Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)(36)
“But you make friends so easily!” I wish I’d said it in a calm, normal way. Especially since he’s close enough to me that his leg is resting against mine. But no, it comes out all high and scratchy. “Sorry. I just mean you have so many people around you now. And you befriended me.”
“I had no friends freshman year, and I didn’t have close friends in high school. People were nice to me and I had acquaintances and teammates, but I preferred to be by myself. I sometimes mirror new people by accident, but I can’t maintain it.” He pushes the final bite of cheesecake toward me on the plate. “Being around so many new people is overwhelming. I stayed with my parents a lot because the guy I shared a dorm room with used to watch his TV, laptop, and phone at the same time. There would be different sounds blasting constantly and I felt like I was going to lose my mind.”
“What changed?”
“Nate and Robbie. They’re like an old married couple and they treat everyone like they’re their children. They grew up together, and Robbie had a serious accident and Nate’s mom died, so I think they trauma bonded. Now they act like they’re everyone’s dads. They let me live with them and it gave me space to adjust and learn how to process college.” He reaches for the next dessert. “And JJ, too, but I guess he’s more like an irresponsible uncle than a dad.”
“That’s really nice, Henry. I’m happy you found your feet.”
He pushes the strawberry on top of the torte to my side of the plate, a gesture born from me telling him strawberries are my favorite fruit. “I told you, platonic love is more effective.”
My fork sinks into the strawberry. “I think you might be right.”
The car ride home is the same comfortable quiet as the one there. He tells me he’s thinking about getting his own car so he doesn’t abuse Russ’s or Aurora’s kindness by borrowing one of theirs. I tell him I doubt they would ever think that about him.
When I’m finally home, Henry hovers close behind me as I rummage around in my clutch for my keys. When I finally find them, unlock the door, and take a step inside, he doesn’t move. “Are you not coming in?”
He shakes his head. “I’m being a gentleman.”
“Do you not want to be a gentleman inside?”
“I want to, but you should send the guy home at the end of a first date.”
“A date and advice. I’m getting the full Henry Turner treatment tonight.”
Henry looks like he’s about to say something but stops himself. “Not quite.”
He leans forward and my heart stops. His lips press against my cheek gently, and I’m not confident I’m breathing fully. He moves back, the hot sear still present on my skin. “Good night, Halle.”
“Good night,” I say as he walks away, but it once again comes out as a whisper.
When he’s climbed back into the car and driven off, I lock the door behind me and take a look at the drawing of me propped against a photo frame in the hallway as I pass it.
After getting ready for bed, I climb under the duvet with my laptop. With The Great British Baking Show playing on my TV, I create a new chapter and start typing.
Chapter Eleven HENRY
WHEN THE FIRST THING I saw this morning was Lola in my kitchen wearing a hockey jersey inside out, I thought it was a bad omen.
I’ve never understood athletes and sports fans with their superstitions. Maybe it’s because I was raised by people who don’t believe in them. I’ve always raised an eyebrow at the team’s various habits: specific underwear, only certain playlists, the need to drive a precise way to the rink, to name a few.
But when Lola stood in front of me pouring coffee into two mugs, not even aware I was at the bottom of the stairs, I thought, Oh fuck. We’re going to lose today.
The thought made me want to be sick, and I realized quite how nervous I’d been pretending I wasn’t for our first game of the season. Hearing the words “Captain Debut” had quickly become my biggest pet peeve in the run-up to this game, but it was the moment I thought we were going to lose that I realized how responsible I feel for the success of this team.
That feeling doesn’t go away for one second of the day. I’m so hyperaware it makes me nauseous. We smash it, but the need to throw up only very slightly subsides. I expect a switch to flick on, to feel like I can do this, to become different somehow as I step off the ice with my teammates to celebrate in our locker room together, but I don’t.
I think about tomorrow, and next week, and the week after. I think about the shots we missed and… I think about everything far too much and it’s like I’m sinking beneath my own worries.
Nobody else is affected.
Nobody else is sinking.
Nobody else will understand because we still won, and for now, that’s all that matters.
I match their energy to their faces and smile, mirroring back exactly what they give me. I tell them we can do this again, and again, and again. I don’t want to become one of those superstitious people, but the last thing I’m going to do before I go to sleep is tell Lola to pour her morning coffee with her jersey inside out.
* * *
WHY IS IT ALWAYS WHEN I need some privacy that nobody wants to leave me alone?
Faulkner is nowhere to be found when I approach his office, so I let myself in and close the door behind me, pulling up Nate’s name on my phone.