Chapter 11 #4
“I thought you said I was welcome to eat your cookies when I saw you walking in with a box the other day,” he adds, a little smirk flickering in the darkness. It’s subtle, but I catch it. It’s crawling under my skin.
“Well, it’s rude not to offer,” I say, stifling a laugh. “I’m trying to be a better person here.”
He narrows his eyes at me and leans closer with a tsk.
“And how’s that working out for you?”
“Shut up.” I push his face back with an open palm, pretending to be annoyed.
He snorts, leaning back as he braces himself on the coffee table. His sculpted forearms are equal parts impressive and distracting.
We stare at each other for a few long seconds.
It’s not awkward or forced. It’s just us.
I’ve missed this. Him. I still can’t wrap my brain around the bittersweet fact that Henry’s sitting in front of me.
I’m still processing my feelings, but I prefer the timeline where he comes back into my life, circumstances aside, over the one where he never does.
Henry slaps his hands on his thighs and stands.
“Stay put.” He points at me as he walks away toward the kitchen. “Keep icing that knee. I’ll be right back.”
“You keep saying that like I have somewhere else to be!” I call out in a sharp whisper, but he ignores me.
Taking a deep breath, I rest my head on the sofa and stare at the ceiling while waiting for Henry to return. My eyelids feel heavy as I finally feel myself getting sleepy. I do my best not to drift off but can tell that I’m quickly losing that battle.
“Cookie, as promised,” Henry says, placing a small plate on my lap, his voice pulling me back to an aware state. “And a warm glass of milk.” He sits on the coffee table again and offers me the small glass.
“How warm?” I narrow my eyes at him like it’s a test and grab the glass with both hands. I love cold milk, but a warm glass before bed settles me and makes me sleepy.
“Twenty-two seconds on the microwave, of course.” He winks at me, and a warm, unexpected rush tugs at my stomach.
He remembered. He’s making me feel like he never left at all.
“Wouldn’t want to be subjected to your wrath by going up or down a few seconds, considering you’re still running on the ‘trying to be a better person’ trial version. ”
I give him a soft, sleepy laugh and sip on my glass of milk. The temperature is perfect. When I grab the cookie I realize it’s warm, too.
My smile melts as I gape incredulously at him.
“I warmed it up, too.” He presses his lips together into a small smile and looks away.
“Someone’s trying to get back in my good graces,” I tease, taking a bite of the cookie and feeling the soft, delectable chunks of chocolate melting on my tongue.
“I’d do anything to get you to forgive me.”
I stare at him, and Henry’s genuine concern disarms me.
It makes me want to tell him I’ve forgiven him, that I’m tired of overthinking and blaming him for the pain his absence caused.
That we should leave the past in the past and start over, even if that’s what we’ve been sort of doing already.
But I’m still processing my feelings and can’t help my chest from aching every time I see him.
It’s only been a few days since he returned, and a part of me is still reeling from the whiplash of it all.
The way his pained blue eyes are staring into mine makes me want to lie to him to spare him, to set him free of that guilt he’s admitted to having been carrying all these years. But I can’t, and I don’t understand why.
Instead, I take a deep breath to buy myself a few more seconds to concoct a reply, to say something—anything—to get him to stop looking at me like that.
“Belén?” Liam’s sleepy voice startles me. “Are you okay, love?”
When I turn my head, he’s there, shirtless in his black boxer briefs, his brown hair a perfectly disheveled mess. Christ.
“Yes, I … I’m fine.” I force a smile, hoping to reassure him. I set my cookie on the plate and remove the ice pack, trying to make a point.
“What happened?” His brow furrows. “Are you hurt?”
“Nothing … no, I slipped. I’m icing my knee as a precaution. But it’s nothing serious. I’m fine.” I offer him another reassuring smile, but the tension in the room grows thicker with every ticking second.
“Are you ready to come back to bed?” Liam glances at Henry, whose jaw is clenched as he stares at his fidgeting feet.
I look away, too embarrassed to make eye contact with Henry because I have no idea what he’s thinking.
Liam and I made out and fooled around a bit, but we didn’t have sex.
I’m still a virgin, not that it’s Henry’s business.
For some stupid reason, I still care what he thinks of me.
And Liam stepping out in his underwear is mortifying.
“You’re going to be knackered at practice tomorrow,” he adds, his voice softening. “It’s past three in the morning.”
Henry finally lifts his gaze and directs his attention to Liam. “Well, if you hadn’t stayed over, she would be sleeping and resting like every other night,” he says.
“Henry—”
“Not trying to be rude, mate,” Liam replies, cutting me off, “but it’s none of your business. I know you’re playing substitute coach, but if we’re being honest, who Belén spends the night with or not is way above your pay grade.”
“For all intents and purposes, I am her coach,” Henry retorts. “And it’s best if you—”
“That’s enough.” I stare into Henry’s eyes, silently begging him to stop. The way he’s biting into his lower lip and staring back at me makes me wonder if it’s anger or disappointment fueling his uncalled-for reaction.
I look away, unable to hold his probing gaze, and set my glass on the coffee table as I rise to my feet. Henry does, too, and tosses in one last comment before scurrying away to his bedroom: “Joe was right about him.”
1 Thank you, Tony.
2 Say hi to Martha for me.
3 On your behalf.
4 Don’t get mad, but he’s been insisting all day.
5 Oh, no, Roberto. What have you done?