Chapter Eighteen - Henry
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Henry
NORMALLY, PR STAFF wouldn’t travel with the team to away games, so when Stacey and Mirabelle board the team plane to travel with us to our first away game, it causes quite a stir.
I hear someone a few rows behind me grumble about wishing their girlfriend could travel with the team.
“Here, let me help with that,” Quinn says, standing up to help Mirabelle put her carry-on in the above compartment before I can move. She smiles at him, saying something I can’t hear, and I pull my phone out to see if I missed a message from Mira about traveling with the team, but I have nothing.
“Did you know she was coming?” Wilson asks, and I look away from Quinn trying to show off he can lift her bag with one arm. Doesn’t he know she has enough upper body strength to do that herself without showboating?
“She didn’t say anything to me.”
Mirabelle would have to be talking to me to say something, and she’s been avoiding me ever since our conversation outside my door earlier this week.
Stacey makes eye contact with me and shakes her head, disappointed. My phone buzzes half a second later with a message from her, followed by another one a second later.
Stacey: Why is Mackie acting like a better boyfriend than you?
Stacey: Is there something I need to know?
Wilson snickers, having read the text before I could shut it off. “I know you say you don’t like Stacey, but she’s kind of funny.”
“That’s because she’s not hovering over your shoulder twenty-four seven,” I say, grumbling. She’s growing on me, but I’d prefer to keep that to myself.
“Do you think if I asked Coach, he’d let my girlfriend travel with us?” Tyler asks, leaning over the back of my seat.
I snort, the theoretical scenario playing out in my head. “Why don’t you go ask him?” I ask sarcastically, and Tyler actually seems to consider it.
“Don’t be fucking stupid. Price is kidding,” Wilson says, and this causes a few heads to turn our way.
“Price made a joke?” Crosby asks, and I flip him off, pulling my headphones out.
“It wasn’t very funny,” Tyler says, sitting back in his seat as I look for where Mirabelle is on the plane. I feel a little better seeing her sitting between her uncle and Stacey, instead of next to Quinn.
“The funny part would have been seeing you go up to Coach and ask him,” I say, putting my headphones on.
I can’t let the fact that Mirabelle is here fuck with my head, even if she’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about for the last week while she ices me out.
The only thing keeping my self-control in check is that I’m in season, and I have no business getting wrapped up in a girl. Especially one that I could find myself consumed by very easily.
I start the audiobook I’ve been listening to in the gym, trying to focus on the profile the main character is giving on the serial killer they’re hunting.
Most people listen to music to get in the zone, but there’s nothing that calms my brain more than a book.
Correction: usually there’s nothing that calms my brain more than a book.
I guess it only works when a certain blonde isn’t on the same plane as me.
~
I chew anxiously on my mouthguard, itching to get back on the field.
This game isn’t the blowout the last one was, but somehow that makes it feel more real.
I’m impressed by the level head Owen has been able to keep, especially when he has more reason than anyone to be high-strung in this stadium. We’re playing the Lions, our division rivals, but this rivalry is more personal for Owen than for anyone else.
Twenty years ago, Owen was on track to become one of the best tight ends in the league when he helped score the winning touchdown in an intense rivalry game against the Lions. He and Thalia were walking through the parking lot when a drunk fan struck Owen with his car, nearly killing him. The injuries he sustained ended his career, leading him down the path of climbing through the coaching ranks to become the head coach of the Panthers.
I remember as a kid, during one of the first years with Owen on the coaching staff, there was a sideline-clearing brawl between the teams that ended in a record number of players facing suspensions and fines amounting to millions. It’s hard to forget when it resurfaces every year during recaps of unforgettable moments in sports.
Owen pulled me aside earlier and made a point to make sure I knew there were no scores to be settled other than those on the scoreboard.
“ I don’t know where your head is at, but going into this game, I’m going to say to you what I always said to Walker. There’s no debt to be paid that’s worth risking an injury today. Lead by example, and show everyone you have the character and the talent to lead this team.”
I refuse to let Owen down after all he’s done to fight for me to stay with the Panthers. I need him to know that I’m not taking this chance for granted.
I didn’t understand why he said it at first, but once we got on the field, the shit people were yelling at Owen was awful. It was enough to make me want to abandon all common sense, but if I launched myself into the stands to fight the fans, I would only end up getting myself suspended.
The Lions have gotten away with a lot of hits in this game, and I have a feeling a lot of us will be spending time with the athletic trainers this week.
“Settle down, there’s still time,” Owen says quietly, stopping next to me on the sidelines.
It doesn’t feel like there’s time. “I’d feel better if they weren’t at the twenty-yard line.”
