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.
“I just need a minute. Thanks, Meg.” I walk past her and go inside. My father is on his headset, facing his floor-to-ceiling window overlooking downtown Houston. There is only one picture of us—one of those horrible professional family portraits that’s framed and mounted to the wall. Everything else in his office is sterile—glass coffee table, gray sofa with gray rug, black chairs, black desk, and not much else. The lack of life mirrors the rest of this company. Is there really any wonder I don’t want to work here?
Yet you know exactly how this conversation is going to go…
My father notices me standing there and jerks his head, giving me the one-minute finger sign.
I take a seat in the leather chair facing his desk. I need to be firm. I need to be calm. I need his help, but I can’t let this cost me everything. Still, my chances of leaving here unscathed are—
“So how much?” my father barks.
I look up at him, unsure if he’s talking to me.
“Sorry?”
My father takes off his headset and leaves it on his desk. He’s a big man, like me, but with a small beer belly and a blond crew cut.
“Henry, you only come to my office when you need money. Of course, you already have a trust fund and monthly allowance, so I’m guessing you’re in trouble. Or you got someone else in trouble. Who is she?”
I shake my head. This conversation has already started off on a sour note—his only note—but I have to do this. For Elle.
“I don’t need money. I need your help. There’s a friend of mine—yes, a girl—but her mother is—”
“I’m not a charity, Henry. And if you need help with some fundraiser, talk to your sister Claire. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Not all of us get to spend our days dicking around with balls.”
Ah, the obligatory football jab. It doesn’t affect me. Not anymore. “Trust me, if Claire could help, I wouldn’t be here. I need to—”
An alarm goes off on my dad’s desk, and I know what it means. Yoga time. Now that definitely affects me.
“Eleven o’clock!” My father claps his hands and then starts loosening his tie.
Oh hell. I better speak fast, or I’ll have to talk to his bare, hairy ass sticking up in the air. There are no words.
“Dad, I’m not going to bullshit you. That pharmaceutical company you just bought has a new drug—for treating tumors. I need it. For a friend’s mother who’s really sick.”
My dad gets to work on the buttons of his shirt. “No problem.”
No problem? That doesn’t sound like him.
“Just tell her to pay one hundred thousand dollars like everyone else,” he adds.
Ah, there’s the greedy father I know. “Dad, come on. She can’t afford that, and we can.”
My father lays his shirt and tie over the back of his chair, giving me a nice view of his flabby pecs. “Henry, I bought that company because of that drug and the money it will make. I can’t just go giving it all away.”
“I’m not asking for all, I’m asking for one patient.”
“We have a study group. Tell her to apply like everyone else.”
“She doesn’t have time. We help her, or she dies,” I say.
My father unzips his black slacks and slides them down, leaving him in his tightie whities.
Oh, geesh. I better close the deal quickly or I’m going to be looking at his frank and beans. And, for the record, I don’t think I can win any conversation with my father while he’s just standing there buck naked. Seriously disturbs me.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Henry. But you need to become accustomed to the idea that when you’re a Walton, everyone wants handouts. If we said yes, then we’d have nothing left. That’s not to say we’re uncharitable—we raise millions every year—but we give it away in ways that help us maximize the tax write-offs.”
The underwear comes off, and I have to fight my gag reflex. Jesus, this man has no shame.
I squirm in my chair and attempt to avert my eyes. “It’s one person,” I argue. “One person I care about.”
Naked as a baby, all his junk just hanging there, he slides out a purple yoga mat from his desk drawer. Please don’t bend over, please don’t bend over.
“Sorry, Henry, the answer is no. I pay for your school, apartment, car, expenses and everything else. You want more, you’ll have to work for it.”
“You mean work for you.”
He gives me a look and spreads out his mat like he’s about to do something casual like look at a map. He gets down on his hands and knees; thankfully, his ass is facing away. Still, the view is unnerving. “Feel free to work for someone else, but I doubt anyone is going to pay you as much, and you know how I feel about family loyalty.”
The catch is that on my own, I could make really great money playing football, but I’m not pro yet. I still need to graduate and negotiate a contract with one of these teams. Even if I get a signing bonus, all this will take time. Weeks at best, months at worst. Elle’s mother doesn’t have that long.
“How about a loan?” I offer. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I sign with a team.”
My father shuts his eyes and lets out a slow meditative breath. “You have no collateral.”
“I’m your son.”
“Which is why your place is here with me,” he says in a pseudo-calm tone and then ass goes in the air. His big hairy ass.
Gah! No. Why? “You know I love football. It’s the only thing I want to do. If I come here, I’ll hate it.” And I’ll hate you.
“Life isn’t easy, Henry,” he grunts toward the floor. “It requires making tough choices and sacrifices, something you don’t know anything about because we’ve given you everything. It’s time you grow up and learn how the real world operates.”
He’s asking me to choose between playing in the NFL, something I’ve dreamed of since I could hold a football, and saving Elle’s mother. I can’t think of anything more fucked up.
Still, I’ve lost this conversation, and I can’t reason with a disgusting hairy ass. I get up and head for the door. “The only problem, Dad, is that your world is all about money, greed, and control. Nothing thrives in it.”
“Don’t like the way things are? Then learn the ropes and change it. It’ll all belong to you and your sisters someday.”
“They can have it,” I say, closing the door behind me.
“Ready to sign?” Meg asks, sliding a folder toward me across the desk.
I stare at her for a moment, not seeing her or anything around me. All I hear are my dad’s brutally honest words. He’s right. I’ve never had to make a sacrifice for anything. Not for my family, not for my education, and certainly not for any of my friends. Whenever I need something, it’s always there. As for Elle, we’ve only known each other for a short time, but I know I couldn’t ever face her or get on that field again, knowing it cost Elle’s mother her life. I’m not a monster like my father.
“Henry?” Meg says.
“Tell my father he won. I’ll come on board full-time starting in May.” I take a piece of paper from a notepad on her desk, grab a pen, and jot down Elle’s address and phone number. “This is the information of the woman I just told my father about.” I hand the piece of paper to Meg. “Tell my dad to make sure she gets the medicine and treatment starting today or the deal’s off. And make it anonymous.”
Meg nods slowly, noting the devastation on my face. “Of course.”
“Thanks.”
“You’ll do good things here, Henry. I know you will.”
I nod, wondering what she really means by that. Maybe she refers to the lifeless atmosphere or ruthless corporate culture my father’s created. I know he pays well, but that doesn’t mean people are happy.
Well, guess I’ll get to find out. Next spring, I’ll be helping run the Walton empire. My only hope is to find a way to keep Elle in my life.