She wanted me, and it was safe for me to let her be my mom in every way that counted.
“J’ai toujours espéré, qu’un jour, vous finissiez ensemble.” 14
I feel slightly guilty for lying to her, but as much as I’d like to tell her it’s not real between us, I’d only be putting her in a bad spot with everyone else.
I don’t know what to say.
I muster a smile, but her eyes narrow, analyzing my face quickly. “What’s wrong, Henry?”
Everything.
My dad is disappointed in me.
Sebastian and Thalia think I’m forcing myself on their daughter and won’t even look in my direction.
I can’t talk to my sister about what’s going on because she’s a teenage girl and I’m afraid she’d spill the beans accidentally, leaving me in a worse position than before.
Andrew is in Seattle.
My career is in jeopardy because I’ll never live up to the legacy Sebastian left behind in the organization.
All the pressure I feel is constantly threatening to crush me into a speck of dust, and the only time I feel like I can breathe, is when I’m with Mirabelle. She makes me feel like all of this is going to be okay, even without knowing how deep my anxiety runs.
“Je vais bien.” 15
It’s not very believable, though. I’m not selling it well, but I only have so many lies in me.
Mom’s mouth turns downward into a frown, and she shakes her head, refusing to accept my answer. “Tu peux me parler, tu le sais, n’est-ce pas?” 16
I scope out the field, looking to see if there’s anyone who might overhear us. Fortunately, Sebastian and Thalia are with the Panthers’ General Manager and a few other veterans on the team that Bash played with. My dad is with Owen and his wife, Blake.
“Ils sont tous tellement en colère contre moi. Qu’est-ce que je peux faire pour arranger ca?” 17 I ask, trying not to let her see how badly hurt I am by all of this.
She taps my chest comfortingly above my heart. “The heart wants what it wants, Henry. Everyone else will understand that eventually. Bash and Lia are more hurt than angry. They wished you would have gone to them first about the relationship rather than letting them find out through a press release, but that doesn’t mean you deserve the things they said.”
I note how she doesn’t say anything about the fight I had with my dad. I don’t doubt she knows about it.
“And Dad?”
Her bright eyes sharpen and she musters a smile. “You let me handle him. He’s hardheaded, but he’ll come around.”
“I need you to believe me when I say nothing ever happened between Mirabelle and me until the Super Bowl after-party. What Sebastian and Dad accused me of? It makes me sick to my stomach because all I can think is how I would murder someone with my bare hands if Kaitlyn were dating someone while she was a minor and they weren’t.” I exhale, shaking my head as my stomach rolls at the thought of anything happening between us when Mira was a minor. “If that’s what they want to think of me, then they clearly don’t know who I am, and maybe they don’t deserve to. I would never force myself on anyone, especially if they were underage,” I insist, miserable that I even have to say this. I love my dad, but this hurts.
“Je sais. Il sait. Je suis désolée, Henry.” 18
“You’re not the one who needs to be apologizing,” I say, stepping out of reach. I hate the pained look that appears on her face, but I don’t want an apology from my stepmom. “I probably need to find Mirabelle. She did an incredible job planning today.”
“She did,” Mom agrees, her bright eyes shining. “If you’ll let me, I’d love to take the two of you to dinner soon. You make a beautiful couple.”
A lump grows in my throat, and I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to try to keep tears from forming in my eyes. Mom has no idea it’s fake, but she’s willing to go against everyone else to support me and the relationship she believes I’m in.
“I’d like that, Mom.”
“I love you, have fun with your girlfriend.” She winks, absolutely beaming. It dawns on me that maybe I don’t call her as much as I should.
“I love you too,” I say, making my way back to Mirabelle who is now speaking with a reporter. His eyes meet mine over her shoulder, and I wink quickly at him, holding a finger to my lips to tell him to be quiet. I’ve probably stunned him into silence more than anything, because I normally don’t act this way with the media.
“—nd it’s wonderful that the Panthers Organization is working with both of these incredible causes,” Mirabelle says, the smell of vanilla invading my senses as I hover behind her. It crosses my mind as I’m sliding my arms around her waist to wrap them around her torso that she could easily react in a manner that results in me getting seriously injured.
She yelps, jamming an elbow into my side, causing me to grunt in pain at the well-placed jab. I’m not even mad about it because I’m impressed that was her first reaction. Mirabelle’s head turns quickly, her whiskey-colored eyes wide with shock. “Henry!”
“What?”
“You can’t sneak up on me like that,” she protests, and I chuckle quietly.
“Sorry,” I say, fighting a grin, but I’m in fact, not sorry at all. She’s cute when she’s mad.
