Chapter Twenty-Six - Henry
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Henry
I WAKE UP with a heavy weight on my chest. The scent of vanilla tickles my nose, and the early morning light peeks through the blinds covering my window. Rubbing my eyes, I clear away any lingering bleariness from my deep sleep. I honestly can’t remember the last time I slept that well.
Mirabelle sighs, and I realize the heavy weight on me is her clinging to me like I’m a life buoy in the middle of the ocean. Her head is nestled into my chest, her blonde waves cascading everywhere as her fingers curl tightly into my shirt. Our legs are tangled together, but Mirabelle is lying on top of me, and I think this is pretty damn ironic considering she’s the one who put up the pillow barrier in the middle of the bed.
She had already fallen asleep when I finally gave up on sleeping on the floor and climbed into my bed. If I didn’t think the flash would wake her up, I’d have taken a picture of her fast asleep, hugging a pillow to her chest while curled into a ball.
Mirabelle looks so peaceful. I don’t want to wake her, because I feel like she hasn’t had many peaceful moments lately.
I couldn’t tell her last night that Duke isn’t going to offer Hunter a spot on their team— ever .
It’s entirely a political thing.
Harris told us that he’d be doing Hunter a disservice by offering him a spot because the university has essentially said Hunter will never be allowed to see the field, as it risks the money Sebastian donates. It doesn’t matter that Sebastian would never wield his money as a weapon to get his son playing time. In fact, he doesn’t even need to. Hunter is already that good, with the potential for his talent to grow exponentially.
He’d rather see Hunter play for another team to reach his full potential, than ride the bench for four years.
I respect him for it, because that’s not an easy choice to make, but I didn’t want to add another burden to Mirabelle’s shoulders. I know her, and she’d feel like it’s her responsibility to fix things even when there’s nothing that can be done. I should know better than anyone; it’s what I would do too.
She scared the shit out of me earlier this week when she turned into a zombie, and I’m not sure if she’s actually doing better now or pretending. I’d prefer not to add anything else to Mirabelle’s plate if I can help it.
I only offered to sleep on the floor last night because I wanted to make it clear that just because she was sleeping in here tonight, it didn’t mean I had any expectations of anything from that list happening. She’s had such a rough week, and I didn’t want to make Mirabelle feel pressured in any way.
It dawned on me last night Mira will eventually move back to her family’s house once the remodel is done. That terrifies me for more than one reason, but the main one being, is it safe? The investigators determined that an accelerant was used, but they haven’t found any evidence that could lead to who started the fire.
I’ve thought about asking Mirabelle if she’s considered rehiring the bodyguard she used after the Olympics a few years ago, but I’d prefer to keep my balls where they are. For some reason, I don’t think she’d be crazy about that idea.
I like having her here. I know Wilson likes having her here, but would Mirabelle choose to stay if she had the option? Or will she want to go back to how things used to be before I made a shit show of my career to the point where she had to agree to fake date me so I wouldn’t get traded?
Mirabelle nestles her head further into my chest, inhaling deeply. I stay deathly still, waiting to see if she’s waking up. “ Henry ,” she mumbles, tightening her grip on my shirt.
Unable to resist, I brush a piece of hair out of her face, and her eyes blink open slowly. Mirabelle’s lips quirk upward into a smile as she reaches up to brush her fingertips gently over my cheek and then my lips. I stay very, very still as a look of confusion washes over her. “Henry?” Mirabelle asks in confusion, her voice scratchy from sleep.
“Yeah?” I whisper.
She startles, bolting off me quickly, her knee driving straight into my groin in the process. There’s a strangled cry and fucking stars dance across my vision as I roll over into a fetal position. Oh my fucking god. I think I’m going to be sick.
Motherfucker.
I can take getting sacked by linemen twice my size any day of the week, but this? This is fucking excruciating. Scratch that; I think I’m dying.
~
“Dude, I need you to stop making whatever those sounds are every time you move. Whatever freaky sex you had last night, I don’t want to hear it,” Kaitlyn says, grimacing as I adjust in my seat on the couch again.
Mirabelle’s face flushes and she looks up at me apologetically from the book she’s reading.
“Kait, there wasn’t any freaky sex happening last night,” I clarify, and she rolls her eyes.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m going for a run,” Mirabelle squeaks, and I would ask her to stay, but I want to talk to Kaitlyn about Bailey. I’m not sure it’s a conversation Mirabelle needs to be there for, even if it does involve her brother. I know my sister, and she’ll be more willing to tell me what she knows if it’s just the two of us.
Wilson went out to breakfast with his parents who are in town for the game tomorrow, so it’ll leave the house empty for Kaitlyn and me.
“So if you didn’t have freaky sex last night, why are you acting like you have the man flu?” she asks, tilting her head to the side after Mirabelle retreats upstairs.
Huh? I’m too old for this teenage slang. It changes every week. “What’s the man flu?” I ask, momentarily sidetracked.
Kaitlyn laughs quietly, shaking her head condescendingly at me. Sometimes she makes me feel like I’m the younger sibling and not the other way around. “Man flu is when a simple cold knocks a man on his ass and he acts like he’s dying, when a woman can still do everything like normal with a little pack of tissues.”
“I do not act like a cold knocks me on my ass.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Then what’s wrong with you today?”
Mirabelle skips down the stairs, phone in hand. “I accidentally crushed his dick with my knee this morning. Sorry,” she says, and I grimace at the painful reminder. My dick sure hasn’t forgotten.
“Oh, so man flu.”
Mirabelle chokes back a laugh and shakes her head. “I’ll be back in like a half hour. Maybe try an ice pack so my uncle doesn’t murder me for being the reason you’re walking bowlegged.”
