Page 44 of Break Point
“Relax. It’ll leave a nasty bruise, but my knee is intact,” I reassure him. He needs to stop worrying about this. “The ice is already making it feel much better. I promise.”
“You’re taking the day off tomorrow,” he says. “I can’t risk it. Besides, I don’t even want to look at the hour. I’d rather you sleep in and rest that knee all day to avoid swelling.”
“Your call, Coach.” I won’t fight him on this. I could attend practice tomorrow, but a day off is always welcome. It’s better to be safe than sorry. “So … does that mean I can eat two cookies?”
“No, you cannot.”
“I asked to be nice. You’re not the goddamned cookie police. I’m eating two when I’m done icing my knee.”
“That’s not possible,” he says. “Because I ate one yesterday behind your back. So there’s only one left, I’m afraid.”
“You thief!” I grab a throw pillow and toss it in his obnoxiously handsome face.
“I got really hungry after my run.” He smiles and sets the throw pillow aside.
A faint blush colors his cheeks, giving away his embarrassment at owning up to stealing from my secret stash. He’s adorable, but I also want to cut off his tongue.
“I thought you said I was welcome to eat your cookies when I saw you walking in with a box the other day,” he adds, a little smirk flickering in the darkness. It’s subtle, but I catch it. It’s crawling under my skin.
“Well, it’s rude not to offer,” I say, stifling a laugh. “I’m trying to be a better person here.”
He narrows his eyes at me and leans closer with atsk.
“And how’s that working out for you?”
“Shut up.” I push his face back with an open palm, pretending to be annoyed.
He snorts, leaning back as he braces himself on the coffee table. His sculpted forearms are equal parts impressive and distracting.
We stare at each other for a few long seconds. It’s not awkward or forced. It’s just us. I’ve missed this.Him. I still can’t wrap my brain around the bittersweet fact that Henry’s sitting in front of me. I’m still processing my feelings, but I prefer the timeline where he comes back into my life, circumstances aside, over the one where he never does.
Henry slaps his hands on his thighs and stands.
“Stay put.” He points at me as he walks away toward the kitchen. “Keep icing that knee. I’ll be right back.”
“You keep saying that like I have somewhere else to be!” I call out in a sharp whisper, but he ignores me.
Taking a deep breath, I rest my head on the sofa and stare at the ceiling while waiting for Henry to return. My eyelids feel heavy as I finally feel myself getting sleepy. I do my best not to drift off but can tell that I’m quickly losing that battle.
“Cookie, as promised,” Henry says, placing a small plate on my lap, his voice pulling me back to an aware state. “And a warm glass of milk.” He sits on the coffee table again and offers me the small glass.
“How warm?” I narrow my eyes at him like it’s a test and grab the glass with both hands. I love cold milk, but a warm glass before bed settles me and makes me sleepy.
“Twenty-two seconds on the microwave, of course.” He winks at me, and a warm, unexpected rush tugs at my stomach. He remembered. He’s making me feel like he never left at all. “Wouldn’t want to be subjected to your wrath by going up or down a few seconds, considering you’re still running on the ‘trying to be a better person’ trial version.”
I give him a soft, sleepy laugh and sip on my glass of milk. The temperature is perfect. When I grab the cookie I realize it’s warm, too.
My smile melts as I gape incredulously at him.
“I warmed it up, too.” He presses his lips together into a small smile and looks away.
“Someone’s trying to get back in my good graces,” I tease, taking a biteof the cookie and feeling the soft, delectable chunks of chocolate melting on my tongue.
“I’d do anything to get you to forgive me.”
I stare at him, and Henry’s genuine concern disarms me. It makes me want to tell him I’ve forgiven him, that I’m tired of overthinking and blaming him for the pain his absence caused. That we should leave the past in the past and start over, even if that’s what we’ve been sort of doing already. But I’m still processing my feelings and can’t help my chest from aching every time I see him. It’s only been a few days since he returned, and a part of me is still reeling from the whiplash of it all.
The way his pained blue eyes are staring into mine makes me want to lie to him to spare him, to set him free of that guilt he’s admitted to having been carrying all these years. But I can’t, and I don’t understand why.
