Chapter 11 #3
Self-consciousness washes over me as if the things I did with Liam in my bedroom were written all over my face and body for Henry to read like a bold headline.
I brace my hands on the countertop and let my head hang with a sigh, realizing his opinion of me is still up there in the Things I Give Many Fucks About list. But I can’t let it show on my features.
“Who’s asking?” I taunt instead, turning around to face him. “Henry? Or Coach Henry?”
“Can’t see how that’s relevant,” he replies, his frown getting deeper.
“Well, if you’re asking, it’s none of your business,” I say, sipping on my glass of milk with a raised brow, mindful of not breaking eye contact with him, hoping to make him uncomfortable.
I fail at it. He seems unfazed, so I keep pushing.
“And if Coach Henry’s asking, that would be creepy and inappropriate. ”
“No wonder Joe thinks he’s an unnecessary distraction.”
“For God’s sake, not you too. Liam is not a distraction,” I shoot back. I can feel the irritation bubbling inside me, but I force myself to breathe, breathe, breathe before it turns into anger. “So please stop sucking up to my dad and tell me you don’t agree with him.”
Henry rolls his eyes at me like he’s not in the mood for my tone, especially not at this hour.
“He shouldn’t have stayed over,” he rasps out, shaking his head with evident disappointment.
“We have an early day tomorrow.” Henry’s attitude is bossy, his voice is getting lower and more gravelly with every word he utters, and his dark hair is a disheveled mess of curls.
It seems like I wasn’t the only one unable to fall back asleep after waking up in the middle of the night.
That is if he ever went to sleep in the first place.
I lower my glass on the counter and give him an unbothered shrug.
He runs a hand down his face and rests it behind his neck.
“Sit,” he commands. “I’ll get you a cookie.”
He knows how I roll.
“A cookie? As in singular?” I say, sounding appalled as I obediently sit on one of the stools. “Am I grounded or what, Coach?”
“How many cookies will it take for you to go back to bed then?” he muses, perusing the lower cabinet where we keep our pots and pans—my usual cookie hiding spot, and he knows it.
Henry and I ate more cookies than we could ever account for growing up, especially during our countless sleepovers when our parents used to go out on double dates or MLB-related events.
Henry would sleep in Robbie’s room, and Vivienne, our babysitter, would stay in mine until my parents arrived.
She sometimes fell asleep thinking I was too, and that’s when I escaped to the kitchen to get my cookie fix before Henry could beat me to it.
It amused me to pretend to hate sharing my cookies with him, secretly loving the part where he inevitably started to beg for one. The way his eyes lit up with mock desperation made it even better, turning the whole teasing-over-cookies thing into something I looked forward to.
Henry begged every time, and I always ended up sharing.
Rationing the cookies was a strategic necessity since Mom disapproved of me eating sweets.
So I hid them behind the pots and pans, a safe location Henry and Carmen discovered early on since Mom never cooked.
But I allowed them to hang onto the intel, knowing I could trust them not to share it with anyone else.
“So?” He drops the Insomnia Cookie box on the counter with a soft thud. The name of my favorite cookie place is so ironically fitting. “How many?” He places a small plate beside the box and raises a questioning brow at me. “Be reasonable.”
“Two.” If memory serves, there should be three cookies left in the box, so I plan to eat two and give one to Henry after making him suffer for a bit.
“These aren’t Oreos, Bells.” He snorts. “They’re huge.”
“I know,” I say. “And I’m starving. I’ll eat two and leave one for dessert tomorrow.”
Henry lifts the lid just a tad and closes it again with pursed lips.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to consume that much sugar at this hour,” he warns. “Might keep you up for a while longer.”
“The only bad idea is that you’re taking too long to feed me,” I retort. “I’m losing precious minutes of sleep.”
He groans because he knows I’m right and moves on to produce a Chocolate Chunk from the box. But instead of setting it on the plate, he takes a massive bite out of it.
“Don’t you dare!” I snap, leaning in to stretch out my hand, trying to seize it from his grasp, but he takes a step back and gives my cookie another bite.
I’m fuming at the audacity, but the slight tug at the right corner of his lips lets me know he’s enjoying my exasperation. And I must admit that I’m trying my best not to laugh.
Henry’s right, though. Eating more sugar than I should might give me an unwelcome energy boost and keep me awake longer.
“Okay, I’ll settle for one … and a half.” I reach out again and try to steal the remains of the cookie from his hand, but he lifts it over his head, and there’s no way for me to reach it.
