Chapter Forty-Five - Mirabelle
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Mirabelle
THE ROAR OF the stadium is loud around me. I’m not surprised, considering how at the beginning of the season, everyone thought Henry would never be able to lead us to the playoffs.
Tom is sitting by the door of the private room where we’re watching the game, but you can still hear everything going on outside.
My family is in their box, and I’m going to try joining them later, but I need to work up to it. I’m already nervous about the conversation I need to have with Henry after the game, and there’s only so much I can handle at a time.
Oh fuck. I think I’m going to be sick.
I twist the bouquet of flowers I brought in my hands as a peace offering, and I hope he accepts them. Honestly, I wouldn’t be able to blame him if he didn’t.
“Mirabelle, you’re going to destroy those flowers before you can give them to him if you keep twirling them,” Tom says, and I groan, setting them down on the table.
“Sorry, you’re right,” I mumble, taking a seat in the chair as I watch the screen on the wall broadcasting the game, waiting for a glimpse of Henry. “Do you think it’s dumb I got him flowers?” I ask, peeking in Tom’s direction.
“Henry won’t think it’s dumb if it means something special to you.”
“Are you sure?” My leg won’t stop bouncing, and Tom raises his eyebrows at me.
“I’m sure.”
I exhale, refocusing on the screen.
The talk with my mom was exactly what I needed to hear, and I weighed the pros and cons of being with Henry, and being without him. The pros of being with him outweighed every single con I could come up with.
I want to be with Henry, even if he doesn’t believe he’s deserving of my love. I’ve never wanted to be with anyone else.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, extremely confused why Uncle Owen is calling me, when the Panthers are supposed to be walking onto the field shortly. I answer, holding it up to my ear. “Hello?”
“Did you come today with your family, or did you stay at the house?” he asks urgently, and Tom is looking at me with concern.
“I’m here in a private room with Tom. What’s going on?”
“I need you in the locker room as quickly as you can get here,” Uncle Owen says.
“The locker room? Why?” I ask, but the line drops. “He hung up,” I say, looking at Tom confused.
“Who is asking you to go to the locker room?” Tom asks, handing me the hat we used to get me into the stadium without drawing everyone’s attention to me. I’m wearing the jersey Henry gave me earlier in the season, along with jeans and sneakers, so at least I’ll blend in.
“My uncle,” I say, pulling the hat low to hide my face, leaving the rest of my things in the room.
Tom leads the way, getting us there without anyone seeing, and I slip into the locker room. Every single player looks at me, and I feel my face flush bright red under the attention. I breathe a sigh of relief when Wilson walks toward me, a warm smile on his familiar face, but I’m distracted by the arguing in the background.
“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Wilson says, grabbing my hand to pull me along.
“Why am I here?” I ask, trying to keep up with his long strides.
“I already told you I’m not going out there unless it’s wearing this jersey,” Henry says firmly, not seeing me because his back is to me. What’s wrong with his jersey?
“Price, I’m sympathetic to the big romantic gesture you’re trying to do for my niece, but unless you’ve legally changed your last name to Walker, the league isn’t going to let you wear that jersey. All you’re going to do is rack up fines, and I can’t play you without the whole team facing penalties,” my uncle argues, and I realize instead of Price in block letters on the back of Henry’s jersey, it reads Walker with his number below it.
Oh. That’s why I’m here.
“Then I’m not going out there.”
Oh my god. I know I’m hallucinating. Henry did not have an official jersey made with my last name on it.
“It’s a fucking playoff game. Your teammates did nothing to deserve their quarterback—” My uncle falters, finally noticing me. “Thank god. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. He won’t listen to me.” Uncle Owen scoffs, throwing his hands up in the air.
When Henry turns around to look at me, it feels like the world has stopped spinning and time stands still.
His eyes widen as he blinks, rubbing them as if he can’t believe I’m actually here.
“Hi.” I offer a short wave, and I immediately feel my cheeks burn from mortification. Waving? I seriously couldn’t think of anything better?
“Mirabelle?”
Oh god, I messed up thinking I was doing the right thing by pushing Henry away.
“How are you here?” he asks, and I shrug.
“Haven’t you heard my dad used to be someone important here, or something?” I joke, and an impatient look from my uncle tells me I need to hurry this up. Got it. This isn’t our romantic reunion yet. I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs. “You’re wearing the wrong jersey,” I say, and Henry shakes his head.
“I’m not.”
It’s the intensity of his gaze that tells me he means it. “Henry, they’re not going to let you play. This game is more important than the last name on your jersey,” I say, and he drags a hand through his dark hair.
“Is it?” he questions, rendering me fucking speechless.
I’ve missed him more than words could ever try to explain.
“I-I can’t be the reason you’re not on the field with your team today. I would never forgive myself, so if you won’t do it for them, do it for me,” I say, and Henry looks as torn as I feel. Uncle Owen stops his pacing as an official comes up to him, and it’s now or never.
“I’d like to make it clear I’m only doing this for you,” he says, pulling off the jersey, and I can’t resist smiling as the whole locker room erupts into cheers when Henry pulls the proper one over his gear.
“Thank fuck, get your asses out to the tunnel before we’re fucking late,” Uncle Owen yells, and the locker room explodes into chaos.
I turn to disappear the way I came, when my hand is caught, stopping me. “Can I see you after the game?” Henry asks, and I hate the uncertainty in the question. I put that fear in him, but we’re stronger together than we are apart.
“Only if you win,” I say, knowing he needs a challenge, and he grins.
