Chapter 28 Henri
Henri
Go Liam!” I scream his name as he rushes toward the line so loudly that multiple people look my way. Watching him on the initial drop sent my heart racing, and that was before I noticed he had fallen behind. But he closed the gap and it was glorious to watch.
He commanded so much power, his body pushing to reach its full potential. I can only imagine what it was like to watch him when he was younger.
Liam crosses the finish line, the blades of his skis swooshing across the snow. Just like that, I’m racing to him, feet pounding on the packed snow, because today I’m his girlfriend, and I want to share every ounce of joy I have with him.
“Folks, give us one minute to replay the footage and determine the winner for this final matchup of our first round,” an announcer says.
Security and cameras stand in the way for a moment, but June is there with a clipboard and tells them to let me pass. Liam’s just clicked out of his skis when I barrel into him and kiss him hard, my arms flying around his neck. It takes him a moment to clutch me to him and match his intensity.
“What’s all this excitement for? We don’t know if I won,” Liam says, breathless, as his mouth pulls away, giving me a clear view of the unbridled grin on his face as his arms still press me against him.
“I don’t care if you win. You were so . . . so . . .” I fumble for the right word. “Beautiful out there. And it seemed like you had a good time. I want to celebrate that.”
“Thank you for pushing me to do this.” He shakes his head, hair slick against his face, eyes glossy with wonder. “I forgot how close to flying you get when you’re moving that fast down a hill. Fuck. I feel it vibrating through me.”
The announcer’s voice returns. “Moving on to the next match up is Dulcet Point’s very own, Liam Hughes!”
The crowd erupts around us, but Liam doesn’t seem to notice, his attention fully on me. “Since you don’t care about me winning, does this mean I don’t get a victory kiss?” He cocks a brow and smirks.
“Oh shut up.” I wipe that smug expression right off his face as my lips meet his for everyone to see, garnering a new wave of cheers and a flurry of whistles from the crowd.
Liam and I watch the first round of the women’s matchups. Both Mrs. Wilson, Liam’s teammate, and Laura, make it on to the next round. He lingers for one of the men’s rounds, but has to get to the lift to prepare for his race against Kurt.
“I’m going to kick his ass,” he tells me before leaving. And there’s something deeply sexy about this confident side of him that sends currents of warmth rolling through me.
I make sure to reclaim my spot at the front to get a clear view of the action.
My excitement almost, almost, makes me forget the cold.
With gloved hands, I pull down the brown beanie to cover the tips of my ears.
I couldn't find the red one Liam gifted me, but I'm sure it's just mixed up somewhere in my clothes.
“Cute hat,” Laura says as she saunters up beside me.
“Thanks. I watched your race; you killed it.” She did. It was obvious from the moment she and her opponent burst out of the gates that Laura was the clear winner.
“We’ll see how the rest goes. There’s some absolute monsters in the competition.” She huffs and rolls her eyes as the countdown beeps, marking the start of the next race. “Kurt won’t shut up about going up against them.”
“He’s not going to. Liam is going to take him out,” I tell her with absolute confidence.
“Maybe. Either way, we should all get a drink later and chat. I miss having you around. Like, seriously, it’s not the same. Is your number the same? I could text you and we could make plans,” she says, all so easily.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
Her brows pinch. “What? I thought—”
“I’m fine with talking to you, but we’re not friends, Laura. You can’t just jump back into my life now that I have everything figured out and I won’t be a burden to you,” I say.
“God. It’s not like it was simple for us, Henri. Of course I wanted to be there for you, but our parents told us talking to you might link them to your dad and we’d all be in trouble,” she says so genuinely that I can’t stop the shocked laugh that tumbles out of me.
“You only believe that because you wanted to. We were nineteen, our texts wouldn’t mean shit.
It’s not like we were working at the company.
It might be a simple thing that seems like it’s in the past now, but I lived it and it’s a part of me.
I’m proud of the person I’ve become and everything I’ve learned,” I tell her and mean every word.
I didn’t have any control over what happened to me; I could never have predicted it.
But I survived it and am strong for it. I can always count on myself and have learned how to know when I can truly count on those around me.