“They’re not scoring,” he says, a tone of finality in his voice before he covers his mouth with the playbook in front of him. “They’d be stupid to score when all it would do is put them less than a field goal ahead of us with three minutes to go. They’re going to stall, and hope it psychs you out, so if they do score with enough time for us to respond, you’re in your head.”
I know that’s the plan, but it doesn’t make it easier to breathe right now.
“I’ve got this,” I say confidently, even if I feel my insides starting to shrivel under the pressure.
Owen looks at me, his face unreadable. “Good, then maybe you can stop chewing your mouthguard like a fucking rodent. It won’t keep your teeth pretty for my niece if you mangle it. You won’t be such a pretty accessory for her if you look like Toothless.”
“I’d hate for her to be associated with someone that looks like a cartoon dragon,” I agree, snapping my mouth shut. I look back at the field, just in time for the play to be stopped by the Lions calling a timeout. I cross my arms over my chest, trying not to let my irritation get the better of me.
“You’re a good player, Price. Maybe you’ll be great one day, but don’t fuck it up by letting their mind games get to you,” Owen warns, clapping me on the shoulder. He steps away to talk with our defensive coordinator, and I let the words sink in.
I want to be great. I want this more than anything.
I grab the collar of my jersey, looking out around me. The stadium is packed, and I can feel the roar of the crowd in my bones.
Let them play their games. It’s not going to change the outcome, we are going home with a win.
The play clock resumes, and the sound of the stadium somehow grows louder when the Lions’ quarterback drops back, scanning for an open receiver, just as our left defensive tackle breaks through the offensive line. The quarterback sees him, darting out of the way at the last moment to avoid being sacked, causing his pass to end up out of bounds.
Hell yeah.
My excitement is short-lived when on the next play, their quarterback finds his mark in the end zone—a wide receiver left open as our cornerback is a second too slow. Owen swears, turning to find me as they score the extra point on the kick, followed by the kickoff, before nodding at me.
Adrenaline is pumping through my veins, but my head has never felt clearer. Everything else falls silent as I jog out onto the field, taking my place as everyone else falls into formation around me.
I focus on breathing as I hear Owen’s voice through the microphone in my helmet. The clock is running out, and I need to get us close enough for our kicker to have a shot at making a field goal.
“Set, hut,” I call, the ball landing in my hands. I find Tyler as he darts to my side, handing off the ball as he tries to find a gap in their line. He dodges, making it far enough to get a first down before he’s hit by a defender, and there are immediate flags thrown. Yelling erupts from all around as Tyler rolls onto his back, the ball still clutched in his hands.
I don’t hear what Crosby says to the guy who hit Tyler, but Wilson yanks him back as I reach Tyler, who is slow to get up.
“Are you good?” I ask, offering him a hand as whistles are blown.
“Knocked the wind out of me, but I didn’t drop the ball.” He grimaces as the flags are explained over the stadium’s speakers.
“Targeting number fifty-five. Fifteen-yard penalty.”
Are you fucking kidding me? I’m ready to shut them up once and for all.
“Took it like a champ,” I say, tipping my head as I turn back to my guys. “I don’t care what they say, or what they do. We keep our shit together and let the score at the end do the talking,” I say, making sure every single one of them hears me.
Crosby’s mouth is set in a hard line, and if we had more time, I’d probably try to say something else.
We’re fifteen yards closer than we were before, and I’m going to use every bit of it to my advantage.
Two more first downs later and thirty seconds on the clock, our kicker sends a perfectly placed kick through the middle of the goalposts.
I breathe a sigh of relief as the sidelines around me erupt into chaos, and I barely had enough time to shower and get dressed before the media was let into the locker room.
I did a good job of not letting myself think about Mirabelle during the game, but I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes off her as she hovers in the back with Stacey, taking notes of our answers. She looks beautiful, but she’d look even better wearing my jersey.
Actually, she’d look better wearing nothing, but I shouldn’t be thinking that, especially right now while she’s working.
I’m not able to fully relax until I’m on the plane. As I pull my headphones out of my bag, I see Mirabelle appear. I stand up, causing everyone’s eyes to turn to me.
“Price, what are you doing?” Wilson asks and I grab my bag from below the seat in front of me.
“I’m going to sit with my girlfriend,” I say, stepping into the aisle, closing the gap between us. Mirabelle is staring at me in surprise, and she looks at Stacey who is already seated.
Stacey shoos her away. “Go sit with him before I change my mind,” she says, rolling her eyes in annoyance as she taps quickly on her phone.
