Mirabelle looks so peaceful. I don’t want to wake her, because I feel like she hasn’t had many peaceful moments lately.
I couldn’t tell her last night that Duke isn’t going to offer Hunter a spot on their team—ever.
It’s entirely a political thing.
Harris told us that he’d be doing Hunter a disservice by offering him a spot because the university has essentially said Hunter will never be allowed to see the field, as it risks the money Sebastian donates. It doesn’t matter that Sebastian would never wield his money as a weapon to get his son playing time. In fact, he doesn’t even need to. Hunter is alreadythatgood, with the potential for his talent to grow exponentially.
He’d rather see Hunter play for another team to reach his full potential, than ride the bench for four years.
I respect him for it, because that’s not an easy choice to make, but I didn’t want to add another burden to Mirabelle’s shoulders. I know her, and she’d feel like it’s her responsibility to fix things even when there’s nothing that can be done. I should know better than anyone; it’s what I would do too.
She scared the shit out of me earlier this week when she turned into a zombie, and I’m not sure if she’s actually doing better now or pretending. I’d prefer not to add anything else to Mirabelle’s plate if I can help it.
I only offered to sleep on the floor last night because I wanted to make it clear that just because she was sleeping in here tonight, it didn’t mean I had any expectations of anything from that list happening. She’s had such a rough week, and I didn’t want to make Mirabelle feel pressured in any way.
It dawned on me last night Mira will eventually move back to her family’s house once the remodel is done. That terrifies me for more than one reason, but the main one being, is it safe? The investigators determined that an accelerant was used, but they haven’t found any evidence that could lead to who started the fire.
I’ve thought about asking Mirabelle if she’s considered rehiring the bodyguard she used after the Olympics a few years ago, but I’d prefer to keep my balls where they are. For some reason, I don’t think she’d be crazy about that idea.
I like having her here. I know Wilson likes having her here, but would Mirabelle choose to stay if she had the option? Or will she want to go back to how things used to be before I made a shit show of my career to the point where she had to agree to fake date me so I wouldn’t get traded?
Mirabelle nestles her head further into my chest, inhaling deeply. I stay deathly still, waiting to see if she’s waking up. “Henry,” she mumbles, tightening her grip on my shirt.
Unable to resist, I brush a piece of hair out of her face, and her eyes blink open slowly. Mirabelle’s lips quirk upward into a smile as she reaches up to brush her fingertips gently over my cheek and then my lips. I stay very, very still as a look of confusion washes over her. “Henry?” Mirabelle asks in confusion, her voice scratchy from sleep.
“Yeah?” I whisper.
She startles, bolting off me quickly, her knee driving straight into my groin in the process. There’s a strangled cry and fucking stars dance across my vision as I roll over into a fetal position.Oh my fucking god.I think I’m going to be sick.
Motherfucker.
I can take getting sacked by linemen twice my size any day of the week, but this? This is fucking excruciating. Scratch that; I think I’m dying.
~
“Dude, I need you to stop making whatever those sounds are every time you move. Whatever freaky sex you had last night, I don’t want to hear it,” Kaitlyn says, grimacing as I adjust in my seat on the couch again.
Mirabelle’s face flushes and she looks up at me apologetically from the book she’s reading.
“Kait, there wasn’t any freaky sex happening last night,” I clarify, and she rolls her eyes.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m going for a run,” Mirabelle squeaks, and I would ask her to stay, but I want to talk to Kaitlyn about Bailey. I’m not sure it’s a conversation Mirabelle needs to be there for, even if it does involve her brother. I know my sister, and she’ll be more willing to tell me what she knows if it’s just the two of us.
Wilson went out to breakfast with his parents who are in town for the game tomorrow, so it’ll leave the house empty for Kaitlyn and me.
“So if you didn’t have freaky sex last night, why are you acting like you have the man flu?” she asks, tilting her head to the side after Mirabelle retreats upstairs.
Huh? I’m too old for this teenage slang. It changes every week.“What’s the man flu?” I ask, momentarily sidetracked.
Kaitlyn laughs quietly, shaking her head condescendingly at me. Sometimes she makes me feel like I’m the younger sibling and not the other way around. “Man flu is when a simple cold knocks a man on his ass and he acts like he’s dying, when a woman can still do everything like normal with a little pack of tissues.”
“I do not act like a cold knocks me on my ass.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Then what’s wrong with you today?”
Mirabelle skips down the stairs, phone in hand. “I accidentally crushed his dick with my knee this morning. Sorry,” she says, and I grimace at the painful reminder. My dick sure hasn’t forgotten.
