Chapter 11 #2
Fletcher comes into the living room now, holding a glass of water and a cup of coffee.
He passes the glass to me as I slowly sit up, the spinning motion from last night returning with a vengeance.
“Well, that’s not surprising considering you had five glasses of straight whiskey last night, or at least that’s what you kept telling me while I drove you back here in your truck. ”
Groaning, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That would explain the headache I have.”
Laney visibly shudders. “I don’t understand how anyone can drink that stuff. Wine or tequila for me. That’s it.”
My stomach twists at the mention of more alcohol. “Please don’t talk about booze right now.”
Fletcher and Laney share a laugh at my expense. I take a sip of the water, making sure it’s going to stay down, before drinking about half of the glass. “God, my mouth tastes like ass.”
“Should I ask how you know what that tastes like?” Laney teases.
I shake my head and lean back against the couch cushions, sighing. “Please don’t make me process any sarcasm right now.”
Laney leans over and kisses Fletcher on the lips. “I’ll leave you two to talk. Glad you called us, Henley…but maybe you should figure out what made you get so shitfaced last night in the first place, yeah?”
With one open eye, I glare at her as she leaves the room and Fletcher takes a seat on the couch opposite me.
“So, do you remember anything else from last night?”
“Is this a hypothetical question, or are you genuinely asking me?”
“I just want to know if you remember everything you told me.”
I close my eyes and groan. “Fuck. Do I even want to know?”
Fletcher grins. “I thought it was quite interesting.”
“Jesus.”
Leaning back in his corner of the couch, he studies me. “Let’s just say, Rhonan was right to be concerned about how you feel about Elodie.”
My shoulders slump with defeat as I close my eyes and sigh.
I had every intention of taking a woman out to my truck and slipping back into my normal routine last night, and the blonde that almost blew me in the parking lot appears in my memory at that moment.
But feeling her touch me, hearing her voice tell me how much she wanted me—it was all wrong.
Longing for one woman has never happened to me before, and I sure as fuck am not handling it well.
“She was singing to Remy last night,” I say, my voice low in case Laney is trying to over hear us.
“When I came out of my room, prepared to sit around and wait for Warren to pick me up, she was sitting there with her guitar in her lap and singing to my daughter.” I lift my eyes to meet Fletcher’s.
“And I wanted to take a picture of them.”
“Okay…”
“Fuck, don’t you get it?” I point a finger at my chest. “I don’t do that shit. I don’t want to take pictures of women, with women, or care enough about the same woman to want to remember her.”
Fletcher twists his lips. “So what did you do?”
“I left as soon as I could. I had to get the fuck out of my own house.”
“Seems like you’re running again, just like you did in your past,” Fletcher says, making my blood pressure rise.
“Don’t tell me about my past, all right? I just needed some space.”
“Yeah. Space from anything that makes you feel shit.”
My blood feels like it’s boiling now. “You’re one to fucking talk.”
“Look, I’m not saying I don’t understand, but I do know that facing it is much more productive than avoiding it.
Have you ever finished that conversation with Nick?
” My response to him is a glare, so he continues.
“Maybe if you face that, you might start to feel a little lighter, and more capable of handling other feelings, like the ones you have for your nanny.”
“I feel like this conversation is making my hangover worse.”
Fletcher laughs. “You know, I once lived my life pretty much the same way, Henley—avoiding my dad, avoiding anything that pertained to a future without football, and avoiding how I always felt about Laney, although I wasn’t out chasing women.
But you know what I realized when Laney and I finally admitted our feelings to one another? ”
“What?”
“The reason I didn’t want any other woman is because they weren’t her.
The reason I couldn’t think about a life beyond the game is because I didn’t have someone to build a life outside of football with.
And the reason I avoided my dad is because I didn’t feel strong enough to do it on my own.
” My heart is pounding from his admission, because deep down in my gut, I know that’s the fact that scares me the most. “All of that changed when Laney gave me a chance.”
“Elodie’s leaving in less than three months, Fletcher.”
“I know. But if you don’t give yourself the chance to explore how she makes you feel, then you’re the one left with regrets, Henley.
That’s kind of what I realized during Elliot’s wedding preparation when I was spending all that time with Laney.
It was my chance to figure out if these feelings I’d been harboring for her for years were substantial enough to make life-changing decisions about.
And I realized very quickly that they were. ”
“I remember. You jeopardized your friendship with Rhonan for her.”
He shrugs. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Do you think Elodie’s developing feelings for you too?”
Staring out across the living room, I consider his question. “I honestly don’t know. Although, last night when we talked about what I resorted to as a way to chase adrenaline after my accident, she seemed bothered by it.”
“Then why not see if there’s something there, and just take it one day at a time? No one says you have to marry the girl. But if you’re feeling something for her, you owe it to yourself to see if it’s more than just a crush, or the sight of her singing to your daughter making you feel emotional.”