I’ve been dying to catch her alone to ask why she didn’t tell me she was coming on this trip. I tried texting Mirabelle last night to ask her, but when she didn’t respond, I knocked on her hotel door before curfew. It didn’t matter, though. Mirabelle still didn’t answer. It’s irritating how good she is at avoiding me actually, and I’ll be damned if I let another minute go by without talking to her.
I smile because if she refuses in front of everyone, Stacey will lose her shit. Did I trap her into talking to me? Maybe, but I regret nothing.
Mirabelle adjusts the strap on her shoulder, and I take that as my sign to walk to the empty row at the back of the plane. I don’t care if it means forfeiting my first-class seat for the ride back. I’d rather sit next to her.
She takes the window seat, immediately continuing her streak of trying to avoid me by looking out the window.
“I think I deserve to know why you’re avoiding me,” I whisper, and Mirabelle answers with a scoff.
“I’m not avoiding you.”
That’s hilarious. “You could at least look at me while you try to lie,” I muse, buckling my seatbelt per the flight attendant’s instructions. I have a pretty good feeling I know why Mirabelle’s avoiding me, but I’d like to hear it from her. I thought I said all the right things in the moment, but clearly, I did something I’m not aware of.
Mirabelle turns to look at me, her cheeks flaming red. “Are you happy now? I’m not avoiding you.”
“I tried to talk to you last night, but you didn’t answer your door,” I say quietly, doing my best not to say the wrong thing. I want her to tell me what I did, because I can’t stand the silence.
Mirabelle turns back to the window again. “Huh, that’s weird. Maybe I was in the shower.”
I’m not great at this whole passive aggressive shit. I can barely say the right thing when she’s speaking normal English, and not whatever this is. “Mirabelle, please.”
She fidgets with the strap of her seatbelt as the plane smoothly lifts into the air, but she doesn’t react.
“It’s not a big deal that you haven’t dated a lot.”
Her entire body tenses up, and I’m glad we’re stuck on a plane together because she can’t run from me. “Stop,” she whispers.
“No, I’m not going to stop until you talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I want you to forget I ever said anything about it,” Mirabelle whispers, looking around to see if anyone is paying attention to us, but no one sits at the back of the plane if they can help it. We played an entire game and are now on a plane back to North Carolina. Half the team is either asleep or about to be, and the other half definitely has headphones on.
“Sorry, it’s hard for me to forget that you think kissing you is the same as kissing a piece of cardboard. I like to recycle, but not that much.” I try to lighten the mood, but her face falls nonetheless. It fucking kills me to see her sad.
“It’s not only that. I’m embarrassed, Henry. I’m embarrassed because when Reid broke up with me, he made me feel like I’m not good enough.” Her eyes are sparkling with unshed tears, and I open my mouth to talk, but Mirabelle shakes her head quickly. “I know you’re going to say he wasn’t man enough to try to make me orgasm, but what if I’m the problem? I said no too much, I’m a bad kisser, and I’m so . . .” She falls quiet, and I think I’m ready to kill this asshole. She sniffles quietly, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “I’m afraid I’m so inexperienced that when I’m finally with the right guy, I’ll mess it up. I hate that I’m insecure about that. I’m Mirabelle Walker, for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t care about this because I know the right guy won’t care, but I do.”
Her ex better start counting his days because he doesn’t deserve to breathe anymore. I’ll make it as painful as he deserves if she never looks this sad again about the bullshit he said to her.
Did I hear her right? She said no too much? That’s not even a real fucking thing. You can say no as much as you like because if it isn’t consensual, it shouldn’t be fucking happening.
Mirabelle’s mouth falls open, and she looks at me in horror. “Did I say all that out loud?”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you no?” I ask, and she inhales sharply, wiping her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. None of that is your problem, so seriously ignore I said any of that.”
I don’t think there’s a single damn thing I can say right now to make her feel better, so I take her hand, softly pressing my lips to the back of it. “When I need to clear my head, I listen to audiobooks. It helps calm my brain to escape somewhere else for a bit, and I’ll be honest, I’m terrified to say the wrong thing that will make you more upset. I’m glad you told me, though. Thank you.”
She unbuckles her seatbelt, sliding into the middle seat I left open to give her space. “Can I listen to your book with you?” Mirabelle asks, squeezing my hand as she rests our intertwined ones in her lap.
“We can find a new one so you’re not jumping in halfway.”
“That’s okay. I want to listen to yours.”
No one has ever asked to do that with me.
I open my headphones case, passing her one before inserting my own, trying to focus on the case that’s about to be cracked wide open.
Mirabelle rests her head gently on my shoulder, and the intoxicating vanilla scent that clings to her is the only thing I can focus on.