Chapter Thirty-Nine - Mirabelle
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Mirabelle
HENRY WON’T ANSWER any of my calls or texts.
Penelope came into the room a few minutes too late, wanting to know what was taking Chris so long, but instead she found me frozen in horror on the couch and her husband crying on the floor. She pieced together what transpired based on Chris’s state as he kept repeating the same sentence over and over again. Penelope explained everything as best she could.
Chris and Allison divorced just before Henry turned three. They had joint custody for almost a year, alternating weeks while custody was being decided, but after things went south in the divorce, my father hired a private investigator to look into Allie to see if there was anything that could help Chris win full custody. Allison would always ask Chris for money to take Henry out during her weeks, and Chris would hand over the money because he wanted his son to have fun with his mother. The private investigator discovered Allison was pocketing the money and leaving Henry unattended for hours on end while she went out with her friends. She was charged with child endangerment, and full custody was awarded to Chris.
Penelope lived in the same house as Chris and Henry, helping out in a pinch if Chris needed help with Henry, as he was starting his own accounting firm. It took off when my dad referred Chris to other players on the team, helping it quickly grow into one of the best practices in the Wilmington area.
When the divorce was finalized, the lawyers agreed Chris would only be required to pay alimony for two years, but when the payments stopped, Allison started calling Chris to ask for more money. He refused, telling her she wouldn’t see a penny more. It sent Allison into a spiral, especially when she showed up at the house, and Penelope answered the door. They were still living together as roommates, but it was slowly turning into something more.
Henry had just started kindergarten when she showed up at his school to pick him up, and legally, the school couldn’t withhold Henry from her as there was no restraining order in place and she was listed on all his paperwork as his biological mother.
She didn’t call Chris, though. She called my parents, knowing—as Henry’s godparents—just how much they loved him. Allison played them to her advantage, aware that they would do anything for Henry, so she threatened to take Henry and never come back unless they sent her five hundred thousand dollars. She promised if they sent her the money, she’d bring him back, and no one would hear from her again.
My parents paid the ransom without a second thought, and Allison brought Henry back unharmed that same night. Chris wanted to press charges, but my dad argued it was easier to let her keep the money. A restraining order was filed to prevent the same thing from happening again using the messages Allison had sent Chris asking for money, and they all agreed to never tell Henry.
None of them wanted Henry to find out because they thought it would be easier for him to think his mom abandoned him rather than to learn she had kidnapped him for ransom. Everyone thought they were protecting him.
It was the last time any of them saw or heard about her until I told Chris that Allison had been calling Henry. It explains a lot, actually.
I’ve been calling Henry for the last twenty minutes, hoping he’ll answer the phone because he needs to hear the truth.
I don’t know where he is, or where he would have gone. I’m not even sure Henry has shoes on. I know the truth won’t make it hurt less, but it does explain a lot.
Chris was trying to warn Henry that the people we love can do inconceivable things, because I truly believe he loved Allison. Despite how it felt and hurt in the moment, he wasn’t comparing me to her. Chris was trying to keep Henry safe in the only way he knew how.
Everything was fine an hour ago, and now, I’m not sure what’s going to happen from here.
Fuck, I can’t believe I let Henry leave without stopping him.
Moving toward the door, I slide into my shoes, trying to call Henry again. Penelope doesn’t even realize I’m leaving, still trying to console Chris, and it feels like I’m intruding by being in the same room as them right now.
I understand why they didn’t tell Henry in the first place, but seriously, what the fuck? If they could keep this a secret, what other ones are they all hiding?
I’m so far out of my depth. By sheer luck, I recall the room number my uncle gave me earlier and knock repeatedly until the door swings open, revealing Uncle Owen’s murderous look.
“This better be a good fucking rea— Mirabelle? ” His face softens when he looks at me, and the dam helping me hold it together breaks. Tears spill down my cheeks at a rapid rate, and his brown eyes widen in surprise. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Where’s Henry?” He opens the door wider, and I lurch forward to hug him as the look on Henry’s face replays on a loop in my head.
“He’s gone. I don’t know where he went. You have to help me find him.” I sob, holding onto his shirt.
“Mira, I can’t understand you. I need you to calm down.”
“Owen? What’s going on?” I vaguely hear Aunt Blake ask as my uncle hugs me and shuts the door.
“I don’t know, Blake.”
Get it together. You can’t help Henry if you’re a blubbering mess. I pull away, hiccuping as I wipe my cheeks. It’s no use, though. “Henry’s gone. I-I don’t know where he is. He won’t answer his phone, and it was really bad,” I ramble, and Aunt Blake pulls me further into their room.
“I thought you two were having dinner with Penelope and Chris tonight? What was really bad?” she asks, and my lower lip trembles.
