Oh, Henry Read online

  I wait for Coach to finish talking.

  “What is it, Walton?” he snaps.

  Hunter stares at me, and I see this weird look in his eyes. Like he’s panicking or something.

  That’s kind of sweet, dude. But you guys will play better without me, I think to myself.

  I look Coach squarely in the eyes. “I just wanted to tell you that I won’t be—”

  “Fucking up,” Hunter interrupts. “He won’t be fucking anything up because his new motivational coach is working out really well.”

  I look at Hunter, who mouths the word Elle and jerks his head over toward the stands.

  Elle? Elle’s here? I look for her smiling face but don’t see it.

  “Glad to hear it, Walton,” Coach says. “But words don’t impress me. I want solid defense today.” He walks away, and I turn my attention back to Hunter.

  “Tass texted me,” he says. “Elle couldn’t show up last night, so she needed to borrow money to buy a ticket for the first flight out this morning. I’m sure she’s already here.”

  “Seriously?” I feel a rush in my veins and my heartbeat accelerates.

  “Yeah, man.” Hunter claps me hard on the back. “Now let’s go kick some Ohio ass.”

  I can’t believe it. My lucky charm decided to give me a chance. I don’t know what makes me happier. That or the fact that I am going to kick ass while she watches and then spend the rest of the day and night kissing her, licking her, and fucking the hell out of her until she makes that little squeaky sound I love so much. It feels like my risk paid off, and now the pieces of my life are sliding back into place. With Elle by my side.

  ELLE

  I cannot believe how freaking awesome Henry is. It’s like he’s been pumped with Scooby snacks and is taking down everyone in his path like they were made of papier-mâché. I freaking hate football, but watching him break through the offensive line and sack the other team’s quarterback ten times in one game is nothing shy of amazing. It’s psychological warfare at its finest.

  I think I might actually start liking this sport! I bet the data analysis part of it is fun.

  Of course, what does data matter when the other side is so frustrated that they begin making random mistakes like dropping the ball and running into each other? I’ve never seen so many large men freaking the hell out, practically crying.

  Damn. It’s such a shame I couldn’t be there, I think, watching on my tiny phone.

  “Can’t you go any faster? The game is almost over,” I bark at the cab driver, who couldn’t care less about my romantic predicament.

  “This is the limit. I drive the limit. And it’s not my fault you’re late.” He mumbles that last bit.

  “It’s not my fault either.” I had a connecting flight in Denver and that flight got cancelled due to equipment issues. They put me on the first flight out, but then that flight got delayed due to weather. With any luck, I’ll show up right as the stadium empties. But I need to be there. Henry needs to know I showed up—maybe not for the game, but for us.

  Suddenly, I notice the cab’s not moving. “What the hell?” I look up and there’s a logjam.

  “People must be leaving the game early—clogs up all the roads,” says the driver.

  “Early?” I feel my heart deflate. But of course they’re leaving early. No one wants to stick around just to see their home team lose bigger.

  I debate texting Henry and telling him I really tried to make it, but what good would it do? He’s on the field. His cell is in the locker room.

  Exhausted from flying all morning and being stuck in airports, I fold my arms over my chest and close my eyes. Well, at least Henry’s got his groove back. He played an awesome game. And now he and I can start off on a new foot. I guess today won’t be a complete loss.

  HENRY

  I fucking crushed it today, and it’s just one more piece of evidence that Elle and I belong together. I’m not saying I’m nothing without her, because I got where I am today on my own, but there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s the secret sauce moving forward.

  The score? Sixty-two to seven.

  “Great job, man.” My teammates take turns patting my back. Of course, Hunter and our wide receiver, Ryan, scored all the touchdowns, but I shut out the other team’s chance of scoring for over ninety percent of the game. It’s the kind of moment sports-related wet dreams are made of.

  We do the obligatory handshakes with the other team and I head over to the stands, which are already half empty. Any moment, I’m expecting to see Elle, with her little face and those giant glasses, to prance up and complete the victorious day.

