Chapter Thirty-Three - Henry
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Henry
I FUCKED UP. I know it, and I’ve spent the last two weeks paying for it too. I’m impressed by how successful Mirabelle’s been at avoiding me, taking full advantage of the team having last weekend off for our bye week to fly out and see JJ. She’s ensured that anytime she’s standing close enough for me to talk to her, there are enough people in the room that we can’t speak freely without everyone knowing the truth about our relationship.
On the bright side, my image has never looked better.
Too bad I feel like an asshole.
I could have said anything other than “I don’t know,” but I froze. When I told Mirabelle it’s never felt that way, I meant I’ve never felt she was using me to get something. I didn’t mean that I’ve never felt that way toward her, because I have, and I do.
She caught me off guard, and I know I’m an idiot for not recognizing Mirabelle’s feelings, as well as my own.
I’ve been denying my feelings for Mirabelle since the first time she kissed me, if not longer. She’s everything I never let myself consider, because I think I knew that I’d rather live my entire life seeing her as a friend, than have to pretend I don’t know what it’s like to have those intimate moments with her.
To make matters worse, Quinn and Wilson have been bugging me about Mirabelle’s mood, and I’m this close to snapping at them to mind their own damn business.
I hear the familiar click of Mirabelle’s heels behind me. “Allons-y.” 38
I turn my phone off, forgetting about Stacey’s email I was looking at, to follow her. I should be happy Mirabelle’s my shadow again today, because it means I get to be near her, but I hate the spark missing in her. Mirabelle shines brightly in a room regardless of who is around her, but it’s her spark that’s infectious.
Tom is hovering a few feet away and I’m glad that as upset as Mirabelle is with me, she didn’t fire him to prove a point.
“I didn’t think you were going to be with me today,” I say, trying to start a conversation.
“I didn’t want to, but Stacey is busy. I’m going as your fake girlfriend, and I’m supposed to be gathering information about the profile we’re doing to see how you’ll do in a test demographic without being tied to me,” she says, and my shoulders stiffen at the idea of Mirabelle and me not being an us. “Is it a problem I’m going with you?”
Mirabelle’s dark eyes watch me, and I shake my head. “It’s not a problem, Mira. We’re friends,” I say, trying to keep the peace.
She quickly turns away from me, without saying anything, and Tom shakes his head at me behind her, telling me what I already know. That probably wasn’t the right thing to say, and I lengthen my strides to catch up to her.
Unfortunately, before I can try to fix it, Quinn walks around the corner, his face lighting up when she smiles at him.
“Hey, Mira. You busy making Henry look a lot better than he actually is?” he teases, but my jaw clenches as my girl laughs. I can’t even get her to look at me for more than a few seconds, but she can laugh and smile at Quinn?
“Unfortunately, yes,” she says, and I refuse to let anything come out of my mouth. I know I lost that right when Mirabelle told me about her feelings, and I said nothing back.
“Are we still on for tonight?” Quinn asks, and my blood boils underneath my skin.
“Sorry to break this up, but I have somewhere to be, which means Mira does too.”
Quinn startles, caught off guard by the harshness of my tone and Mirabelle shoots me a glare. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you late for anything,” he says, and I know I’m being a territorial asshole, but I don’t care.
I need to go for a run. One long enough that I’m able to clear my head and come up with a plan to tell Mirabelle I have feelings for her. I can’t stand not being on speaking terms.
We walk away, and Mirabelle’s mumbling under her breath, low enough that I can’t hear her. She’s probably wishing I would go to hell, but I’m already there. I sigh, shoving my hands into my pockets as I keep pace with her.
She looks incredible today. Her red blouse is tucked into a black pencil skirt, highlighting her narrow waist, and I can see a hint of lace if I angle my head the right way—
“Seriously, Henry?”
My feet stumble underneath me as I quickly swivel my head to look anywhere but at her chest. “Fuck,” I swear, catching my balance.
“I think what you should be saying is, What the fuck? But don’t worry, I’ll say it for you since the only thing you can say is ‘I don’t know’. What the fuck, Henry?” she demands, resting her hands on her hips. Tom chuckles in the background, because I’m about to get my ass handed to me. “Are you going to say anything?”
“I don’t know what to say,” I reply. “They’re just right there, and I didn’t mean to look, but maybe I kinda did?”
“Je ne sais même pas quoi te dire! Tu es incroyable.” 39
“Que veux tu que je te dise? Tu as de superbes seins?” 40
I can feel all the blood drain from my face. I need someone to put me out of my misery, because I keep fucking up with her.
“ Tu sais qui d’autre pense la même chose? Quinn ,” 41 she responds, and my blood roars. Her smile disappears as quickly as it appears. “You just proved my fucking point. You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either. I’m only good enough for the fake girlfriend position, right?” Mirabelle hisses, and I definitely deserve that.
“That’s not it,” I say, forcing the words out.
Her mouth flattens, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Then what?” If I tell her now, Mirabelle will think I’m only saying it because of Quinn. She won’t believe me. She shakes her head. “Let me guess, you don’t fucking know.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she’s already walking in the other direction like she owns the place.
~
Mirabelle’s at Quinn’s apartment.
A very, very selfish part of me wants to text her to ask how it’s going, but I’d be torturing myself. I’ll find out how it went based on when she gets home. If she comes home tonight.
I hope she comes home tonight.
I continue watching replays from last week’s game, jotting down notes to build on what the coaches and I talked about in our meeting today. I figured I might as well be productive while I wait for her.
My phone rings on the table next to me, and I pick it up on the off chance that it’s Mirabelle calling. To my surprise, it is.