Mirabelle purses her lips at me, turning around to look at the reporter again, who is smiling after watching the whole exchange. My hand is still slung around her waist, and I tug her back against my chest, sliding my hand into the front pocket of her overalls. I can feel the heat of her body radiating through the fabric, but I’m more focused on how stiff her whole body goes as she’s pressed against me.
“Relax,” I murmur next to her ear, the intoxicating aroma of vanilla threatening to overwhelm me. How am I supposed to think straight around her? “Mon c?ur,” 19 I say loud enough for the reporter to hear, brushing my lips teasingly over her cheek, playing the part we’ve agreed to.
Mirabelle softens underneath my touch, relaxing into me. “Henry, this is Dave. He’s a reporter with the Charlotte Observer.”
“It’s nice to meet you. Thanks for coming out today.” I offer my free hand to Dave, refusing to remove the one from inside Mirabelle’s pocket. I don’t care what he thinks. I’ve been waiting all day to be near her.
“I wouldn’t miss it. I was asking Mirabelle a few questions, but do you mind if I ask you some as well?” he asks, and if it means I get to be by Mirabelle, he can ask me anything he wants. Just because he’s asking doesn’t mean I have to answer, but I do get to stand here holding her.
“That’s fine,” I agree. Whatever he asks me surely can’t be more invasive than Stacey’s lines of questioning.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asks, diving right in, quickly pressing a button on his phone to no doubt record the conversation. I can’t blame him, I’m not known for my patience with interviews. I’m trying to be better about it for a couple of reasons: I don’t want to get traded, and I don’t want to make Mirabelle’s job more difficult than it needs to be, especially after seeing how hard she’s working to help me. The only reason we’re in this fake relationship is because of my shitty reputation.
“More than ready. We’ve got a great group of guys on the team this season, and our coaching staff has been going above and beyond to make sure we’re ready. I’m excited for everyone to see our hard work pay off tomorrow.”
Dave nods in agreement. “Head coach, Owen Lewis, has been speaking rather highly of your performance in recent practices and preseason games during the press conferences. Will you be able to rise to the occasion now that Sebastian Walker has retired?”
It’s my turn to stiffen, and I know Mirabelle can feel the change in my demeanor. Honestly, I can’t blame the guy for asking the question. It seems to be the same question everyone has been asking.
“Coach Lewis has done a great job in helping me prepare for my new role on the team. Sebastian is a legend, and I’ve learned a lot from him. I can only hope to be half the player he was during his career, and that starts by taking it game by game.”
Wow, Stacey should be proud of me. I’m proud of me. That was a very professional response to an uncomfortable question, but I also didn’t have a choice. Everything is on the line.
“This next question is for both of you,” he says, looking at Mirabelle momentarily, and something resembling guilt flickers on his face. “Is it true that Sebastian and Thalia Walker aren’t supportive of the relationship?”
Mirabelle sucks in a short, audible breath, and I try to remember what Stacey coached me to say if this question were asked. She suspected it was only a matter of time, given how many eyes and ears were on the field at practice when Mirabelle’s parents barged in. Oh shit, what did Stacey say again? I probably need to pay more attention to the important things, but how am I supposed to do that when she says everything is important.
“My parents aren’t happy about the idea of me dating anyone. I am their only daughter, after all,” she answers, evading the truth far better than I would have been able to.
“Will you be wearing a jersey with your father’s number on it or your boyfriend’s?” Dave continues, and I’m curious to hear her answer. It’s not something we’ve talked about, but now I’m wondering what she’d look like with my name and number on her back. If she doesn’t have one, I’m sure as hell going to buy one today for her to wear tomorrow.
I think I’d like that a little too much, if the way my pants are fitting tighter than they were a minute ago is any indication. Fucking hell, I need to calm down.
“You can find out tomorrow with everyone else.” She laughs, causing Dave to smile.
I crack a smile, taking my hand from her pocket to twist the end of her braid between my fingertips. It’s perfect to wrap around my hand. “Let’s stop trying to keep it a secret. We all know it’ll be my jersey.”
Mirabelle laughs and leans further into me, pressing against me perfectly. I don’t stand a goddamn chance right now. “You sound awfully sure, baby,” she says sweetly, but the glint in her sparkling eyes is anything but.
The only thing I’m awfully sure of is that since we kissed, Mirabelle has the ability to turn me back into a raging hormonal teenager, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
“ Mon c?ur, I’m awfully sure I’d like to see you try out my name,” I say, knowing that Dave is eating up every bit of this. I tug Mirabelle’s hair enough to cause her smug mouth to part in shock, and if we weren’t having this conversation with Dave, I think I’d kiss her.
Dave clears his throat, redirecting our attention back to him. Mira’s cheeks are a rosy red, and I should feel bad, but I don’t. “Mirabelle, has there been any new information regarding the fire at your family’s house? The last update was that the fire had been ruled arson, and the police were looking for any potential leads.”