  But I wait and I wait. No Elle.

  I look around the stadium and there’s no sign of her. I see Hunter talking to a reporter, doing an interview. I don’t do interviews because they always try to sneak in questions about my dad or the company.

  “Hey, man, seen Elle?” I say to Hunter.

  Hunter raises his finger to the woman holding a microphone. “Hold on. One second.”

  I repeat my question.

  “Sorry. Can’t say I have.” Hunter goes back to his little moment in the spotlight and it dawns on me.

  Elle’s not here. Why would Hunter tell me she’s here when clearly she’s not?

  “Wait. Did you lie?” I growl.

  Hunter looks over at me. “No, man. I didn’t lie. Tass said she was coming,” he says dismissively.

  I’m not buying it. I’m especially not buying the way Hunter is brushing me off. He fucking lied. I thought we were friends.

  I grab his shoulder, spin him around, and then grab him by the jersey. “You fucking piece of shit.”

  “Get your hands off me, Henry,” he growls.

  “Or what?” I scowl back.

  “What’s the fucking deal? We won. You won. You didn’t need her for that. It was all you, Henry. Be happy.”

  “So you did lie.” I throw a punch, and it lands right on Hunter’s jaw. He flies back with an oomph! and I seize the moment. I jump on top of him and cock my fist, but someone’s grabbing my arm and people are yelling. In the recesses of my mind, I know it’s my teammates. I know the cameras are rolling, too, but I don’t care. My best friend fucking lied to me, after I helped him, gave him a place to live.

  But maybe that’s not really why I’m so mad. He just happens to be an easy outlet. Really, I’m pissed because Elle didn’t come. Everything in my world felt right for a few short hours and then it was taken from me.

  I manage to break free and tackle Hunter again, who’s halfway up. I’ve got him pinned because I’m bigger and stronger than he is.

  “You’re right,” I snarl. “I don’t need her. And I don’t need you. I never did.” I land one more punch before I’m dragged off him. “You and her are just like my father, manipulative fucking liars. Tell Elle to go fuck herself. And you go with her.”

  From the corner of my eye I see two big brown eyes staring at me from behind chunky black glasses with the tape in the middle.

  “Elle?” I pause my rant just long enough to watch her run the fuck away.

  “Let me go!” I yell. “Elle! Elle!” She’s gone before I have a chance to sort this shit out or come to grips with what I’ve just done. I’ve just fucked everything up. Everything. And I know that this time, there aren’t enough kittens in the world to fix it.

  ELLE

  I can’t believe what I just saw. This big beautiful man turned into a beast before my eyes, filled with rage and ready to tear apart his best friend in front of the world.

  I don’t believe for a moment that Henry is a violent man or would ever hurt me. That’s not what this is about. The shocking part was that I saw myself in that moment; all the pain coming loose like an avalanche of emotions, unstoppable, crushing everything good in its path. It’s exactly how I felt the moment I tore into Henry on Thanksgiving and told my father he was foolish for hoping.

  That is what disturbs me; that I’ve just realized how similar Henry an
d I are. Yet you’d never, ever know it from simply looking at us. He’s this huge guy, ripped from head to toe, awe-inspiring really. He has the kind of looks and confidence that open any door and draw people to him. Me? I’m five two and weigh a hundred and twenty pounds. I look like the girl who probably ate paste in the first grade, though I had really been making rockets. The kind you get national science fair awards for. But still, underneath it all, I’ve now realized that Henry and I are exactly the same—ready to tell the world to fuck off, filled with fight and a whole hell of a lot of resentment. It keeps us from trusting. It keeps us from connecting.

  Still, it all starts making sense—why I was drawn to him and why I really didn’t want to start a relationship. It was never about being different. It was always about the fear of having to take a good hard look at myself.

  I start to laugh, snorting and hiccupping—the full nine yards. Henry is me. Henry is me. I can’t control the goddamned need to laugh.