“I am not acting like I have man flu. Why don’t I knee you in the nuts and see how you like it, Kait?” I ask, and she shakes her head as Mirabelle disappears out the front door, but not before I catch a glimpse of her sweet ass in her leggings. Damn .
“Well, that’d be crazy because I don’t have nuts, and you shouldn’t hurt women.”
“I would never hurt a woman,” I add seriously. It was a joke, but still, I need her to know that.
“I know,” she says, smiling for real now.
I reach for my coffee mug, adjusting how I’m sitting again while trying not to wince because I don’t have man flu. “So, I would normally segue into this better, but Mira’s probably going to be back sooner than she said. Do you know what’s going on with the twins?” I ask, and Kaitlyn immediately looks down at her lap.
“I don’t know,” she mumbles, and it’s as convincing as a steaming pile of shit.
“Kait, please. If you know anything, I need you to tell me.”
Kaitlyn sighs and turns the other way. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to be able to look me in the eyes and tell me whatever it is you know. Pretty damning that you can’t look at me right now.”
“Hunter is mad because Bailey won’t tell him what’s going on with him. I knew Bailey had quit soccer, but he wouldn’t tell me a reason other than he didn’t see the point anymore. He’s been pretty upset since the fire, but every time I ask him what’s wrong, Bailey shuts down.” She shrugs her shoulders, stealing a glance at me.
Don’t get upset with her. She’s still a kid. “Why didn’t you tell me he quit soccer?” Why do I get the feeling that’s not everything she knows?
“Because I thought if I let B sort through his shit without involving you, or Mira, or our parents, it would all be fine. I didn’t think he’d get drunk at school,” she says, and I take a sip of my coffee, trying to process this rationally. I can’t blame Kaitlyn for thinking that. Getting drunk at school is pretty extreme when it comes to teenage rebellion, but wishing she had told me then doesn’t change anything now.
“I get that.” Kaitlyn grabs a pillow and groans into it dramatically, and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “You good?”
“Can I tell you something that you have to promise to keep a secret?” she asks, pulling the pillow down to peek at me.
“Does it involve anyone getting hurt?”
“I don’t think so, but you can’t tell Mira,” she says, and damn, if that doesn’t make me second-guess wanting to know.
“Kait, I want to make that promise, but if it involves Bailey, I don’t know if I can,” I say honestly, and I hate that I have to say it. It’d be so much easier if I could lie to her, but I can’t.
“ IkissedBaileyorhekissedmebutweweredefinitelykissingandnowheisnottalkingtome ,” she rambles, and I’m not sure I caught any of that.
“Um, maybe I’m getting fucking old, but I need you to repeat that slower.”
Her cheeks are flaming red, as if someone took an insane amount of makeup and painted them with it. Kaitlyn nods, hugging the pillow to her chest. “I kissed Bailey, or he kissed me. I’m not sure who started it, but we kissed the other night. I don’t know what to do, Henry.”
Okay, pushing aside the fact that hearing about my sister kissing a boy makes me want to shove nails into my ears, it entirely catches me off guard. I’m not sure what I thought she was going to say, but it definitely wasn’t that.
“Can you say something?” Kaitlyn asks, and I shake my head.
“Need a minute,” I say, getting up to take a second to think.
Kaitlyn and Bailey kissed?
She wants me to keep that a secret from Mirabelle? Fuck , Mirabelle is going to kill me if I don’t tell her, but how do I share that when Kaitlyn told me in confidence?
Goddamn, this ice pack better help, or Owen is going to kill me. Who knew Mirabelle’s knees were lethal? I certainly didn’t, or I would have stayed on the fucking floor.
I snag the ice pack from the fridge and make my way back to the living room where Kaitlyn is texting on her phone. She immediately puts it away when she spots me, and looks like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Are you mad?”
“I’m not mad. Mildly irritated you didn’t tell me sooner, but I’m also trying to pretend you didn’t tell me at all. I’m your older brother, and I know exactly how teenage boys think, and you picked a Walker boy?” I ask, leaving the rest unsaid. I know I’ve given her shit over the years about the twins, but I didn’t think anything would happen.
“I feel like you can’t judge me because you’re literally dating the Walker girl,” Kaitlyn turns it back around on me, and she has a fair point. Except Mirabelle and I aren’t dating for real. Oh shit, I guess I can lie to my sister. The real question here should be: am I lying to my sister, or am I lying to myself?
“This isn’t about me right now.”
“Well, maybe it should be. I mean, maybe you can help me figure out what’s going on. How did you feel the first time you kissed Mirabelle?”
How did I feel?
Like I had a thousand cameras shoved in my face and she made every single one of them disappear.
“Mira . . . she has a way of making me feel like I can’t breathe,” I say, scratching the back of my neck.
“That sounds scary,” Kaitlyn says, and I think that’s definitely the right way to describe it.
“Yeah. It is, but she also has a way of being the only person who can make me feel like I’m breathing as well. I’m not sure how that’s supposed to help you figure out what’s going on, because I don’t even know what’s going on,” I say, moving the ice pack. I think it’s helping, or at the very least, the idea of it’s helping.
Kaitlyn looks at me like I’m stupid, probably because I am. At least I’m aware of it.
“You don’t know what’s going on?”
“Are you surprised?” I ask, laughing at my own expense.
“You’re in love with her,” she says, and my jaw unhinges. Kaitlyn laughs, shaking her head at me. “God, you are stupid.”
“I’m not in love with her,” I say, shaking my head. First, Andrew and now Kaitlyn? “We’re supposed to be talking about Bailey, not me.”
“I don’t know anything else, so we might as well talk about you and Mirabelle.”
“I love you, but we’re not talking about my relationship with Mirabelle,” I insist.
“You also love her.”
I think Mirabelle had the right idea; maybe I need to go for a run too.