Page 99 of Lessons in Forgiving
Which was Henry.
CHAPTER 40
NOW
I’d ordered Henry to my place. I’d told him to wait in my room, and I’d been sure I’d sounded angry because he’d done what I’d asked without a questioning word.
I was still angry when I stood in front of him exactly twenty-three minutes later. Pacing up and down the room, in front of my bed and the orange wall it stood against. Hands in the pockets of his jeans, dark blue button-down lazily tugged into them, he looked up at me.
“Paula?” he asked, looking worried and confused.
Different from the confusion I was currently experiencing. Which went more along the lines ofWhy?andWhen?AndHow could you do this to me?
I closed my door behind me, both hands behind my back when I leaned against it, feeling defeated before the conversation, the argument, the potential fight, had even started. My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach, when I asked, “How do you know Lacy?”
Because on my very brisk walk here, I’d remembered hehadknown her. That she’d greeted him like they’d spoken before. Like they were acquainted, at least. Right after our first interview.
Henry’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
“Blonde hair. Blue eyes.Hall Beck Post,” I listed. “Hates me,” I added, snickering. “Ring any bells?”
His eyes trailed through the room, and the way they drifted to the upper-left corner of his vision told me he was trying to remember. Trying to jog his memory. Which seemed worse,somehow— that he had forgotten something that had essentially almost cost me my career.
His gaze jumped back to mine. “Halloway. Right?” he asked in confirmation. “Yeah, of course. Your friend from—” Henry cut himself off at the same time as it dawned on me.
When I realized my mistake in sync with Henry realizing his. “Did you sayhatesyou?”
I cursed under my breath. My head fell back against the door with a groan. “I never told you, did I?”
Shaking his head, he took a step toward me. Still kept quite some distance between us. “Last year, a few days before you interviewed Mark.” He began. “I thought you gave her my number. She reached out, said she was supposed to set up the interview, but you forgot to give her the details. You were so busy she didn’t want to bother you, so I—” Henry blinked the memories away. “What did she do?”
“Fucked me over,” I figured. “Paid Mark to say exactly what I’d want him to say in the interview, only to go against what we printed after. Essentially getting me a registered complaint at the SPJ—Society of Professional Journalists,” I explained at his questioning glance. I snorted at how obvious it was now. “Jesus, how would Mark evenknowto go to the SPJ? Why would he caresomuch about ethics in journalism—the man studies business, for God’s sake! There’s nothing ethical about—”Stop, I told myself. I was still in a room with a business major. “No offense,” I cringed.
“None taken.” Henry shrugged, but it did not seem like an explanation of the situation had made him feel much better. “Fuck, Paula,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “If I’d known…Fuck,” he repeated. “That bastard wouldn’t have just been running around with a black eye for a few weeks. It’s one thing to get my girlfriend on the SPJ register, it’s entirelyanother to get her on therepurposely. To meet you with the intent of fucking you over—”
But I was still stuck on his words— “A black eye?”
Henry snapped his head in my direction, like he just realized he hadn’t been holding an internal monologue but was very openly saying what he was thinking. No filter, just Henry. Who blinked at me, perplexed and a little apologetic.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed, running a hand over his face in… defeat? I’d never seen the emotion on him, so I couldn’t be sure. “When I saw your texts about what happened last year, I saw red. I’d just gotten out of a strategy meeting, and when you didn’t answer the phone, I saw… redder, I guess. I figured you were with Maeve, so I got in the car. I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing, honestly. Next thing I knew, I was at Harvard, though.” Henry took a deep breath, and his eyes returned back to mine across the room. “A two-hour drive, and I was still so angry. With myself, mostly, but so much more with Mark.” He started in my direction, then stopped himself. “I swear I meant to talk to him. Ask what the fuck happened. My fist just… slipped. Accidentally.”
My breath came in ragged bursts at the new information, loud and heavy as I put the pieces together. “Slipped,” I repeated. “Against his face?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He finally overcame what had felt like miles between us to stand right in front of me, the intensity of a thousand suns in his eyes. “Because he hurt you, Paula.”
Because he hurt me. Henry Parker Pressley had lost his bearings, driven to Boston and punched a guy in the face because he’d hurt me, apparently. Without the plan to do so and without writing it into his calendar first—purely on instinct.
Probably the same way he’d taken me to the Hamptons on instinct. Because I’d been stressed, and I’d looked like death and he’d wanted to fix that. Giving Mark Lager a black eye hadn’t fixed much last year, but it had probably felt pretty fucking great.
I looked up at him, mere inches away, not quite sure what would come out of my mouth until it did. Barely a whisper. “Youhurt me, Henry.”
Just a few hours after he’d punched someone for the same offense.
His brows pulled together, the crease between them growing with worry and guilt and a million other things before he dropped his gaze, like the reminder was a slap in the face all the same. “I know,” he forced out, then repeated the admission as it settled. “I know. And I’m so fucking sorry, Paula. I felt guilty, and confused, and… honestly a little scared. I wasn’t sure if Mark would go to the press for what I did, and I just… I thought we’d both be better off without my apparent newfound love for rash decisions. I putyourfuture in jeopardy, then mine, and it just felt like I lost control over… everything, honestly.” He shook his head, trailed off. “I am sorry, though. Really. For hurting you. For letting Lacy screw you over. I should’ve told you she asked about him—”