  My phone beeps, and I slip it from my pocket, not even bothering to check the caller ID. I know it’s Tass.

  “He-hello?” I chuckle.

  “Elle, honey, it’s your dad.”

  “Dad?” My blood pressure takes a nosedive. “What’s the matter?”

  “Baby, it’s your mother.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  HENRY

  Well, this isn’t pretty, I think while watching a gif of myself punching Hunter, playing on Sportsnet Today while the hosts talk about the game.

  Goddammit. National coverage has ensued, my emotional outburst seen by over twenty million people, likely including my parents. Now the rumors are flying that I’d been in a ’roid-rage. None of that really matters to the scouts, though, because now everyone thinks I’m some sort of tough guy who can take any team to victory. They’re calling me the “Quarterback Crusher.” Also, Hunter made a public statement apologizing for provoking the fight and for letting a little friendly “ball busting” get out of hand. He took a bullet for me—his way of saying he is sorry—but we both know it was all me. A giant man-tantrum over a girl.

  I look over at Hunter, who is sitting at the kitchen table, studying for his English test, a huge shiner on his left eye.

  “Man, I’m really sorry,” I say.

  Without lifting his eyes off his book, he replies with a shrug. “Dude, you have to stop apologizing every time you look at me.”

  “Can’t help it,” I mumble and turn my attention back to the TV.

  “And turn that shit off,” he says. “It’s only making you feel worse.”

  I sigh and do it. The self-flagellation is probably pointless. I need to go see Elle and say I’m sorry. I just know it’s better to have a cooling-off period after pissing someone off like I’ve done to her. I literally yelled to the entire world that I didn’t need her.

  “Think it’s safe to go over to the dorms?” I ask.

  “Elle’s not there,” Hunter mutters under his breath, highlighting something on the page. “She went home. Tassie went, too—wanted to bring Mr. Nibbles to cheer her up.”

  Huh? I turn my entire body in his direction. “It’s Mr. Nucleus. And what happened? Is it Elle’s mother?” I’m hoping it’s not a turn for the worse.

  Hunter lets out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know, Henry. Tassie doesn’t want to talk about it right now—says she needs to focus on holding a rope or lifeline or some strange shit like that. And I’m not going to call Elle myself and pry.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Hunter rolls his eyes. “Because whatever it is, I knew you’d just run over there and make a giant unwelcome ass out of yourself.”

  True. I would.

  I scratch my beard. “But do you think it’s bad?”

  Hunter reaches for his pocket and produces his phone. “Dude, I don’t know. Feel free to call Tass yourself, but I’ve learned my lesson with her. I don’t butt in or come to the rescue unless she asks. She hasn’t asked.”

  Pussy. I get up and go for his phone. It’s already queued up to call Tass. I hear it ring twice before Tassie’s voice comes on. “Hey, muffin nuts—sweet and delicious. Looking for some creamy butter?”

  Ewww… And…“muffin nuts”?

  I clear my throat. “I think my nuts are more like unripe kiwis. Firm, fuzzy, and not for eating. Licking is okay, though.”

  I hear Hunter chuckle.

  “Who is this?” Tassie barks.

  “Henry, who else?” I say.

  “Ugh. What do you want, you big ogre? And why are you calling on Hunter’s phone?”

  “Because your boyfriend is a wuss and too afraid to ask you what’s going on with Elle.”

  “Hold on,” she says, followed by the sound of footsteps and a door closing. “What do you care, Mr. ‘I don’t need anyone’?” she hisses quietly. “And after all my hard work getting her to give you a chance.”

  “Tassie, I blew it. I know I did. But you know I care about Elle. I was just pissed. Tell me what’s going on. Please.”

  I hear a long breath. “It’s too depressing. I can’t even say the words.”

  “Is she dying?”

  “Yes, of course she is, you idiot.”

  I let that slide because I know that Tassie is under pressure.

