Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
NOW
“I can’t do this, I can’t do this”, I repeated, continuing to throw things into my overnight bag like I might, maybe could do this.
With Eddie and his easy smiles and bossy attitude gone, my roommates were trying their best to keep my growing doubts at bay. Maybe I shouldn’t be intruding the way I was . Maybe I shouldn’t go All In on a man who dumped me .
Spending an entire weekend in a city you didn’t know, with an ex who you shouldn’t get to know again, did not sound like a great idea. Not for my heart or my head, in which I’d been overthinking ever since I’d left the office.
Now, add the fact that said ex-boyfriend did not want me in said foreign city, and… yeah. Doubts. Many of them.
Not that my editor wanted to hear about them. Or Henry’s manager.
All they saw was what it could do for my article, or their team’s PR. Sure, they were right. The Major League Soccer draft had always been a bit of a mystery to me, and when I’d prepared for this profile, I couldn’t find many articles talking about the process, and behind the scenes of it at all.
So, as someone who enjoyed soccer a fair amount, I’d been excited. An exclusive look behind the curtain! Awesome.
But did it have to be by my ex-boyfriend’s side? As his plus one?
My own groan ripped me out of my thoughts. Frustrated, I fell back to the floor I sat on and looked up at the ceiling. It must’ve been Maeve’s cue because she jumped into motion first.
“She’s losing momentum!” the redhead reported on high alert, moving from my bed to heave me back into a seated position. I did nothing to help her with that.
“Do you need me to repeat it?” Laila asked from the chair by my desk. She whirled around to face us.
Although I faintly shook my head, Maeve was adamant when she said, “STAT!”
“Paula.” Somehow, Laila was in front of me now. On her knees, holding my hand like I was about to go into open heart surgery, and she hadn’t said goodbye yet.
I wanted to grab her by the shoulders, shake her so hard her white-blonde hair ruffled with the motion, and tell her I’m not dying! I just didn’t want to get on that plane tomorrow. But being realistic, who could do that to someone with a face as sweet as Laila’s?
She smiled at me, encouraging and sporting all the glass-half-full energy I was lacking entirely. “You’re about to get an all-expenses-paid weekend away for doing the thing you love,” she reminded me, for the second time in the hour we’d all been holed up in my room. “If that doesn’t tell you you’re a darn good journalist, and that you’re going to write something just as amazing about this, I don’t know what will.” Maeve bumped my shoulder in agreement, still holding my entire body weight up.
“Listen to sweet little Laila,” she hummed in amusement. So close to my ear, it felt a little hypnotic.
“I am.” It was more of a groan than an answer, but at least I began throwing things into my bag again. Which was Maeve’s sign to let go. She beamed at me with a smile that said: successfully averted another crisis.
“And if that doesn’t work,” Riley perked up, giving me a look from where she let her head dangle off the edge of my bed. Her braids sprawled across my floor. “Just remember you’re not only getting paid to do what you love but also get to experience the most expensive city in the world with a man who can afford it.” Henry was filthy rich, yes. But—
“New York isn’t the most expensive city in the world. Zurich is,” I corrected.
Riley shook her head, and for a moment it seemed she might lose consciousness. She turned upright and flopped onto her stomach.
“They’re tied,” she said. “Plus, that wasn’t actually my point.” She leveled me with a look while the blood rushed from her head back to her feet. “Henry’s hot, rich, and you’re about to spend three whole days with him.”
“He’s also her ex-boyfriend,” Maeve argued, getting comfortable against the foot of my bed. She wasn’t even looking at Riley, who was lying on top of it. “For good reason. So whatever it is you’re trying to do here, missy, stop it.”
Although Maeve couldn’t see it, Riley’s hands shot up in playful surrender. Which didn’t stop her from giving me a suggestive wink.
“Just trying to come up with all the reasons why Paula should get on that plane tomorrow,” she said innocently, batting her perfectly winged eyes at the group. At that, Maeve turned to give her a look. “And even though Paula thinks Henry is one of the reasons she shouldn’t.” Her brows rose when she looked back at me. “I think he’s the main reason she should.”
“After the fact her career depends on it,” Laila added quickly, then gave me a thumbs up.
“Yes,” I quirked up. “Most definitely after that.”
