Chapter 10
ADVANTAGE, FREEMAN
WE STEP INSIDE my apartment, and it smells delicious. That only means one thing …
Henry darts toward her with a grin and pulls her into a hug.
“You’re so big. It’s been … how many years?”
“Almost five?” he replies, gently breaking off the embrace.
“I’m so glad you’re back, mijo.”2 She gives Henry one of her affectionate cheek pinches. “Mr. Joe told me you’ll be staying here for a while.”
“That is correct,” he replies, offering her another genuine smile.
“I hope you’re both hungry because I made eggs, black beans, and tortillas.” She turns back toward the kitchen. “Please sit. I’ll be right there with you.”
“What about me?” I tease, feeling a little jealous as I drop my bag near the entrance and head to the kitchen. I place my tumbler on the marble counter and lean against it with a grin.
“Ay, mija es que a ti te veo diario. Ya estás muy vista,”3 she says, her laughter as infectious as always.
Carmen is the closest thing I have to what I imagine a mother should be like. She feeds me, cares about me, asks me questions, scolds me when I leave a mess after she’s already cleaned up, laughs when I laugh, and cries when I cry.
She congratulated me the night after my US Open final. She was screaming with joy but didn’t miss the chance to lecture me about the little scene I made on national television.
“Vas a ver!”4 I say, laughing too.
Henry grabs a glass and pours himself some water from the fridge dispenser. He moves around the apartment with a familiar ease as if he’s lived here for years, and it doesn’t bother me.
I excuse myself to the bathroom, and when I return, Henry is already sitting at the table in fresh clothes: gray sweatpants and a light blue cotton T-shirt. Our hot plates are waiting on the table as he sips from a large glass of milk. Henry seems to be waiting for me to start eating.
“Se te va a enfriar la comida,”5 Carmen says. “Ya siéntate a comer, por favor.”6
I do as I’m told and sit down to eat. Only then does Henry grab his fork to try the black beans.
“These taste exactly the same as always.” Henry closes his eyes as he chews.
Carmen chuckles proudly at his reaction, continuing with her kitchen chores while Henry drenches his eggs in her signature salsa verde.
Once we finish our meal, Henry stands and takes our plates to the kitchen.
“That was wonderful,” he says, kissing the top of Carmen’s head. “Thank you.”
“Gracias, Carmen!” I thank her too, pushing my chair back to get up.
Henry gestures for me to follow him with a tilt of his head, and I do.
We sit outside on the balcony, easing into a conversation about things that aren’t particularly important like the weather, people passing by, and how surprisingly good Whole Foods sushi is.
I know we’re warming up before getting into the heart of the matter, but I need to seize the moment and say my piece because I’ve tried before and failed.
“I’m so sorry about your dad. I found out yesterday. I had no idea.”
“Thank you.” He gives me a tight smile.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” he says, a veil falling over his face. “It’s my mom I’m worried about.”
He looks away, and I can feel him retreating. But I can’t lose his attention. Not now, not when we’re finally talking.
“She’s in Chicago, right?”
He pauses before replying, “Mhm.”
“And your dad, how did he—”
“Die?” he finishes my sentence, clearing his throat.
I know this conversation must be tough for him, but something tells me he doesn’t have anyone to talk to about this. I know him. Henry doesn’t open up to anyone. So unless he’s changed drastically over the past five years, I’m sure he’s bottling up his feelings.
“Yes,” I press.
“Heart attack,” he says dryly, looking away again.
“I see.” He’s not giving me much to work with.
He looks at me from the corner of his eye, and I swear it’s not just sadness I see there. There’s anger, too. Lots of it. And no one is better equipped than me to recognize it. I know exactly what it looks like. It’s written all over his newly chiseled features, even as he tries to hide it from me.
Henry twitches his mouth to the side, and I wish he’d tell me everything. I wish he’d let it all out. I know I can take it. Whatever he’s guarding inside his heart and mind, I want to hear it. But I’m afraid he won’t tell me more. He would’ve already given me more than those short, simple answers.
“Henry?”
His silence speaks volumes. He doesn’t want to talk to me. Not really. But I do. There’s something I need to ask him, something that kept me up most nights as I racked my brain for answers, finding none. I need him to give me something that will finally put my mind at ease after all these years.
