Page 123 of Chasing After You
The official press release that went out this morning stated Henry had fallen ill with a twenty-four-hour stomach bug and would not be in attendance at the Thanksgiving game.
The actual reason was no one knew if he was actually going to show up today.
Henry did show up, but he was hungover as fuck, and anyone could tell he wasn’t in the right state of mind to play. He was livid they wouldn’t let him suit up, but his mood took a turn for the worse after the Panthers lost their small lead in the last few minutes of the game when the backup quarterback threw a pick-six, putting the Stars in the lead. The second that happened, I looked over at Henry in our private viewing room and could tell he was already blaming himself for the loss.
I tried talking to him, but he didn’t want to talk about any of it: the game, his mom, or where he went last night. None of it.
Uncle Owen had my parents send their private jet to take us home immediately after the game.
Spending my Thanksgiving on a private jet with my hungover boyfriend staring silently out the window after his entire life blew up isn’t exactly how I imagined spending my first holiday as Henry’s girlfriend. I’m not sure anyone could have predicted this is how the trip would go.
I’m trying to read the book I brought, but I keep reading the same paragraph over and over again because I can’t stop glancing in Henry’s direction. He’s been silent the entire plane ride, and I’m trying not to push, but avoiding this isn’t going to make it go away. Henry’s hair is sticking up from how many times he’s run his hands through it, but at least he showered and changed clothes. Henry smelled like the back alley behind a dive bar when he showed up earlier.
I set my book down, getting up to sit in the seat next to him.
“Hey,” I say, hoping Henry will look my way.Except he doesn’t.He just continues staring out the window. “Why don’t you take a nap?”
“I’m not tired,” he answers.On the bright side, at least Henry responded?
“Okay.”
I fidget with my hands as I sit there, unsure of what to do. Should I tell Henry what Penelope told me last night so he knows the full story? Do I continue sitting here or go back to the other side of the plane? I want to help him, but I don’t know how.
“I don’t want to talk, Mirabelle,” he says, scratching his jaw.
“I wasn’t saying anything.”
Hefinallylooks over at me, an unrecognizable look in his eyes, and I think I would rather Henry keep looking out the window than look at me like that again. “No, but I can hear you thinking.”
I hear what he’s saying, but what if by starting this conversation, Henry wants to talk about it? He’s been perfectly fine ignoring me so far today, maybe this is a sign.
“I know you don’t want to talk, but I think we need to,” I say, trying to keep my tone steady.
“No, we don’t.” Okay, so maybe he actually doesn’t want to talk about it.
Henry’s guard is up, and I hate it, but I know better than to ask if he’s okay because it’s quite obvious he isn’t. I wish I could take away all his pain and carry it myself, but he needs to know the truth.
I turn to face him completely. “No, Henry, we do. You left last night and never answered your phone. And then you showed up at the stadium today, expecting my uncle to put you on the field in the state you were in? We have to talk, because you’re hurting.”
“What exactly do you want to talk about? How I’ve always been just a check to cash for the woman who gave birth to me? Howeveryonein my life has been lying to me? My team lost today because I wasn’t allowed on the field. Sorry, but no, I don’t want to talk about any of it.”He’s shutting down, and if anyone has a right to, it’s Henry.
Tread lightly. I feel my stomach twist, but if I didn’t think the truth would help, I wouldn’t be pushing for him to know. “I’m sorry she couldn’t see the incredible person you have become. I don’t think they were right to hide what she did, but they did it with the right intentions.”
“Mirabelle,”he warns, pulling away as I reach for his hand.
“Henry,”I reply in the same tone, trying to mask how hurt I am from that small movement. “Do you have any idea how worried we were last night? Do you even care?”
It hits me like a ton of bricks why I don’t recognize the look in his eyes. It’s because they’re empty. I’ve seen Henry at many different points in his life over the years, but I’ve never seen him empty. “I’m sorry. Is that what you want me to say?”
“I just want to talk, so you understand where they were coming from. It wasn’t done maliciously. They were trying to protect you.” I exhale, unsure of the right thing to do because I don’t want to fight with Henry. “I want you to know that I’m here for you, whatever you need.”
He looks out the window again, signaling the conversation is over.
I thought I had cried all my tears out last night, but I now feel the familiar sensation of tears threatening to slip past my barriers once more.
I love him.
I want to be there for him, but how can I if he won’t let me?