I’d prioritized him once before, and it had not turned out well for me. Like, almost-being-kicked-out-of-the-paper and not-getting-an-actual-project-for-an-entire-year, kind of bad.
Despite both Laila and Riley’s encouraging words, and even though Maeve had insisted on watching my go-to comfort movie, I did not sleep last night. I dozed off in sporadic bursts of delusion, yes, but I could not call that sleep.
The only positive? My night wasn’t long enough to grieve the sleep I’d missed out on. At five, my alarm rang for a total of two seconds before I turned it off, because I’d already been on my phone when it did.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t tired, though. Or grumpy from the lack of sleep. I think Henry noticed when the first words I’d said to him were in the coffee-shop line, after airport security. It became glaringly obvious when he asked for my order.
“Coffee,” I grunted, regretfully. Then, as an afterthought I added, “Black.”
“You will hate it,” he warned, and my eyes shot to his with a glare.
“I’ll need it, if you don’t want me to drool on your shoulder for an hour straight.”
Henry huffed in amusement. “I’d survive,” he said before turning to order our drinks anyway.
He seemed to have adjusted to the idea of my coming. Even though he had less of a choice in the matter—an angry manager breathing down his neck seemed more intimidating than an angry editor I’d never see again in a few months—I felt better. Less guilty for imposing.
Equipped with a small bag, my carry on? and a coffee so dark I could smell the bad taste, we marched to our gate. I scowled at my first sip. Somehow, it tasted worse than what I’d had a few weeks ago.
Henry watched me in amusement. “Long night?” he asked.
I smacked my lips in disgust, grimacing. “More like too short.” I shook myself out of the aftertaste, regretting the cup in my hand. “Do people really drink this for enjoyment?” My eyes drifted to him for confirmation.
Henry wiggled the cup in his hands, lips falling into a lazy smile. “Apparently.” To make his point, he took a big sip. Voluntarily! He didn’t even look that tired.
Alright, he didn’t look tired at all.
“You’re a black coffee drinker.” The realization hit like lightning. “I’ve known you for almost four years, and I haven’t seen you drink it once.”
“Obviously.” Amusement edged into his snicker. “Because the first time I picked you up from a shift, you wouldn’t stop complaining about it. If I remember correctly, you said—and this is a direct quote—the smell alone makes you want to shrivel up and die .”
Yes, perhaps working at a coffee shop hadn’t been the best career option.
I blinked up at Henry. “So you just stopped drinking it?”
“When you’re around.”
He said it like it was a given. Like anyone would sacrifice part of their mornings for a college relationship that, statistically speaking, only had a fifty percent success rate to begin with.
“And you really like it?”
Henry shrugged. “It gets the job done.”
And I honestly shouldn’t have expected any other reason for his affinity to black coffee. With Henry, anything that got the job done was a good thing. I still wasn’t over the fact when I forced another sip of battery acid down my throat and blurted, “I’m sorry.”
His eyes flicked to mine, brows drawing together. “Honestly, coffee is not even all that good for you.” How someone could think anything that tasted like this could be healthy was beyond me. “So, no need to be sorry.”
But that’s not what I meant.
“No, no.” I waved him off. “For coming, I mean. I’m sorry for intruding like that.”
We came to a halt at our gate and for half a second, I was surprised to see a moving line in front of it. Then I remembered I was traveling with Henry, who’d probably planned for a perfectly timed arrival, even down to our coffee run.
The genuine smile on his lips turned into its forced equivalent at my words. “For the profile. Right?” He huffed. “It’s not like you wanted to be here.”
“And it’s not like you wanted me to,” I offered with a shrug, unsure which one of us was wrong—if anyone was at all.
Henry sighed, wanting to say something and doing nothing about it. Silence settled between us again. I smiled at the man checking my boarding pass and passport, then dropped it as soon as I passed him. Henry caught up with me and we walked onto the jet bridge.
“About that,” he finally said, sounding unsure, a little nervous. Usually, Henry was neither of those. “It wasn’t supposed to seem like—” He hesitated, then changed his mind. “You weren’t the problem.” He waved his boarding pass between us to make his point. “I just haven’t been on a plane since my parents’ accident. Like, I usually just drive everywhere or don’t go. This is the first time in seven years that I’m not.” Nervous chuckle. “And I wasn’t expecting to have company. On such short notice.”
