Chapter 15 #2
“Robbie, wait!” I call after him. I was going to ask him to drive me to Gemma’s. Vlad can’t leave Gemma here to take me to her place. I know the drill. Damn it.
I toss the keys into Gemma’s purse I borrowed and hurry out of the kitchen, trying to catch up with Robbie, but it seems he’s decided to leave, too.
Shit.
People bump into me, or maybe I’m the one bumping into them, but by the time I make it outside, Robbie’s gone.
I let out a defeated breath through my nose. I was so ready to leave that I’m considering walking back home, but even in this condition, I know that would be stupid.
The annoying, sneaky night breeze hits my face again, and it quickly makes me feel worse.
I lean against one of the big trees in the front yard, trying to gather the strength to head back inside and wait for Liam to arrive.
But the cold sweat is back and a nauseating sensation builds in the pit of my stomach. There’s no doubt I’m going to be sick.
Half stumbling, I manage to walk around the tree, gagging a few times. Desperately, I try to pull my hair back and hold it out of my face, bracing for impact, but nothing comes out.
Thankfully, the tree is thick enough to shield me from the people outside because it would be obvious to anyone witnessing the scene from afar that I’m feeling sick.
My legs feel shaky, and I drop to my knees on the grass, unable to stand any longer. I sit and lean my back against the tree, silently vowing never to drink again. This is a complete nightmare, and now I have more questions about why my mom would choose to put herself through this every single day.
Does drinking make her feel sick or has she built up a higher tolerance for it through the years? Does she get emotional and cry at some point? Why would she want to escape her reality? Does she hate her life that much? Does she hate … us?
Nothing feels okay. My thoughts and feelings from earlier are heightened and scrambled into a big, messy knot that I don’t know how to undo.
So I don’t.
Instead, I do the only thing I can control: wait for Liam and Tobias to arrive. Only God knows how long it will take them to get here from Manhattan.
A heavy droplet of water falls on my brow, and another on my cheek.
“Shit,” someone says. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t. My eyelids feel heavy as lead, and I’m mumbling words with no success.
“We’re almost there.”
“Mhmm,” I groan.
The sporadic quarter-sized drops hitting my face turn into a violent shower, forcing me awake.
The first thing I notice is a set of perfect lips and thick, dark brows with a scar slicing vertically through one of them.
Water droplets slide off a straight nose and messy curls, falling onto my face.
Then come the blue eyes—a shade too vivid to be real, too familiar to be anyone but him.
“Henry?” I mumble, but he doesn’t reply.
Instead, he picks up his pace, still carrying me in his arms. Seconds later, the rain stops altogether.
I look around, and Gemma’s going through my purse, looking for something.
Keys. We’re at her front door where we found cover from the rain.
I’m wearing a black jacket as a blanket.
I know it’s Henry’s because it smells like him. Like fresh soap and citrusy cologne.
“She’s awake,” Henry informs Gemma and looks down at me again. “Hey.”
His face is so close to mine that I can’t help but lift my finger and slide it down his scar. But he quickly recoils as Gemma opens the door and prompts Henry to rush inside.
“She’s soaking wet,” Henry says, my eyes feeling heavy again. I’m awake but don’t feel like resisting the urge to shut them again. “You need to get her out of these clothes.”
“Follow me.”
Next thing I know, I’m lying down on Gemma’s bed and she’s pulling my skirt off.
“Come on, Belén. Help me get these clothes off of you.” She yanks my arms and settles me into a seated position, and I lift them up to help her pull my T-shirt off.
“Okay,” Gemma says, her voice breathy and slightly agitated.
She sits behind me, removes the necklaces, and unhooks my bra.
I toss it to the side, and Gemma slides a fresh T-shirt over my head.
I pull it down my body and curl up into a fetal position.
“Wait. We’re not done yet. We need to get these pajama bottoms on you. ”
“No.”
All I want is to go back to sleep.
“Belén, come on.” Gemma’s slipping a pair of cozy socks on my feet. “Cooperate.”
“I’m fine like this.”
“Well, at least get under the covers. I don’t want you to catch a cold or something. Come on. Henry’s outside waiting to come in.” I can feel her pulling on the covers, so I crawl inside her bed and lay my head on the comfy pillows. “There you go … Henry! She’s decent now!”
The door opens and shuts behind me, and when I open my eyes, Henry’s standing next to the bed, holding a glass of water. “Take these.” There are two white pills in his hand. “Come on, sit up.”
