Chapter Forty-One - Henry
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Henry
I HAVE NO idea what the fuck I’m doing. I’m barely keeping my shit together, but I still have to sit in this fucking meeting with my agent, Calvin, and my marketing strategist, Taylor, while they discuss next moves now that my reputation is better than ever. Supposedly, I’m not at risk of being traded anymore.
They’re scheduling all of the commercials and sponsorship deals for the next six months, and I want to poke my eyes out with the stylus Calvin is using on his iPad.
I miss Mirabelle.
If I’m being honest, I don’t even remember the last conversation I had with her. That whole night after I started drinking is fuzzy. The only thing I’m certain of is that Mirabelle grabbed her suitcase and left.
She’s the fire in my life, and now that Mirabelle’s gone, everything seems dark.
I’m sleepwalking while I’m awake to get through the day before I drown my sorrows in liquor until I fall asleep at night.
Wilson asked where Mirabelle was when the team returned from New York, and I didn’t have an answer for him because I didn’t know. The only question Tom has answered about Mirabelle— despite me paying his salary —is that she’s staying at her family’s house. The police still haven’t fucking found who torched the house, but I know Bash and Thalia upped the security while it was being remodeled. He won’t tell me anything else about how she’s doing because I can “ask her myself”.
The problem with that is I don’t know what to say to Mirabelle when I’m with her.
I scowl at the table, tapping my fingers repeatedly on the surface, only half listening to the conversation until I hear her name.
“—matter with Mirabelle. I think we—” My head snaps up at the sound of her name, effectively cutting Calvin off at my quick movement.
“What about Mirabelle?” I ask, her name rolling off my tongue too easily.
He looks at me confused. “Henry, I called you last week and left you a voicemail about this.”
See, I wouldn’t know about any calls because Allison called me at the beginning of last week, and I threw my phone in the pool. It wouldn’t turn on after I fished it out, and I refuse to get a new one.
It’s somewhat helped my stress levels, knowing Allison can’t get a hold of me.
The only reason I remembered this meeting is because Calvin retrieved me from the training room, where I was working off my hangover from last night. I might be drunk every night, but I’m in the best shape of my life.
“I broke my phone. Haven’t had time to get a new one,” I answer, still waiting for his explanation.
“I’ll get a hold of your assistant to have her get one for you,” he says, making a note on the tablet. “Mirabelle put in her resignation last week. Her last day is this Friday. Since she’ll no longer be employed by the stadium, we have been coordinating with Stacey and have come to the conclusion that the best course of action is to issue a press release explaining the relationship has ended mutually to prevent any backlash against either of you,” Calvin explains, but my brain is still stuck on his first sentence.
Mirabelle resigned?
“I . . .” I trail off, at a loss for words.
She’s leaving, and didn’t even tell me.
“What do you want to do?”
My fingers increase the pace at which they’re tapping on the table. This is for the best. It was only ever supposed to be temporary. “Put out the press release that we ended on mutual terms,” I murmur, the words almost getting stuck in my throat.
Neither of them think anything of it because Mirabelle and I never confirmed to anyone who believed it was fake that we were together. We allowed everyone to think whatever they wanted. It shouldn’t have mattered to them whether we were together or not.
My head is throbbing, and I feel disgusting. They wouldn’t let me shower before the meeting started so I have no doubt I reek of the alcohol seeping from my pores.
She’s leaving.
“Do I need to be here?” I ask, cutting off Taylor.
She looks startled by my outburst. “I guess we’ve covered everything major.”
I nod, pushing up from my chair. “Schedule me for whatever you want and add it to my calendar. I’ll get a new phone sometime this week,” I say, walking out of the room, hearing the door slam shut behind me.
I just can’t bring myself to care anymore.
When I’m drunk, it blocks out all the terrible thoughts in my brain, including the conversation my dad had with me a couple days after we got back from New York. He forced me to listen as he told me everything, but it doesn’t make it hurt less.
Sometimes the fictional version of what you believe to be the truth is better than the factual version.
A whole lot fucking better.
If anything, it fucking hurts more knowing I was only worth five hundred thousand dollars to her. That’s the equivalent to my payoff for one game.
One game.
Clearly now that I’m worth more, she thinks she deserves a higher payout.
When I’m sober, this is what consumes my mind when I’m not thinking about Mirabelle.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t see the person in front of me until the box of things she’s carrying crashes to the floor.
“Watch where you’re going,” she snaps, immediately kneeling to pick up the things, and my eyes widen realizing it’s Mirabelle. I immediately notice Tom’s not with her, but it’s not my place to ask. She quit.
“I’m sorry.”
Her head immediately lifts up, and her mouth opens as she realizes it’s me. “Are you?” she asks, refusing to break eye contact.
So I do.
I crouch down to help her pick up what I caused her to drop. “You’re leaving?” I ask awkwardly, moving to grab her laptop charger at the same time as Mirabelle. She shies away from my touch, allowing me to put it back in the box.
“I’m leaving,” she confirms, and my heart drops.
I drag my hand through my hair, not knowing the right thing to say, but is there a right thing? I torture myself by stealing a glance at her face, only to find Mirabelle already staring back at me.
Her blonde hair is pulled back, but strands are hanging in her face. I fight the urge to brush them behind her ear.
“Good luck,” I say, standing up to walk away.
“Seriously?” Mirabelle calls after me once I’m halfway down the hallway, stopping me in my tracks, but I don’t turn around to look at her. “C’est tout ce que tu trouves à dire après tout ca?” 49
I hang my head and continue walking.
It’s in the best interests of everyone.
~
I’m sitting on the edge of the pool, staring at the water in front of me as I finish my beer. It’s my fourth one of the night, and my thoughts aren’t nearly as loud as they were before.
I can push my parents’ secrets to the back of my mind, but I can’t forget the look on Mirabelle’s face earlier.
She’s fucking leaving.
“So this is what you’re going to do every night? Drink yourself into a blind stupor and then spend the next morning throwing everything up from the night before?” Quinn asks, plopping down to sit next to me, offering me a water bottle.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, making no move to take the water from him.
“Wilson invited me over to try out the new Madden video game, and I thought I’d see if you wanted to join.”
“Busy.”
“Yeah, it really seems like you are.” Quinn scoffs.
“Sorry, I’m not in the mood to pretend I’m fine. Everything is a wreck,” I mumble. I’m sure if Andrew could see me now, he’d push my ass into the pool and tell me to sober up.
“No, not everything. You had the girl, but you pushed her away. That’s your own damn fault.”
“I didn’t push her away, she left,” I retort, racking my brain again for another scrap to add to my memory of the conversation in her bedroom.
“If that’s what you want to call it, but I can’t imagine a scenario where Mira would ever leave you willingly. It was a dick move for me to ask her out, knowing I never stood a goddamn chance, Walker. I felt like a third wheel on a date in my own home because she spent the entire time talking about you with stars in her eyes.”
Why can’t he see that I don’t want to talk? I don’t want to do anything.
“I think the happiest I’ve seen you is when you’re with Mirabelle,” Quinn continues, and my jaw clenches. He’s not wrong.
“Don’t.”
“ Don’t what? Point out what a fucking idiot you are by letting her leave?”
“She deserves better,” I say, despite my stomach rolling at the thought of Mirabelle with someone else.
Quinn looks at me with clear disappointment. “Yeah, maybe she does.”