The memory hit me like a ton of bricks, and I felt like an idiot. How couldn’t I have put that into the equation?
Their crash hadn’t been a commercial one that would’ve made the local news, but an inconspicuous private plane on its way to the Bahamas. Those went down all the time, and no one batted an eye. Only that it had been Felix Pressley and Naomi Yung on that flight, and so yeah, it didn’t make local news. It went straight to an international media circus. When Henry and his sister were about fifteen years old.
“Oh my God,” I muttered. “I didn’t—I should’ve known that. You told me.” He didn’t meet my gaze when I looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”
For forgetting or for the fact they’d died at all. Probably both.
Henry’s shoulder lifted in a gesture meant to portray it was no big deal, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and overall, he looked stiff. It was a big deal. Of course it was.
When we squeezed through the aisle of the plane in more uncomfortable silence, somehow the fact that our seats weren’t together made this worse.
Not only did I know the next sixty minutes were going to be hell for Henry, but there was nothing I could do to make it even a little more bearable.
I kept going when he shuffled into a row in the front, aware of the fact he’d have no reassuring smiles at his side, no hand squeezing or a bad joke to make him relax. The thought of the usual unbothered grumpy guy sitting in his seat, frantic and alone, made me ache. With him, for him.
So much so that the second I got to my aisle seat, I gave the next flight attendant an over-the-top smile and gently reached for her arm. The blonde beamed back at me with that same customer-service expression. I couldn’t help but wonder how early she’d gotten up to curl her hair so perfectly.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, voice probably a few pitches higher than usual.
I think Henry might’ve snagged a seat with extra legroom in the front of the plane, while I was stuck all the way back here. I pointed at him about twenty rows in front of me, his head peeking out above the blue seats.
“Do you see that guy?” I asked. “Light brown hair, baseball cap, black hoodie. Kind of looks too large to be here?” I waited as her gaze searched frantically, finally locking on the right direction.
“Oh, yes,” she hummed. “Who’d miss someone like that? Talk of the town—well, plane.” The correction left her with an airy laugh. When she turned back to me, she winced like she just realized she’d said that out loud. “Oh Christ. I’m so sorry. You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you?”
Girlfriend. I tried not to let that get to me.
Her eyes flicked down my frame, then back up to my face. “Of course you are. Fuck, I just called your boyfriend talk of the plane —” She cut herself off, sounded a little panicked. “I should tell Linda not to make a move. Oh God, I really am sorry. This is my first month, and I’m already—”
“It’s alright.” She seemed surprised by that. Even more so by the gentle smile on my lips. Her body previously on high alert sagged against my seat, and she mirrored my gesture gratefully.
“Thank God,” she whispered to herself.
“I was just wondering.” I didn’t debunk her girlfriend-theory. It played into my hand, and if I’d denied it, wouldn’t that have just made my request so much weirder? “In case the seat next to him stays free, could I relocate?” We’d been one of the last passengers to get on, so my chances weren’t awful.
A knowing look formed on her face, and she considered me for another second. “Ah,” she said. “I see. Well, I think it’s a seat with extra legroom.” Figured . “So we’d have to charge you.” Her face told me she really didn’t want to, but I waved her off.
“Ten dollars won’t break the bank.” It might, actually. College wasn’t cheap, and I’d been picking up fewer shifts since the profile. Fewer as in zero.
“Twenty,” she winced. I tried not to.
“No problem.”
“Alright.” Her tone adopted that airy lull again, and I only realized she’d dropped her customer service voice when she’d picked it up again. “If it stays free, it’s yours.”
It seemed not many people were willing to pay twenty dollars for extra legroom on an hour-long flight. I couldn’t blame them. But ten minutes later, when the doors of the plane had closed, I moved from row twenty-eight into row six anyway.
Henry stared at me as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Thought you might need a… friend,” I offered.
Friend .
Although it came out of my mouth, I did not like that word. I liked it even less than ex , because it meant that funny feeling in my stomach when he smiled at me was very much one sided.
And the first time I’d called him a friend, he’d told me we weren’t going to be friends at all.
But… “Friend.” He repeated the word with a huff, then looked from the seat beside him up to me again. “I’d like that.”