Chapter Forty - Mirabelle
CHAPTER FORTY
Mirabelle
THE HOUSE IS empty when we get back. Wilson is still in New York with the team, so we have the house to ourselves.
I’m mentally and physically drained from the last twenty-four hours.
“I’m going to go lie down. I didn’t sleep much last night,” I say, as I climb the stairs with my suitcase, heading to my room—not Henry’s.
I don’t bother looking behind me to see if he heard me because all I think he wants right now is a fight, and I refuse to give one to him.
I fall into a dreamless sleep almost instantly after curling up in my bed.
When I wake to the feeling of lips pressing against mine, it’s dark outside, and the smell of whiskey is pungent. I’m groggy enough it takes me a moment to process Henry kissing me.
“Mirabelle,” Henry slurs, breaking the kiss as he rests his head in the crook of my neck.
“Henry, are you drunk?” I ask, and he lifts his head.
“Kinda.”
And then his lips are on mine again.
It’s a drug I can’t resist. I give into the feeling of being loved by Henry as his mouth coaxes a moan from mine. I hold onto his shoulders, getting lost in the moment as Henry moves to position himself over me. “Mirabelle, you’re so . . . beautiful. I need you. Please.” He struggles to get the words out and then everything that’s always felt so right feels so wrong.
The bitter taste of whiskey is the only thing I can taste, and I immediately push Henry away so I can collect my thoughts.
“You’re drunk,” I say, sanity coming back to me.
“So what?”
“I’m not doing anything with you while you’re drunk. You’re not in the right state of mind,” I say, moving further away from him on the bed.
“But I want you.”
I feel something inside me break when I hear those four words. I know this isn’t about me in any way, but this isn’t Henry. “You couldn’t even look at me earlier, but now that you’re drunk, you want to fuck me?”
“Fine. We don’t have to fuck,” Henry says, as I turn the lamp on to look at him.
His eyes are unfocused and bloodshot; quite frankly, he looks terrible. I give myself a second to pause, trying not to react impulsively, but I’m not perfect. I’m hurt by how he treated me on the plane and by how it felt to have every single call rejected last night.
“Henry, I told you I’m here for you. Let me be here for you.”
“And I told you I don’t want to talk.”
“I think if you know—”
Henry scoffs, and I don’t recognize him. “Maybe Bailey is right. You’re so caught up in your perfect fucking world that it’s hard for you to understand my entire world is falling apart. My own mother didn’t want me, and that’s something you’ll never be able to understand. I don’t want to hear what you think. Life isn’t always gold medals, Mirabelle. I was wrong to think you’d understand all I need right now is a little time to process my shit.”
All the air rushes from my lungs with that well-placed blow. “I’m trying to give you time, but I don’t think it’s wrong to want to help you. I-I can’t believe you’d even say my brother is right.” This is wrong. I don’t want to fight him. “I know you’re going through a lot, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like shit, when all I’ve ever done my entire life is love you. I’ve spent years chasing after you, Henry. I fucking love you, and I hate that I can’t fix this for you, because it physically pains me to see you hurting. I can’t do anything if you won’t talk to me. Tell me you need time, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you want.”
Henry straightens. “You’re right. You can’t fix this, so stop trying.” That’s what he got from that?
“I love you, so respectfully, no. I’m not going to stop trying.”
“Fine.” He gets up, wobbling as he does. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care. ”
It feels like I’m breathing in shards of glass. “I will.”
I grab my still packed suitcase, moving toward the door to carry it down the stairs quickly.
I’m not running away this time, but I am leaving to save us before we’re broken beyond repair.
~
It’s been two weeks since I left Henry’s house in the middle of the night to start staying at my family’s home again. The renovations from the fire were completed a couple of weeks ago, but there was never a reason to leave Henry’s until now.
I’ve spent one hundred percent of my time doing my best to avoid him. I’ve grown more irritable by the day, glaring at my coworkers if they even look at me the wrong way. Not even Miley is willing to push my buttons.
We’re not broken up, but we’re not together either. It’s a complicated game of chicken, with both of us waiting for the other to make a move.
I haven’t been able to avoid him completely, considering being his shadow is part of my job. Our exchanges are quick, but they feel like well-placed shots to the heart when Henry looks at me with bags under his eyes and no hint of his beautiful smile to be found.
It takes everything in me not to help him, but he made it clear he doesn’t want my help. This is something he wants to figure out on his own. Henry doesn’t seem to be doing a great job, but that’s not my problem at the moment. He wants space, so I’m giving it to him because I couldn’t possibly understand what he’s going through.
I told him I loved him, and he didn’t bat an eyelash. He didn’t even acknowledge I said it.
Instead, he said that he didn’t care, and I was allowed to do whatever I want.
I haven’t cried, though. It feels silly, but I’m proud of myself for that.
I do miss Henry, his smile, how I wake up with him holding me tightly to his chest—
I shake my head, pulling myself from my thoughts to resume responding to the email I received this morning from my old coach. She wants to know if I’m interested in a coaching position at the gym where I used to train, but am I ready to be a coach?
I look around the cubicles we all have, and I honestly don’t know if I would miss this job. I love being in the stadium and I love my work enough, but the environment in this department is toxic. It’s not healthy for me, so maybe a change of scenery would be good for me.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, typing quickly to hit print before I can change my mind.
Holding the document in my hands is freeing.
Dear Mrs. Arnold,
Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position, effective two weeks from now. Thank you for all the valuable skills I’ve learned from you during my time here.
Sincerely,
Mirabelle Walker
A slow smile grows on my face, and I know that I’m doing the right thing. This isn’t where I need to be right now.
My feet carry me swiftly to the glass paneling outside Stacey’s office, and she motions for me to come in. I move to lay the paper on the desk in front of her, but Stacey snatches it out of the air to read it before I can.
“You’re quitting?” she asks, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
“I am. I’ll work the next two weeks, but no longer than that.”
Stacey stares at the paper and then looks up at me, opening and closing her mouth a couple of times. I’ve rendered her speechless. I suppress my giggles, which are desperate to come out.
“Give me time to coordinate with the front office and Henry’s team to figure out if they wish to replace you. After that, you’re free to do as you please, Ms. Walker,” she says, which is exactly what I expected. I knew Stacey would be disappointed, but I respect the hell out of her.
I nod, agreeing. “I would like to make a request . . . if that’s okay?”
Again, I’ve surprised her. “You walk into my office to quit a job most people would kill for, and then you have the nerve to ask me for a favor?”
“It’s not a favor, it’s a request. You’re free to say no, but I don’t think you’ll want to,” I say, holding my ground as my stomach flutters with nerves. I hope she decides to listen to me, because this is something I need to do before I leave. I know I have the means if Stacey won’t print it, then I can take it to someone else, but I’d prefer to give her this parting gift as a thank you.
Stacey leans back in her chair. “Okay. I’m listening.”