  She continues, “She started throwing up anything she ingests, so she’s just not getting enough water or food. Her blood pressure is low, and she’s unconscious half the time. They’re debating what to do—hospitalize her, where she can be cared for by nurses, or leave her at home. No one can decide because Elle’s mom told everyone she didn’t want to go back to any depressing hospitals ever again, but they don’t exactly know how to take care of her here. It’s beyond devastating.”

  It’s not like me to say something so sentimental and all touchy-feely, but, “Thank you for being there for Elle, Tassie. You’re a good friend.”

  It makes me feel better knowing she’s got someone close to her right there, even though I want that person to be me.

  “Yeah, well,” she says, “I’m sure Elle would do the same for any of us. And since I don’t have money, I can’t help out with the medical costs. This is all I can give.”

  Her comment gives me an idea. My only question is, what will my father ask for in return? He always wants something—like a piece of my soul—and since I basically called him a manipulative asshole on live TV, I’m fairly sure the price tag on any assistance just went through the roof.

  I’ll call my oldest sister. She runs all of the family’s charities and sits on the board of a major hospital in Houston. She can help. Though she’s just like my dad and will want something in return, it will be preferable to my father’s demand.

  “I’ll call you back,” I say.

  “Why?” Tassie questions.

  “I know a few people who can help—with nurses and stuff.”

  “Henry,” she says sternly, “a nurse is nice, but her mother needs an act of god. So unless you know someone on the board of Paloverde Pharmaceuticals or you have a direct line to an angel, the best thing you can do is leave Elle alone.”

  I feel my gut twist into a painful knot. I know that company. All too well. “Paloverde Pharmaceuticals? Why them?”

  “They’re this company my mother and I have been hounding for days. They just released some new drug that might help, but we can’t get anyone there to talk to us about helping Elle’s mom.”

  I swallow a lump in my throat, but it does little to quell the acid spike in my stomach. My family’s company acquired a majority share of Paloverde last month as part of their portfolio diversification. I know this because I’ll be interning there next summer as part of my payment for the apartment and as part of my dad’s master plan to teach me managerial skills.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I want to hit something. I want to break, tear, scream, and roar. However, all I can manage is a nod and a, “Yup. Consider it done.”

  “Consider what done?” Tassie snaps.

  “What’s the name of
the drug, Tassie?” I snarl.

  “Henry, do not fuck with me.”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” I reply.

  “So you know someone there?”

  “Yes.”

  A long pause precedes a longer sigh. “Jesus, Henry. I swear to fucking God…” Her voice trails off.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I know she wants to threaten death if I don’t deliver. “I’ll text you the information on what she needs—but please, please don’t tell Elle anything unless you are one hundred and ten percent sure you can get this drug. She’ll be—”

  “Devastated.” Which is exactly how I feel in this moment.

  Wearing the obligatory suit and tie, I take the elevator to the top floor of Walton, Inc. As many times as I’ve been here, I’ve never gotten used to it. Stale air. Stale people. It feels like the life has been sucked out of everything here.

  I walk up to Megan, my father’s assistant, who’s in her late fifties but looks like she’s a decade older—my father’s fault, no doubt.

  “Good morning, Megan.” I offer her my most charming smile.

  “Henry, so nice to see you. I actually have some paperwork for you to sign. Your father is making you majority shareholder of Johnson and Sons, a new bamboo-farming acquisition.”

  I grumble disapprovingly. My dad likes to put our names on things for tax purposes, but he runs everything. I generally go with it, just as long as he leaves me alone about football. Of course, that’ll now be over.

  “I’ll sign on the way out. He’s in today, right?” I ask.

  “He’s on call until eleven. Then, well…you know.” She winks.

  My dad takes a break every day at eleven in the morning. He gets naked—completely—lays out his yoga mat, and then gets into a pose and holds it for thirty minutes. It’s weird as shit, but he claims that it focuses his mind and connects him to the power of his masculine energy or some bullshit like that. Seriously, the only thing that man is connected to is his wallet. Sadly, this is the only time of day I know he won’t be on a call or in a meeting.