I heave out a heavy breath. “I really fucking hate you right now.”
Fletcher slaps me on the shoulder. “No, you don’t. Although you might hate yourself a little when you see your phone.” Wincing, he hands me my cell phone, which now has a cracked screen.
“Shit.”
“Yeah. You threw it against the dashboard of my truck after you got angry looking at pictures of Elodie.”
Twisting the phone around, I notice there’s just one crack, but it’s completely across the bottom of the screen. Then my eyes land on the notifications—sixteen missed calls and nine text messages—all from Elodie.
Adrenaline races through me as I fight to swipe across the screen and click on the texts.
Elodie: Hey, I forgot to ask you if you’re coming home tonight. Let me know, please.
Elodie: Judging by your lack of response, I guess it’s safe to say you’re not. Be safe.
Elodie: If you could just let me know that you’re alive, I would appreciate it.
Elodie: Henley, it’s not that hard to send a text message. Let me know you’re okay, please.
Elodie: Remy has a fever. I’m doing everything I can to keep it down, but it’s making me nervous. Please call me.
Elodie: Glad to know that even your sick daughter doesn’t matter to you right now.
“Fuck!” Launching myself from the couch, I search the room for my keys. “I need to go.”
Fletcher’s energy begins to match my own. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
“Remy had a fever last night. Elodie was trying to get a hold of me, but I didn’t fucking reply.”
Laney comes out from the hallway with my wallet and keys. “Here. We kept them in our room in case you woke up and tried to leave last night.”
“Thanks.”
I head for the front door as Fletcher’s voice stops me. “Hey, just breathe. Text me later to let me know that everything’s okay.”
“I will. Thanks again for last night.”
Laney wraps her arms around Fletcher’s waist as he kisses the top of her head. “Anytime.”
Without another word, I race down their driveway to my truck and hop inside, driving across town as fast as I can to get to my house. When I swing the front door open, I startle Elodie and Remy, making my daughter cry.
“Dear God, Henley. Where’s the fire?” Elodie’s hand is placed over the center of her chest, probably trying to calm her racing heart.
“Is she okay? Is Remy all right?”
“Her temp is still slightly above one hundred, but she’s doing okay.”
I head straight for my daughter, lifting her from the high chair, holding her head against my cheek. “I’m so sorry, little one. Daddy is sorry he wasn’t here.” Elodie walks around me, avoiding me gaze. “Elodie…”
“I take it you had a good night.” Irritation laces her words, but I don’t blame her.
“Actually, it was rather shitty, but I’m sorry for not texting you back.”
“It would have taken you two seconds, Henley.” Crossing her arms over her body, she arches a brow at me. “I was worried that something happened to you.”
“I had too much to drink…”
“Are you feeling like shit today?”
“You have no idea.”
She huffs out a laugh. “No, I do because I felt like shit all night wondering if you were going to come back.” Her admission catches me off guard.
“I honestly wondered if you’d have come back at all if Remy hadn’t gotten sick.
” She narrows her eyes at me. “She’s doing better now, but there are going to be other illnesses and incidents over the years, and she’s going to need a father who shows up. ”
Those words slice right through my gut. Taking a step closer to me, she tilts her head before she continues.
“She’s your kid, and she may be too young to remember how you’re acting right now, but I won’t forget it.
I won’t forget how fast you ran out of the house last night, how quickly you needed to get away from your new responsibility, but it’s time to act like a father and stop avoiding that this is your life now. ”
“I’m not avoiding it,” I counter, feeling myself grow more irritated by the second because even though Elodie has a lot of nerve saying those things to me, I know that she’s right.
“Really? Then why haven’t you decorated her room?”
Yeah, Henley. Why haven’t you?
Avoiding diving into that bucket of worms, I turn the argument back on her. “Look, I’m not paying you for your opinions. I’m paying you to take care of my kid. That’s it.”
“Well, maybe I need a night off from this job then before the urge to quit becomes too much for me.” Twisting away from me, she heads down the hall to her room, making both nerves and fury swirl around in my chest.
I peer down at Remy to find her looking in the direction that Elodie just went. A few minutes later, she comes out of her room with a duffle bag full of stuff, her guitar case, and her purse slung over her shoulder.
“Where are you going?”
“Out. I need…” She doesn’t finish her thought, shaking her head and closing her eyes instead. When she pops them open, she stares directly at me and says, “I need a break.”
“When—when will you be back?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Elodie…” I reach out for her, but she avoids my touch.
“No, Henley.” When she peers up at me again, there are tears in her eyes. “You have no idea what was going through my mind last night. And until I can look at you without wanting to scream, I need some distance.”
That’s the last thing she says to me before leaving my house and driving away.
Great job, Henley. Looks like your communication skills are severely lacking, and if there’s any hope of fixing this, you’d better think of something fast.