His coach voice pays a visit and takes over. He sounds harsh and commanding, but I comply and drop my head on the pillows again after downing the pills with water.
“I’m going to shower in my parents’ bedroom,” Gemma says to Henry. “I left you a fresh T-shirt and sweatpants in my bathroom. They’re my father’s, so I don’t know how well they will fit. But I suggest you change out of those wet clothes.”
“Thank you, Gemma, but it won’t be necessary,” Henry says. “I’m leaving.”
No!
“It’s cold and pouring out. Vlad can drive you home, but don’t be stubborn. Get changed, okay?” she insists. “At least keep an eye on her until I come back.”
Henry doesn’t reply. He’s breathing beside me, but not responding to Gemma’s petition to stay with me for a bit.
“I don’t—,” I say, but I’m too exhausted to finish the sentence. I want to argue with Henry, tell him I don’t need a babysitter, so if he wants to leave so badly, he should leave, when the sad truth is, I don’t want him to go.
“See?” Gemma says, probably gesturing toward me with her upturned palm to make a point. “Please, Henry. I won’t be long.”
The door shuts, and I pull my hand out, hoping Henry will take it. He does, but only for a second. “I’ll be right back,” he says with a sigh, releasing my hand from his grasp. “I’m going to change out of these clothes because I’m scared of what Gemma will do if I don’t.”
I smile and move my head up and down to wordlessly reply, yes.
“Are you okay?”
“Mhm.”
I force myself to stay awake, even with my eyes closed, while Henry disappears into the bathroom to change. Minutes later, he steps back into the room. I open my eyes and find him squatting beside the bed, his face level with mine.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
For bringing me here. For carrying me upstairs. For taking care of me.
I know he understands.
I reach for his hand again, and this time he lets me. I pull it closer and place it under my cheek like a pillow.
The soft glow from Gemma’s nightstand lamp lights up Henry’s perfect face.
I can’t look away.
“You should sleep,” he says, his brows pulling together. “Might be a good idea if I left, too.”
“No,” I whisper, squeezing his hand in a sad attempt to get him to stay. “Please. Don’t leave me ever again.”
His presence gives me so much comfort and provides me with a sense of safety.
So much so that the thought of him walking out that door hurts.
I can feel my eyes pool with tears at the thought of it.
I hate being over-emotional about this simple thing, especially when I know I’ll see him tomorrow.
And the day after that, and the day after that.
But I can’t help it. Not when I’m feeling this raw, this vulnerable, this deep in my feelings.
I know I shouldn’t have said that. But whatever part of me is supposed to filter the words coming out of my mouth? Clearly faulty.
“Bells, I’m not going anywhere, just back to your parents’ house. You know I can’t stay here. I can’t spend the night—”
I slide my hand around his neck and pull him closer. That stops him. I lean in slowly, enough to give him space to pull away if he wants to, but steady enough to show I won’t stop unless he does.
“Henry?” I whisper, pulling him closer to me. Our faces are so close I can feel my whole body tremble from how badly I want this. And I swear he’s trembling too. “I missed you so much it nearly killed me.”
“I missed you, too.” Henry’s voice cracks on a sigh, and his breath brushes over my mouth, warm and shaky. Then, quieter, like he didn’t mean to say it, he says, “So damn much.”
“I forgive you.” My fingers move through his hair and he groans, eyes fluttering shut like he’s trying to hold on to this second.
“Don’t toy with me.” His eyes widen and bore into mine.
“I already did.” I bob my head yes a few times. “Weeks ago.”
He runs his fingers through my damp hair, pulling it gently to tilt my head back. “What have you done to me, Bells?” He kisses my neck against my pulse point in a slow, controlled way that’s making my body melt deeper into the bed.
His lips move higher, leaving a trail of kisses along my jawline. I try moving my neck to catch his mouth and kiss him because the anticipation is driving me insane, but his grip on my hair, as gentle as it feels, immobilizes me.
“We shouldn’t,” he says. “You’re drunk.”
“It’s mostly exhaustion at this point.” I whisper, closing my eyes to focus on the sensation of having him so close like this. “I want this.”
I know I should’ve ended things with Liam earlier. I’ve been dancing around the truth, but I’m done lying to myself.
It’s always been you.
“I want—”
Henry’s mouth meets mine before I can say you, and he finally kisses me. His warm, minty tongue parts my lips, and a million stars burst inside my chest, inside my head, and deep in my belly.
Henry’s lips feel soft and gentle against mine. He knows what he’s doing. He’s kissing me like he’s kissed me a million times before and knows exactly what I like and how I like it.