“I’m happy you seem to have a good life and I hope that continues, but I don’t need you in mine. Not anymore.”
I leave her and go search for a cup of apple cider before finding a spot on the opposite side of the hill just as Liam gets into position. I cheer him on until my throat burns.
“And look at the way he throws his helmet and just storms off,” I say, scrolling to the saved recording on my phone to the end of his race with Kurt. Liam beat him by a solid three-second margin.
After, he won his match in the quarterfinals but lost in the semifinals against a guy he told me he competed against when he was younger. Mrs. Wilson ended up losing her second race, so they didn’t end up placing as a team.
We hung around for the rest of the races, the winner of the tournament being a pair of international title holders from Sweden, before heading to the house and taking advantage of it being empty.
Now, showered and thoroughly satiated, we’re rewatching the event on my phone as we sit on the couch. Outside, the sun is sinking low.
“Wow. He’s so red. I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” Liam says, taking the phone from my hands. “We better avoid him tonight at the gala.”
“Or at least wait until he’s had a drink or two. He’s always been a happy drunk.”
“What do you mean you don’t have a dress? You planned this whole damn thing and don’t have something to wear to the party?” Pen’s voice reverberates through the house as the front door slams open.
“I’ll just wear the one from last year. It’s not a big deal,” June counters as she comes into view through the doorway, making a beeline for the stairs.
“We’re wasting time arguing. I have an hour before I need to be back at the lodge to do final checks.
You’re lucky I agreed to come over for this long. ”
“It will be obvious in the pictures and it will look sloppy since you’re in charge of all this,” Pen points out.
June stops mid-stride and huffs, obviously irritated that her younger sister has made a valid point. “And where exactly am I supposed to get a dress?”
“We could swap,” I offer. “We look about the same size, so it could work.”
“Oh my gosh, yes. Henri, please come up and get ready with us.” Pen beams.
I look to Liam to see if it’s okay. I want to spend as much time as I can with him, but it would be fun to have a little girl time. He untangles his arms from me and cocks his head to the door. “Go. There’s a fashion emergency you need to solve.”
The dress I brought has been hanging in the closet since the night I arrived to keep it from wrinkling.
June gasps when she tries it on, the black A-line silhouette hugging her in all the right places before flaring into a paneled chiffon skirt that she grips as she spins, staring at herself in the mirror.
It’s strapless, which puts her toned back and arms on display.
“Okay, fuck you for looking so good,” Pen says, then looks at me. “Do you have a second magic dress in there for me?”
“Unfortunately, no. But I can help you pick one if you let me raid your closet,” I tell her, unable to stop grinning. Clothes have this power to make us feel like our best selves.
I help Pen pick out a coquettish emerald green dress with puff sleeves and lace trim detailing that looks right out of the seventies before changing into the black off-the-shoulder dress that June was going to wear.
We all crowd into June’s room, decorated with delicate shabby chic florals, but is fairly sparse and impeccably clean.
Pen blasts songs I haven’t heard since middle school, and she and I sing along as I work to give June a blow out, taking breaks to use the massive round brush like a microphone.
I’ll admit, it’s far better than getting ready alone.
Thirty minutes in, Pen has to give up on looking over June’s shoulder at the vanity as she attempts to apply fake eyelashes and disappears into a bathroom to finish the job.
I’m finishing up the top layer of June’s thick brown hair when the end of the brush hits the back of the wooden chair June is sitting on and tumbles to the ground.
I kneel down to grab the hairbrush from where it’s rolled under the bed, damned round barrel. My fingers connect with the familiar glossy pages of a magazine and pull it toward me, close enough that I can see, but so it’s still concealed under the bed. Spitfire.
I look further and there’s a whole stack.
Holy shit.
“Did it really go that far? If you can’t get it I bet my Mom has one we can borrow,” June says and I nearly bump my head at that sudden sound of her voice.
“Got it.” I crawl out and grab a magazine with me. “And I found this. You have an entire stack of them down there.” I give her a look that I hope conveys that I will see right through any bullshit she tries to spin.