My entire body goes cold at the reminder. Mirabelle doesn’t talk about the fire much, or that it was ruled arson. I don’t like to think about how someone could be following her, and that I might not always be there to help Mira.
“The detectives are doing their best, but any details regarding the case are confidential,” I interrupt, taking the lead on this one. The edge in my voice is a firm warning he needs to change the line of questioning, or we’re done here.
“I’ve heard rumors you’re considering competing in the Olympic Qualifiers coming up in order to compete in the games next year. Is this true?” Dave asks, getting the hint as Mirabelle threads her hand with mine.
People were surprised when Mirabelle bowed out of the international circuit to compete on Duke’s team, but I wasn’t. I’d seen firsthand how hard she worked to train her body and her mind. That type of dedication isn’t easy, and it’s perfectly okay for her to want as normal of a life as possible outside of the sport. She didn’t stop competing entirely, but I think she was happier at Duke than she would have been if she continued training for the next Olympics.
Mirabelle seems to find her voice, and her hand squeezes mine, silently asking for reassurance that I immediately give, being the supportive boyfr— fake boyfriend —I am.
“I retired from elite gymnastics after the games in France, and while I love the sport, my focus is on my career. I do plan to attend the Qualifiers, but only to support my old teammates,” she answers, but now I’ve hit my limit. This should have been over the second he asked about the arson case.
“Dave, it was great speaking with you, but you’ll have to excuse us. I’d like a moment with my girlfriend, if you know what I mean.”
Mirabelle looks up at me, raising her eyebrows.
Dave nods quickly, clearly understanding exactly what I’m getting at. “Of course. Thanks for answering some of my questions. Good luck tomorrow,” he says, walking away, and in case he looks back, I let go of Mirabelle’s hand and turn her to face me, resting my hands on her hips.
Mirabelle’s breath hitches as she looks up at me. “What are you doing?” she whispers, resting her hand tentatively on my chest. I wonder if she can feel how fast my heart is beating in my chest.
“I didn’t like the questions he was asking you,” I say honestly. “None of this was supposed to involve you having to talk about shit you don’t want to.”
“That’s . . .” she trails off, ducking her head as if needing a moment to gather her thoughts. “That’s sweet of you. Thank you.”
“Of course,” I say, acting like it’s nothing. It’s honestly the least I could do.
“I’m impressed. You did well answering his questions.”
It feels good to know Mirabelle thinks that. I shrug, playing it off. “It helps I had my babysitter next to me, ready to jump in if I needed it.”
Mirabelle rolls her eyes, but her smile grows. “Just accept the compliment.”
“Thank you, Mira,” I say, smiling.
“I think I prefer mon c?ur ,” she teases, using a perfect French accent.
I feel my cheeks flush because I’m not sure why that was the name that came out of my mouth. There are a thousand different pet names I could have gone with, but it felt like an accurate way to describe her. My heart.
“I don’t want people questioning the validity of this. It seemed like the right thing to say.”
The sparkle in her eyes dims as she blinks, as if she’s surprised, and immediately, I regret saying that’s the only reason. Rationally, I know it has to be the right reason, but there are a million reasons why I shouldn’t like her. Fuck, maybe there are more than a million.
Would it be such a bad thing if this weren’t fake?
The thought seems like a joke to even consider, but I’m starting to lose the internal battle against my attraction toward Mirabelle.
“Of course,” she says, painting on a smile that might be the saddest one I’ve ever fucking seen. I hate that I put it there. “I know that. You’re getting better at faking it—you were pretty believable, and Dave ate it up.”
It was believable because I’m not sure I’m faking it.
“Mirabelle . . .” I say her name, trailing off because I don’t know what to say next. I want to take the opportunity to kiss her, and see if I’m imagining the connection between us, but over the top of her head, I can feel the weight of her parents’ stare. If looks could kill, I’d be buried six feet under.
It’s enough to snap my brain back into reality.
I need to keep my focus on football, not on a girl—no matter how she might make me feel when I’m around her.
She parts her lips, drawing my attention to them before I flit my gaze back up to meet hers. “What, Henry?”
My phone rings in my pocket, breaking the moment. I pull it out, but immediately decline it at the sight of the name, sliding it back into my pocket. I’m not letting her ruin today.
“Who was that?”
I shake my head, my mind racing a mile a minute. “No one,” I lie, taking a step back from her, my hands slow to let go of Mira’s waist. I run a hand through my hair, offering her a half-smile. “You’ve done an incredible job with all of this. Thank you for what you’re doing.” My mouth feels sour, but it’s the right thing to do.
I only wish it didn’t make me feel so shitty in the process.