“Why did you leave the way you did?” I ask, my voice shaky as I try to hold it together. I swallow hard, forcing back the tears already threatening to spill down my cheeks. “What happened that was so terrible you couldn’t even call or text to say goodbye?”
Henry looks up and places his hands behind his neck, letting himself fall back into the chair. He exhales a long, heavily charged breath before leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“I was embarrassed about my family. About my situation. And it hurt like hell to leave the way I did. But I couldn’t explain any of the things that were happening. We couldn’t—” He cuts himself off, letting his head hang for a few seconds.
“You couldn’t what?”
“You were just a kid, Bells. And maybe I was too, but an almost four-year age gap at that time made a big difference. There were things I couldn’t explain, things I couldn’t involve you in because it wasn’t safe for our families to keep in touch.
But know that if I’d had a choice back then, I would’ve told you everything. I just couldn’t.”
“What happened? You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m sorry.” His blue eyes turn dark and stormy. “I couldn’t look you in the eye and lie about any of it. You’re a smart girl. You wouldn’t have believed me anyway. So I hoped, with time, you’d forget about me.”
He curses under his breath and lets out a tortured sigh.
“I told myself cutting you out of my life was the right thing to do. And for years, I let myself believe that.”
“And when did you stop believing that?”
Henry stands up, leaning against the glass railing, staring out. I get up and move to stand beside him.
“When?” I press, making no effort to hide the irritation in my tone.
He stares at me in silence for a moment before finally meeting my gaze.
“When I saw you again yesterday.”
The room feels too loud and too quiet at the same time. I can’t move. Can’t think. The word yesterday hangs in the air like it weighs a thousand pounds.
He runs his hands through his hair and down his neck, his voice heavy with regret.
“I’m so sorry, Bells. I fucked up badly. But we couldn’t involve you. I did what I thought was best at the time.”
He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it.
His warm palms are rough, marked by new calluses that weren’t there a few years ago.
I can’t help but remember how safe this simple, intimate gesture makes me feel.
Though it’s not the first time we’ve held hands, it’s never felt like this, like I’ve stuck a silver fork into an electrical socket.
A few betraying tears slide down my cheek, landing on his hand.
“I’m so sorry,” Henry says again, his voice pleading and shaky with feeling. He looks at me and his brows pull together like it physically hurts to see me crying. His arms wrap around me and hold me tight against his chest.
I breathe him in, and he disarms me as my tears turn into sobs.
“You left me!” I gasp between trembling breaths, squeezing him harder. “You—”
“I know,” he cuts me off, his voice low and soothing as he runs a hand gently down my head. “Please forgive me, Bells. You have to forgive me.”
“No,” I say, a sad laugh breaking through my sobs. I keep chuckling at the absurdity of staying mad at Henry forever, secretly hoping I can find it in me not just to forgive him but to let go of the pain his sudden absence inflicted on me.
“I missed you,” I whisper, the three words fractured by a shuddering breath.
A sense of relief washes over me as I finally acknowledge my own feelings and share them with him after years of telling myself I didn’t care. That he didn’t either.
“I missed you too, Bells.” His grip tightens around me. “So fucking much. Will you ever forgive me?”
“I want to,” I mutter, nodding against his chest.
A part of me feels like I already did. But I needed this. I needed to know I wasn’t crazy. That he missed me. That he still cares about me the way I care about him.
Still, I ache to understand what really happened. And I hope he’ll trust me enough to tell me.
We hold each other for a long moment. He refuses to let go, and I’m still crying, probably about a million things. I know I need to be held by him, so I don’t move an inch, afraid he might let go if I do.
Henry kisses my hair a few times, repeating how sorry he is and promising he won’t go anywhere. Warmth fills my chest, and for the first time in a long time, it feels full.
“Were you hurt?” I ask, breaking off the embrace and brushing the tears from my face. “Just tell me what happened. I can take it. I’m not a child anymore.”
Henry lets out a low, breathy laugh. Cool air flows around me, and the warmth of his touch, still lingering on my skin, vanishes in an instant. I don’t like it. He takes a seat, slumping back in the chair.
“You’re asking me if I was hurt?”
He shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Yes,” I say, lowering myself into the seat beside him.
“I’m the one who hurt you, and you’re still worried about me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He sighs in defeat, knowing I’m too stubborn to let him back inside the apartment until he tells me everything.