Page 76 of Break Point
“We can’t,” he says again, firmer this time. “And don’t start with your ‘Henry, listen …’ thing. I know that tone.”
“Then shut up andlisten,” I reply with a chuckle.
Henry stands to lean against a wall with his arms loosely crossed at his chest and an ankle over his foot.
“I admit that there are a few things I don’t remember from Saturday night, but the one thing I remember clearly is how we both got lost in that kiss.”
Henry licks his lower lip and looks away.
“You’ve thought about it, too,” I press. “Don’t lie. I see it in the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”
He drags a hand down his face and grips the back of his neck.
“We can’t,” he repeats in a sharper tone. “I won’t be able to live with myself if I end up messing with your tennis career like …”
He trails off and walks over to his nightstand.
Like what?
Confusion pounds in my ears as I watch him pick up the tennis ball he keeps there.
“We can’t jeopardize our friendship or your career,” he says, voice firm. “I can’t lose you again, Bells.”
His words punch through me harder than I want to admit. He’s not just protecting my future. He’s protecting his heart, too.
He studies the ball in his hands, tossing it from one to the other, gripping it like it holds all the answers.
“You keep saying how much you suffered when I left, but you have no idea how hard it was for me to go. Leaving like that, without a word, without being able to explain or contact you after. It made me feel so fucking guilty.”
Henry exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair
“And then I came back and saw you. All grown up. Feisty. Stubborn. Strong. Just … you. And more stunning than I was ready for.”
His voice drops, and when he speaks again, it’s barely a breath.
“I can’t lose you again …Please.”
I let out a deep sigh, trying to process his words.
“So what then?” I ask.
I know he’s right. Henry would consume my thoughts and focus. Hiding a relationship from the world, my family included, would be exhausting. I get what the right thing is supposed to be. So why does it feel so awful to accept it?
“We train,” he says. “Harder. Better. And you go out there andwin.”
I look away, biting the corner of my lower lip and nodding a few times. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re running on borrowed time. My dad might find me a new trainer any day now, and the thought of Henry not being part of my daily life and routine is unbearable.
“Together?” I ask, standing.
“I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m not going anywhere,” he says, tossing the tennis ball at me. I catch it mid-air.
“It’s you and me against the world, Bells. Remember?”
He smiles, and something inside me shifts. For the first time, I understand what melting feels like. We used to say that all the time as kids. That we’d play tennis and travel the world for the Grand Slams.
It’s you and me against the world.
It aches more than it should that I’m playing tennis and he’s not. And it frustrates me even more that he won’t let me help him get back into it. There’s something he’s not telling me, but now isn’t the time to push him for answers.