“You can count on it,” Henry promises, stepping away to follow the team, but before he disappears from view, he glances back to see if I’m still standing there.
I’m not going anywhere.
~
“Is it true you almost didn’t play today because you refused to take off a jersey with your number and the last name Walker?” Erin Marshall, a rising sideline reporter, asks Henry in the postgame interview playing on the television in the private room.
“Yeah, it is,” Henry confirms as if it’s an everyday occurrence for him.
“Why would you risk it during playoffs?” she asks, and Tom nudges me.
“You could be down there with him. It looks like quite the celebration after the win they just pulled off,” Tom suggests.
“I’m good here,” I say, listening for his answer.
Henry smiles, and it’s the one usually reserved for me. I’m a little jealous about sharing it with everyone, but his next sentence makes up for it. “Because I’m going to marry Mirabelle Walker, and being loved by her is worth risking everything.”
Shut the fucking front door.
“Did he really—”
“I told you not to be worried about the flowers,” Tom says, and I’m wondering if I’m stuck inside a fever dream.
It feels like forever before Henry steps through the door and Tom exits.
A sense of calm washes over me, all my anxiety finally disappearing now that I’m in the same room as Henry. “I know it’s my fault we’re not together right now, because I stupidly told you no when you asked me to forgive you. I thought it was the right thing to do, but I think it caused us both a lot of unnecessary pain,” I say, twisting the bouquet of flowers in my hands.
“Mirabelle—” Henry begins, moving closer to me.
“I’m not finished,” I interrupt, offering him the wildflowers I picked out. He looks at them, confused, and I take that as my cue to continue. “My dad has always bought flowers for my mom. I asked him once why he did it, and he told me the fact he wanted to buy them was how he knew she was the one . He said remembering to do the small things for someone shows how important they truly are to you. I know it might be weird for me to be the one giving you flowers, but I want to remember to do the small things for you because I love you.”
Please take the flowers, Henry.
Henry’s fingers brush over mine as he takes them from me, sparking electrical shocks through my body. “I don’t think anyone has ever gotten me flowers before,” he says, making me wonder if this is how Dad feels when buying them for Mom.
“I know roses are standard, but I thought they were a little cliché, so—”
“Je les aime et toi,” 54 he states, staring directly into my soul.
“Vraiment?” 55 I whisper, and Henry sets the flowers down carefully.
Henry pulls me into his arms, and I instantly wrap mine around his strong torso, pressing my face into his chest. “Vraiment,” 56 he confirms, holding me tight. I’m certain there’s no better feeling than having Henry’s arms wrapped around me.
I feel lighter than I have in weeks. Henry rests his chin on the top of my head, and I breathe deeply.
I feel like I’m home.
“Can it be my turn to talk?” Henry asks after a few minutes, and I look up at him.
“Of course.”
I pull away, but Henry intertwines our fingers, pulling me into his lap after he sits in one of the chairs at the table. His brow furrows as he thinks of the right words to say, and I squeeze his hand reassuringly to let him know I’m not going anywhere.
He exhales slowly, shaking his head, turning away.
I use my free hand to turn his face to me. “Henry, what is it?”
“I saw Allison at the last game. She showed up right before kickoff, demanding to be let in,” he says. I can’t help the little gasp that escapes, because this explains why he looked miserable during that game. “I always knew it could happen, but I never thought she’d actually show up.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. You were right when you said I needed to face my demons. I was planning on going to see her after that game before postseason began, but she saved me a trip.”
Oh Henry.
My heart melts for him, this incredible man.
“I had them put her in a private room—actually, I think it could have been this one for all I know—until after the game. Allison made excuses, saying she’s doing better and wants to be a part of my life again. That’s what all the phone calls have been about.”
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I wrote her a check on the spot for five hundred thousand and asked her to pick: me or the money,” he says, running his thumb back and forth over the back of my hand. “She picked the money, which I expected, but I told her to never call me again, and if she did, I’d file a restraining order before the phone call was over.”
“This might be a dumb question, but are you okay?”
He chuckles, lifting our intertwined hands up to press a kiss to my knuckles. “Believe it or not, yeah . . . I’m okay. I thought I had this void in me because my birth mother didn’t love me enough to stay, but the truth is, I have a mother who picked me—who chose to love me, regardless of biology.”
Tears spring to my eyes because that might be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard him say. “I’m so happy for you.”
“The only thing I had left to do was convince you that we belong together, but I guess you came to that conclusion all on your own. I even made a list,” Henry says, and I laugh, wiping my eye as a tear escapes.
“You made a list?”
He smiles warmly, lighting up the whole room. “I did. I know how much you like checking things off, and everything on it seems inevitable for us, but it could be fun to check them off together.”
“Can I see it?” I ask, and my head explodes when he pulls it out of his back pocket, handing it to me.
Henry’s to-do list:
Convince Mirabelle to forgive me
Move in together
Propose
Take her last name
Adopt a dog
Kids?
Learn to salsa
Bonus points
Grow old together
Make a new list together
My vision floods with tears, and I didn’t think it was possible to feel this understood. Henry wipes my cheeks gently with his thumb. “ Mon c?ur, don’t cry.”
“ Don’t cry? You can’t write all this and expect me to not cry,” I say, sniffling as I try to regain control over my emotions. “Is there a pen in here?”
“Do you have one in your bag?” he asks, reaching for it, and thankfully, there is.
I pull the cap off and check the first thing off the list. He’s right, I do like to check things off.
“I love you,” I say, smiling widely at the man I’ve loved my entire life.
“I love you too,” he echoes, leaning forward to kiss me, making the whole world fade away.