“We did have dinner with them. Chris and Henry got into a fight after Penelope and Kaitlyn went to bed, and it all went so wrong so fast,” I say, shaking my head, as more tears blur my vision. “Henry knows about what his mom did—how she kidnapped him and held him for ransom. He left, and I don’t know where he is.”
Hastily wiping the tears from my eyes, I see the worried look they exchange, and my heart sinks.
~
The official press release that went out this morning stated Henry had fallen ill with a twenty-four-hour stomach bug and would not be in attendance at the Thanksgiving game.
The actual reason was no one knew if he was actually going to show up today.
Henry did show up, but he was hungover as fuck, and anyone could tell he wasn’t in the right state of mind to play. He was livid they wouldn’t let him suit up, but his mood took a turn for the worse after the Panthers lost their small lead in the last few minutes of the game when the backup quarterback threw a pick-six, putting the Stars in the lead. The second that happened, I looked over at Henry in our private viewing room and could tell he was already blaming himself for the loss.
I tried talking to him, but he didn’t want to talk about any of it: the game, his mom, or where he went last night. None of it.
Uncle Owen had my parents send their private jet to take us home immediately after the game.
Spending my Thanksgiving on a private jet with my hungover boyfriend staring silently out the window after his entire life blew up isn’t exactly how I imagined spending my first holiday as Henry’s girlfriend. I’m not sure anyone could have predicted this is how the trip would go.
I’m trying to read the book I brought, but I keep reading the same paragraph over and over again because I can’t stop glancing in Henry’s direction. He’s been silent the entire plane ride, and I’m trying not to push, but avoiding this isn’t going to make it go away. Henry’s hair is sticking up from how many times he’s run his hands through it, but at least he showered and changed clothes. Henry smelled like the back alley behind a dive bar when he showed up earlier.
I set my book down, getting up to sit in the seat next to him.
“Hey,” I say, hoping Henry will look my way. Except he doesn’t. He just continues staring out the window. “Why don’t you take a nap?”
“I’m not tired,” he answers. On the bright side, at least Henry responded?
“Okay.”
I fidget with my hands as I sit there, unsure of what to do. Should I tell Henry what Penelope told me last night so he knows the full story? Do I continue sitting here or go back to the other side of the plane? I want to help him, but I don’t know how.
“I don’t want to talk, Mirabelle,” he says, scratching his jaw.
“I wasn’t saying anything.”
He finally looks over at me, an unrecognizable look in his eyes, and I think I would rather Henry keep looking out the window than look at me like that again. “No, but I can hear you thinking.”
I hear what he’s saying, but what if by starting this conversation, Henry wants to talk about it? He’s been perfectly fine ignoring me so far today, maybe this is a sign.
“I know you don’t want to talk, but I think we need to,” I say, trying to keep my tone steady.
“No, we don’t.” Okay, so maybe he actually doesn’t want to talk about it.
Henry’s guard is up, and I hate it, but I know better than to ask if he’s okay because it’s quite obvious he isn’t. I wish I could take away all his pain and carry it myself, but he needs to know the truth.
I turn to face him completely. “No, Henry, we do. You left last night and never answered your phone. And then you showed up at the stadium today, expecting my uncle to put you on the field in the state you were in? We have to talk, because you’re hurting.”
“What exactly do you want to talk about? How I’ve always been just a check to cash for the woman who gave birth to me? How everyone in my life has been lying to me? My team lost today because I wasn’t allowed on the field. Sorry, but no, I don’t want to talk about any of it.” He’s shutting down, and if anyone has a right to, it’s Henry.
Tread lightly. I feel my stomach twist, but if I didn’t think the truth would help, I wouldn’t be pushing for him to know. “I’m sorry she couldn’t see the incredible person you have become. I don’t think they were right to hide what she did, but they did it with the right intentions.”
“Mirabelle,” he warns, pulling away as I reach for his hand.
“Henry,” I reply in the same tone, trying to mask how hurt I am from that small movement. “Do you have any idea how worried we were last night? Do you even care?”
It hits me like a ton of bricks why I don’t recognize the look in his eyes. It’s because they’re empty. I’ve seen Henry at many different points in his life over the years, but I’ve never seen him empty. “I’m sorry. Is that what you want me to say?”
“I just want to talk, so you understand where they were coming from. It wasn’t done maliciously. They were trying to protect you.” I exhale, unsure of the right thing to do because I don’t want to fight with Henry. “I want you to know that I’m here for you, whatever you need.”
He looks out the window again, signaling the conversation is over.
I thought I had cried all my tears out last night, but I now feel the familiar sensation of tears threatening to slip past my barriers once more.
I love him.
I want to be there for him, but how can I if he won’t let me?
I get up from my seat to retreat to my original one with my book, positioning myself so the tears beginning to fall can’t be seen by Henry. I’m not sure why I bothered to turn, because he doesn’t look away from the window once.