Chapter 25 #2
I’m so thankful for her.
“Henry wanted to talk, but I’ll just call him and ask if we can do it tomorrow after the match,” I say, breaking off the embrace and reaching into my purse for my phone. “I don’t think I’m in the right headspace for it.”
“Are you sure? I totally get it if you guys need to talk.”
“I promise,” I say, stepping out of the elevator. “Now’s not the best time for a deep conversation with him.”
Gemma walks a few steps ahead of me, her room keycard in hand, and I follow while tapping my phone screen to call Henry. It rings a few times before going to voicemail. He might still be busy dealing with Robbie.
We step into Gemma’s room, and she rushes to grab my present. It’s a small box wrapped in beautiful birthday paper with a silver bow. She hands it to me and insists I open it right away.
“Gemma!” I gape at the vintage Chanel sunglasses. They’re chunky and white, with Chanel and Paris printed around the flat, circular frame.
“I know you love your ’90s vibes,” she says with a grin. “Do you like them?”
“Are you kidding me? I love them!” I hug her again for the millionth time today and put the sunglasses on. “Thank you so much!” She pulls out her phone and snaps a few silly shots of me with them.
We take a selfie as my phone buzzes. It’s my 9:00 p.m. alarm. A reminder to start unwinding and head to bed.
“I should get going,” I tell Gemma, keeping the sunglasses on for fun. “You must be exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
She’d stay up all night talking if I asked her to. I’d do the same for her. But what we both need right now is rest.
Gemma walks me to the door, and I pull out my phone again.
“I’ll try Henry one last time,” I say, hoping he picks up. “He’s a night owl. He wouldn’t—”
A few doors down the hall, Henry steps out of a room, looking at his phone.
“Hey, Bells, are you back?” I hear through my phone’s speaker. But he’s close enough that I can listen to it live, too. I end the call.
“Hey!” I shout back with a smile, startling him.
“Bells,” he says, his face tight with panic as the door clicks shut behind him. He slips his phone into his pocket. He’s carrying his jacket over his arm and a few buttons of his white shirt are undone.
“I didn’t know your room was this close to Gemma’s,” I say, walking toward him and tucking my phone back into my purse.
Something flickers behind his panic. Something worse.
“That’s … Zoya’s room,” Gemma says behind me.
I freeze.
I glance over my shoulder and meet her eyes. She’s not messing with me. This is real. That is Zoya’s room. And that’s Henry stepping out of it.
She mentioned bumping into Zoya earlier. And the pale, crumpled look on Henry’s face confirms what my stomach already knows.
The worst scenarios play out in my mind. Thinking of Henry and Zoya together is worse than any nightmare, but this is real. And I can’t wake up from it.
I’m gonna be sick.
“Bells … it’s not what it looks like,” he says, taking a few careful steps toward me.
My brows knit, and dark spots cloud my vision. My chest is heavy.
This isn’t happening.
I keep shaking my head, feeling disgusted. Betrayed. His eyes are pleading, but I don’t want to hear a single word coming out of his mouth.
I lift my hand.
“Don’t you fucking dare get anywhere near me.”
“Belén, please just listen to me,” he says, his voice sharper now. “Nothing happened. I swear—”
“No!” I yell, ripping the sunglasses off my face and tucking them into the collar of my dress. “I don’t care if you were just painting her freaking toenails. I don’t want to hear it.”
Henry looks away and drags a rough hand through his hair. His gaze flicks to Gemma for a few beats before he finally says, “I’ve been trying to get Robbie to come out. To take him back to his room, like I promised Joe I would.”
A few excruciating seconds pass as I let the information sink in.
“What?” Gemma breathes, stepping beside me, a sour look tightening her face. “Robbie is in there? With her?”
“Pendejo …”1 I mutter, pressing my fingers hard into my brow as if I could scrape the frustration out. My breath leaves me in a slow, sharp burst, cheeks puffed, jaw clenched.
“Henry, you both left the cocktail party over an hour ago. Please tell me you haven’t been hanging out with her this entire time.”
“We’d only been in there a few minutes when you called me.”
I’m done.
I know I’m not emotionally equipped to deal with this stifling feeling of betrayal, so I walk toward the elevators. I have to find a way to put this bullshit aside, get some sleep, and make it to the quarterfinals.
“I’m so sorry,” Henry says, catching up to me. “Please, just—”
“You know how much I hate her,” I cut in, slamming the up button like it owes me an apology. “You know every disgusting thing she’s ever said about me. How she’s trashed my name with sponsors just to claw her way up. Rumors. Lies. Shit I’ve had to dig myself out of.”
The elevator’s still not here. Figures.
“And you either forgot, or never really got it, but she looks so much like my mother.” My voice goes thinner. Meaner. “Same perfect blonde hair. Same icy blue eyes. Same perfect little knack for making me feel like I’ll never measure up.”
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “But hey, glad to know you two had such a nice little catch-up tonight. Hanging out with her in her suite. Fraternizing with the fucking enemy.” I shake my head, every word tasting worse than the last. “Hope it was worth it.”
The air around us hollows out.
“She probably invited you up just to mess with me,” I say, spiraling now and past the point of caring. “To throw me off balance. Because she hates me as much as I hate her. And you two were dumb enough to fall for it.”
“And the fact that Robbie’s still in there?” I point down the hallway. “Talking to her? It makes me sick to my stomach.”
Henry steps toward me. “I don’t give a fuck about Zoya.”
I step back with him. Match for match. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m just trying to do the right thing here.”
“The right thing would’ve been keeping Robbie out of there in the first place.”
“I didn’t want to leave him!” Henry snaps. “Alone. With her. I promised your dad I’d get him back to his room. And he’s beyond drunk. And stubborn as hell. You know this isn’t easy for me, either.”
“Yeah, real hard,” I say, my tone dry. “I don’t even want to know what the hell you’ve all been talking about.”
The elevator arrives. I step in without hesitation.
“Bells, please wait.” Henry catches the doors with a hand. “Let me tell you how it all happened.”
“I’ve heard enough.” My glare cuts clean. “You report to my dad. So go back and finish sucking at getting Robbie out of there, just like you promised.”
I jab the button for my floor.
“Now let me go get my beauty sleep so I can beat the hell out of your ex’s little sister tomorrow.”
And I already know I’ll be set to insane mode by morning.
“Move aside and let me go.”
“Necia,” he says, shaking his head, but his voice is quieter this time, and when our eyes meet, there’s something else there. Regret.
The doors begin to close. And that’s when I see her.
Gemma.
She’s standing behind Henry, her face streaked with tears.
“Gemma!” I choke out, slamming the door open button. “Gemma, wait!”
But the elevator’s already moving.
The tears hit before I realize they’re coming. Hot and stupid and blinding.
How did I miss this?
The way she looked at him tonight. The nonstop banter between them. The way she didn’t say anything. I was so wrapped up in my own mess that I didn’t see it.
I fumble for my phone with shaky hands, ready to call her. Ready to go back down, until two texts from her appear on my screen.
Gemma: Please don’t come down here.
Gemma: I need to be alone.
I freeze, staring at the messages. She’s hurting. And I left her there. But I can’t go back now.
And Gemma … Gemma needs space. We’re both so hurt.
Robbie and Henry can suck it.
But right now, I’m the one who missed the signs. Or maybe I didn’t … but it was easier to tell myself it was all in my head.
1 Idiot, dumbass, jerk, or fool. Depends on the context.