“Hello?” I say, immediately answering the phone, unsure if she meant to call me or not.
“God, I love your voice,” Mirabelle says, but I can barely hear her over all the noise in the background. I almost drop the phone in surprise. The only way this would make sense is if—
“Are you drunk?”
Mirabelle sighs, and I’m praying Tom is with her. “Maybe just a bit,” she admits, slurring her words enough to worry me.
“Do you have Tom or Quinn with you?” I ask, shutting my laptop as I grab my jacket.
“It did not go well with Quinn. I left before dinner was even over. So I came here, and had a couple drinks.”
Thank fuck it didn’t go well with Quinn, but where exactly is here? Why didn’t Tom wait until she came home to leave? Actually, never mind. Mirabelle was probably persuasive enough to convince him she’d be fine.
“Where are you?” I ask, slipping into my sneakers, snagging my keys. “Hello? Mira?”
“Henry?”
“Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”
“You are?”
Climbing into my car, I exhale, trying to keep my voice soft in the hope Mirabelle will be more inclined to tell me so I can get her out of there. “ Mon c?ur , I can’t if I don’t know where you are,” I say while pulling out of the garage, driving toward the gated exit of my neighborhood. God, what the hell happened at Quinn’s?
It takes her a moment to respond, kicking me into overdrive. “I like when you call me that, but it’s confusing if you don’t mean it.”
“I mean it,” I say, my voice thick in my throat.
“I’m at the new club downtown. Tower something,” Mirabelle says, and hearing she’s less than ten minutes away is definitely the best-case scenario here.
“I’ll be there soon. Wait for me, okay?”
“I’ve been waiting, but you didn’t want me,” she slurs, and there’s a crash as the call drops. Did she drop her phone, or hang up on me? Both options are a possibility, but neither makes me worry less.
I hate that Mirabelle thinks I didn’t want her. I do. I want everything with her. I want to call her mine, and make sure she knows I mean it.
I pull up to the curb, pulling cash out of my wallet as I cut past the line, heading straight for the bouncer. I see it in his face that he recognizes me, wordlessly taking the cash after quickly opening the door. I scan the crowd, looking for the familiar blonde who drives me oh so fucking crazy . It’d be helpful if I knew what she was wearing.
A horrifying thought creeps into my mind that she’s passed out somewhere in the building, and I might not be able to find her.
The flashing lights are warping my vision, making it hard for me to see, but I’m not leaving until I find Mirabelle. Finally, I spot her dancing with her hands above her head, her eyes shut as she’s lost in the music. I push through the crowd until I’m behind her as Mirabelle turns, her eyes widening before she throws herself into my chest. I catch her, wrapping my arms around her instinctively.
“You came,” Mirabelle says, smiling at me in a manner she hasn’t since I messed everything up. Fuck, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she doesn’t ever question again whether I’ll show up.
“Of course I came.”
“I’m so sorry I had dinner with Quinn. I thought I could make myself like him, but he wasn’t you. I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to want someone else, but I wish I wasn’t like this,” Mirabelle rambles, and I smooth her hair.
“It’s okay,” I try to reassure her as I spot someone out of the corner of my eye shining a light at us. Are you fucking serious?
Mirabelle doesn’t notice, shaking her head. “It was so dumb, but it felt nice to be wanted, even if it wasn’t by you. I’m trying, but maybe I’m not meant to find a love like my parents have.”
Yeah, we’re definitely continuing this conversation when she’s sober so I can clear up all of this to make sure there’s no mistaking how badly I want her.
“Mira, you’re drunk. I think we should get you home, okay?”
She looks at me, stepping out of my touch as strobe lights momentarily blind me. I shield my eyes, seeing the look of hurt on her face makes me want to do nothing more than pull Mirabelle back into my arms and kiss her senselessly so I can fix whatever it is that I just said wrong, but I’m not going to do that when she’s drunk.
“I don’t want to leave. I’m having a great time, Henry.”
I would consider believing Mirabelle if she wasn’t wobbling where she stands, looking like she’s on the verge of throwing up. “How much have you had?” I ask, hoping that Mirabelle will give in this one time.
Mirabelle’s face goes white, and she takes a step back, but I don’t think she’s going to get very far.
I make a decision before Mirabelle disappears into the crowd, pulling her back to me, lifting her like she weighs nothing. “No. We’re leaving,” I insist, making the choice for her before she gets sick in front of all these people with cameras on their phones.
“Put me down.” She shrieks during an unfortunate lull in the music and if people weren’t looking at us before, they are now. We only have a matter of moments before they figure out who we are, if they haven’t already.
I put my mouth next to Mirabelle’s ear, speaking clearly so she can hear how serious I am as I set her on her feet, but I don’t remove my hands from her. “No. You are underage and drunk out of your mind. There is no reason for you to stay unless you’re looking to be tomorrow’s headline. I will put you down if you want to walk, or I can carry you.” I doubt she could even walk out by herself, but at least I’m giving her the option.
She nods as I spot flashes from the pictures being taken around us.
“Fuck, we need to get out of here. Are you walking or am I carrying you?” I ask, moving us further away as more people turn our direction.
“Carry me please.”
I’m going to have to call Stacey to give her a heads up about this. She’s going to fucking kill me, and probably Mirabelle.
Mirabelle sways as I turn her, keeping my face angled downward. “I need you to jump a little, and wrap your legs around my waist.” She’s ungraceful, but I’m able to adjust her quickly, securing Mirabelle in a better position that allows us to move more easily through the crowd. Mirabelle tucks her face into my chest, letting her hair hide her face like a curtain.
“Please don’t throw up on me,” I say, making Mirabelle snort.
“I’m not going to throw up on you.”