Chapter 18 #2
I do. Or at least, I thought I did until Henry came back. And after we kissed, everything got more confusing. But how am I supposed to ignore these feelings? I don’t know how.
“What if I want you too?” I say bluntly.
Who says I can’t have both? Henry understands this world. He’s always been a part of it. Still is. We could make it work.
He looks at me, silent for a few seconds, probably letting my words sink in, and shakes his head.
“We can’t,” he says again, firmer this time. “And don’t start with your ‘Henry, listen …’ thing. I know that tone.”
“Then shut up and listen,” I reply with a chuckle.
Henry stands to lean against a wall with his arms loosely crossed at his chest and an ankle over his foot.
“I admit that there are a few things I don’t remember from Saturday night, but the one thing I remember clearly is how we both got lost in that kiss.”
Henry licks his lower lip and looks away.
“You’ve thought about it, too,” I press. “Don’t lie. I see it in the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”
He drags a hand down his face and grips the back of his neck.
“We can’t,” he repeats in a sharper tone. “I won’t be able to live with myself if I end up messing with your tennis career like …”
He trails off and walks over to his nightstand.
Like what?
Confusion pounds in my ears as I watch him pick up the tennis ball he keeps there.
“We can’t jeopardize our friendship or your career,” he says, voice firm. “I can’t lose you again, Bells.”
His words punch through me harder than I want to admit. He’s not just protecting my future. He’s protecting his heart, too.
He studies the ball in his hands, tossing it from one to the other, gripping it like it holds all the answers.
“You keep saying how much you suffered when I left, but you have no idea how hard it was for me to go. Leaving like that, without a word, without being able to explain or contact you after. It made me feel so fucking guilty.”
Henry exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair
“And then I came back and saw you. All grown up. Feisty. Stubborn. Strong. Just … you. And more stunning than I was ready for.”
His voice drops, and when he speaks again, it’s barely a breath.
“I can’t lose you again … Please.”
I let out a deep sigh, trying to process his words.
“So what then?” I ask.
I know he’s right. Henry would consume my thoughts and focus. Hiding a relationship from the world, my family included, would be exhausting. I get what the right thing is supposed to be. So why does it feel so awful to accept it?
“We train,” he says. “Harder. Better. And you go out there and win.”
I look away, biting the corner of my lower lip and nodding a few times. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re running on borrowed time. My dad might find me a new trainer any day now, and the thought of Henry not being part of my daily life and routine is unbearable.
“Together?” I ask, standing.
“I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m not going anywhere,” he says, tossing the tennis ball at me. I catch it mid-air.
“It’s you and me against the world, Bells. Remember?”
He smiles, and something inside me shifts. For the first time, I understand what melting feels like. We used to say that all the time as kids. That we’d play tennis and travel the world for the Grand Slams.
It’s you and me against the world.
It aches more than it should that I’m playing tennis and he’s not. And it frustrates me even more that he won’t let me help him get back into it. There’s something he’s not telling me, but now isn’t the time to push him for answers.
The ball’s fibers feel rougher than they should, worn and old despite looking barely touched.
“Kiss it.” Henry grins expectantly.
“Oh my God.” My eyes dart from the ball to Henry, then back again. I shake my head in disbelief. “Is this …?”
A small “K” in blue ink stares back at me.
“It is.” He laughs. “Now kiss it.”
I obediently bring the ball to my lips, pressing a soft kiss onto it.
“I can’t believe I forgot about the K.”
I run my thumb over it like it’s a relic. Like it’s proof we’ve always been us.
“You said NEHBLK sounded like a burp and a hiccup had a baby.” He laughs. “And then you told me it had no ‘branding potential.’ At eight.” He rolls his eyes at me like he’s reliving the moment. “That’s how you decided to call it the NEHBL instead.”
“Oh, God.” I hide my face behind my hands.
“You promised you’d never forget to kiss the ball, but you did. We did. I did, too, until I found it while packing for New York, and it all came rushing back.”
“You’ve kept it all this time?” I can’t stop marveling at the tennis ball, finally completing my ritual, and at Henry for holding onto it all these years. “It makes me feel like I can finally rule the world.” I laugh hysterically.
“How else were you planning to beat your mom’s US Open personal record next year?”
“Exactly!” I shout, then freeze.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“No, I … what I meant was—”
“Cut the crap.”
I kiss the ball again and toss it back to Henry. So he’s caught me, so what? I can try to deny it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. That mad obsession is basically fueling this entire tennis operation on my end. It’s what keeps me going on my worst days. My deepest, darkest secret.
It’s borderline sick.
“I want to beat my mom’s US Open personal record by winning it before I turn nineteen.”
There. I said it.
Henry grins, shakes his head at me, and extends his hand. I take it, and he pulls me into a tight, delicious hug. My eyes shut, soaking in the closeness, trying to hold onto this moment for as long as I can.
Henry tilts his head down, his breath warm against my ear as he whispers, “Muy, muy necia.”1
1 Very, very stubborn.