Page 21 of Break Point
He slides one door shut. “Got an eight a.m. class tomorrow. Good night.”
Then pulls the other closed, shutting himself into his geek sanctuary where he’ll probably play PlayStation for an hour before bed.
“Ugh.” Gemma looks annoyed.
“Ignore him. He’s a dork.”
I should get going,” she says. “It’s getting late, and I have an early class tomorrow.” She grabs her purse and walks over to where her small luggage stands against the wall. “I envy you.”
“Really?” I say. “I’d rather go to school with you than …” I point my thumb toward Henry’s bedroom as I walk her to the front door.
“How are you feeling about, well, all of this?” she whispers.
“Like shit,” I whisper back. “There’s so much I need to tell you. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.” Gemma sighs as she hugs me. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Can’t wait,” I reply in a sarcastically melodic tone.
“Love you!” she sings back, walking down the hall.
“Love you too, Gemms.”
I shut the door and head to my bedroom. After a quick shower and brushing my teeth, I return to the living room to watch yesterday’s tape. The notebook and pen that Liam gave me are still sitting on the coffee table. I can’t help but feel the frustration building up again.
With a sigh, I lower myself to the floor, cross-legged, open my new notebook, and press play. Funny how we keep calling them “tapes” even if it’s all digital now.
I don’t want to get too comfortable and risk falling asleep. The truth is I’m drained, and all I want is to shut my eyes and forget about this. But I know that if I don’t watch it now, I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and come back out to do it.
But time flies, and after filling two pages with notes, I’m finally done with the tape. This notebook has officially turned into a diary because I tossed in more than a few personal thoughts, too. Watching myself lose control after the match was both cringe-worthy and embarrassing. I had to stop the video at that point because I couldn’t stomach it.
No notes.
I lie back on the couch and give my scribbles one last pass to see if there’s anything else I should add.
My stomach twists.
Mom and Henry were right.
I flip to the last page of my notes and write:
The ball was out.
Over and over until I lose count and my eyelids grow heavy withexhaustion. I don’t fight it; I’m physically and mentally drained. My hands go slack, the notebook falls onto my chest, and I drift into a deep slumber.
When I open my eyes, I’m still lying on the couch. I have no idea what time it is, but it’s pitch-black outside, so it must still be the middle of the night. I sit up and yawn, then stand, only to notice Henry sitting out on the balcony. It’s a small balcony, big enough for two chairs, but I love it. From here, you can see Union Square.
He senses my presence and glances over his shoulder. He’s barefoot, wearing a simple black T-shirt and gray cotton shorts. He gives me a slight nod and turns his gaze back to the city skyline. He seems lost in thought, so I quietly step away and let him be. But the weight of everything unsaid tugs at me, giving me pause.
“Henry?” I say softly, turning around. I want to tell him how sorry I am about his father. I want to reconnect, to have my friend back. I need answers and want so badly to know why he left the way he did. The thought pisses me off for the millionth time. But either I spoke too quietly or he ignored me.
I don’t dare approach him.
I’ll see you downstairs at seven.
1 Everything okay, love?
2 “You’re so annoying.” (not a literal translation)