In a burst of impulsive stupidity, I climb on the island’s counter to tower over Henry and confiscate the freaking cookie once and for all, but he tosses what’s left of it into his mouth.
I’m left standing on the counter like an idiot and groaning like a five-year-old would right before throwing a temper tantrum. Henry lets out a roar of laughter.
I’m laughing against my will, but he’s being too loud. As much as I enjoy the familiar interaction, he needs to keep it down because Liam and Robbie are sleeping.
“Shhhh!” I whisper, still chuckling. I turn to get off the counter, but the moment I step forward, my right foot skids on a water ring left behind by my glass of milk. My heart lurches as gravity takes over.
“Bells!” Henry’s voice is sharp with panic as he rushes toward me, but it’s too late.
My left knee slams against the edge of the counter with a dull thud, sending a sharp pain shooting through my leg.
My arms flail, desperate for something to grab onto.
The world tilts, and I brace myself for impact, anticipating the crash against the cold, hard surface.
As the inevitability of my fall settles in, strong, warm hands grip my ribcage, halting my descent mere inches from hitting the floor. My breath catches as Henry steadies me, his touch firm and grounding.
“Got you,” he says, feeling his chest heaving against my back as he settles me on my feet.
We’re both breathing like we’ve run half a marathon, and Henry’s fresh, soapy scent lingers in my nose.
“Fuck …” Henry lets out a sharp hiss, massaging his shoulder.
“Are you hurt?” I blurt. “I’m so sorry.”
Henry takes a sharp breath in through his nose and drops his hand from his shoulder like he didn’t almost cry out in pain.
“It’s nothing,” he rasps out. “Go sit in the living room so I can check your knee.”
“Henry—”
“Bells …” he cuts me off, his eyes staring into mine in a supplicating way. “Just do as you’re told. I’ll go grab an ice pack. And stay put.”
He turns around and heads for the fridge before I can keep complaining.
He’s using his coach voice to nudge me into obedience, and it’s working.
But I’m fine. My knee feels sore as I walk to the living room, but it’s nothing to worry about.
I can tell. I might not be prone to injuries, but I’m no stranger to them, either.
I plop back onto the couch as Henry rushes in with an ice pack wrapped in a kitchen towel. He sits on the coffee table and hands it to me, his movements quick yet careful. I press the cold pack against my knee, wincing at the sting of the contact.
Henry leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and his chin on his clasped hands, his knuckles pressing lightly against his jaw. His legs bounce nervously, his feet tapping against the floor like he’s bracing himself for bad news in a hospital waiting room.
“You’re so dramatic,” I tease to lighten the mood.
He remains silent for a moment before he finally speaks.
“That fall could have ruined your entire tennis career. Who knows what else could’ve happened if I hadn’t caught you on time. You could’ve gotten seriously injured, and it would’ve been on me,” he says, his tone grave and laced with evident apprehensiveness. “All for a damn cookie.”
“Well, I’m sad to inform you I got up there on my own stupid accord, so stop beating yourself up about this being your fault.”
“I was teasing you, and I shouldn’t have—” He presses his lips and looks away, cutting himself off mid-sentence. His shoulder twitches, and he swallows down a whimper.
“Henry?”
“I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s nothing.” His tone sharpens, so I let it go. He must’ve overexerted himself, carrying my weight at that awkward angle. He takes a deep breath and lets it out with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Bells.”
“Relax. It’ll leave a nasty bruise, but my knee is intact,” I reassure him. He needs to stop worrying about this. “The ice is already making it feel much better. I promise.”
“You’re taking the day off tomorrow,” he says. “I can’t risk it. Besides, I don’t even want to look at the hour. I’d rather you sleep in and rest that knee all day to avoid swelling.”
“Your call, Coach.” I won’t fight him on this. I could attend practice tomorrow, but a day off is always welcome. It’s better to be safe than sorry. “So … does that mean I can eat two cookies?”
“No, you cannot.”
“I asked to be nice. You’re not the goddamned cookie police. I’m eating two when I’m done icing my knee.”
“That’s not possible,” he says. “Because I ate one yesterday behind your back. So there’s only one left, I’m afraid.”
“You thief!” I grab a throw pillow and toss it in his obnoxiously handsome face.
“I got really hungry after my run.” He smiles and sets the throw pillow aside.
A faint blush colors his cheeks, giving away his embarrassment at owning up to stealing from my secret stash. He’s adorable, but I also want to cut off his tongue.