CHAPTER THREE
HENRY
Present Day.
My parents’ annual Texan turkey trot charity dinner is always held on a Wednesday and is always a dog-and-pony show where they invite a hundred of their “closest” richest friends to our house in River Oaks, an exclusive neighborhood in Houston, for a formal dinner.
While my parents, Chester and Georgina, schmooze for donations and they all pretend not to talk about business, my three sisters—Claire, Michelle, and little Georgina—and I are expected to mingle and make my parents look good. For Claire, the oldest at twenty-six, that means plugging our charities, which she now runs, and pretending it’s what she really wants to be doing with her life instead of painting. For Michelle, who’s the second oldest at twenty-four and not on good terms with my dad, that means not bursting out in demonic tongue when anyone mentions his name. For little Georgina, aka Georgie to avoid confusing her with my mother, she’s twenty and the youngest of our family. She’s also the shyest person on the planet. For her, my parents are just happy if she doesn’t end up hiding in a closet. For me, I’m expected to talk football with Dad’s guests while being followed around by Candice, the daughter of my dad’s longtime friend Big Tom, who’s had his mind set on me marrying his daughter since we were ten. My parents agree that it’s a good match and insist it’s going to happen when I’m done with college.
What do I think?
Ohellno!
Candice is nice enough and actually pretty hot, but I’m not into her. She wants a guy who’ll be her second daddy and treat her like a little princess. And if there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s princesses and their three Ss—spoiled, shallow, and snotty. Candice is so bad that she comes equipped with a forth S. Screwy. She actually believes we’re getting married.
Never going to happen. I’ve said so a thousand times, but they’re all cut from the same damned stupid-stubborn tree. My father takes the cake, though. “The road to success, Henry, is paved with persistence, pressure, and time,” he always says. He thinks I’m like drilling for oil, and if he pushes hard enough, eventually he’ll win. It’s the same thing with football. “Football is a waste of hardworking energy, Henry. And someday you’ll see I’m right.” Of course, when we’re in front of his big banker friends who love the sport, my father is all pats on the back. “My boy is quite the player. Couldn’t be prouder.” Really, though? My father is just waiting for the opportunity to force me to join the family business. He doesn’t quite understand that while the money is important, it’s not everything. Football is everything.
“Hey, Georgina, nice dress. Going to milk a cow?” says some guy who looks about my age, standing on the back patio with a few giggling teenaged girls. I think they’re friends of Candice’s.
Georgina, my baby sister, who has long brown hair and the sweetest, kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever known, was born with chronic debilitating shyness. She’s a borderline mute. Unless you get her alone and she trusts you. Then you learn that she’s smart as a whip, funny as hell, and incredibly compassionate. She’s just not into people. And parties or short dresses. Which is why she kind of just hangs in the background at these events, trying to be invisible or passing for the help by cleaning up. Drives my mother nuts.
I look at the small group of idiots who are eyeing Georgie’s long flowery skirt, snickering away at her lack of fashion sense.
“Dude,” I jerk my head at the guy, “how old are you?”
The guy’s head whips in my direction, and his fake tan instantly melts into a pasty shade of khaki. Obviously, he hadn’t seen me standing behind him, talking to one of my dad’s invites who wants me to come to his son’s peewee football jamboree thing. Of course, I’d love to—I love teaching kids football—but I’m mid-season and then facing my last semester and finals, so I offered to help out next summer.
“Answer me,” I demand.
“Uhhh…nine-nineteen?” he stammers.
“Wanna make it to twenty? Then apologize to my little sister,” I snarl.
He slowly turns his head toward my sister, who is now absolutely mortified, nearly in tears, because I’ve called so much attention to her.
Dammit. But what was I going to do, let them make fun of her?
Just as the idiot is about to speak, Georgie bolts inside.
“Excuse me,” I say to my father’s guest and go after her. I weave through the crowd inside—mostly rich people wearing expensive suits and flashy dresses, getting hammered on expensive champagne—and head upstairs to my sister’s room. She lives on campus at an all-girls university just outside of Houston, but we all have rooms here for show. Yes, we’re one big happy family.
“Knock, knock,” I say, poking my head through the door. Georgina is stretched out across her bed, lying on her back with her eyes closed and hands folded across her stomach like a corpse. It disturbs me since the room is so sterile—white carpets, furniture, and linens—that it almost looks like a funeral home. I can’t stand thinking about anything ever happening to my sisters. Especially little Georgie.
“Hey, you all right?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
“I’m really sorry about what happened down there. It just really pisses me off when—”
I notice her lips starting to curve into a muted smile.
“Georgie…” I snarl.
She pops open one green eye and snickers. “Sorry, but I couldn’t pass on the opportunity to ditch the party.”
“You sneaky little girl.”
She sits up. “Who are you calling little? I’m turning twenty-one soon.”
I’m only twenty-two, but still, “You’ll always be a little brat to me.” I sit beside her on the bed and push her face, making her fall back.
“Hey!” She laughs.
“That’s what you get for worrying me.”
She gets upright again and sits with her legs crossed. “So what’s going on with you lately? Why haven’t you called?”
“You hate talking on the phone,” I point out.
“True. But you could at least call so I know you’re still alive or not locked up in the looney bin. I worry.”
“Why?”
“I’ve seen how you’re playing lately. I can only assume that the ’roids are getting to you.”
I laugh. She knows I don’t touch that stuff. Never will. “Nope. I’m still a naturally fucked-up asshole.”
“Then what’s the deal? I’ve never seen you suck so badly at football. And I could swear Dad has a perma-smile.”
“He tastes blood,” I say, debating if I should tell her about the issue that’s bringing my father closer to his dream: my football career ending. Hell, maybe I should confess. Georgie will say my head’s up my ass and maybe I’ll believe her and move on from all this.
“I met a girl,” I say.
Her eyes pop wide open. “You’re in love?”
“No. It’s not like that.” I grumble out a breath and rub the back of my neck. “I think she’s messed with my…headorsomethingreallystupid,” I mumble those last words, unable to believe I’m saying them aloud.
“Sorry? What was that? Sounded like you said she’s stupid.”
I groan. “No, I’m stupid. We only dated casually for a few weeks.”
“And?”
“And then she dumped me,” I confess, noting how it hurts way more to say than I’d thought.
Georgie’s mouth pops open, matching her wide eyes. “You got dumped?”
“Shut up.”
“No, sorry, it’s just hard to believe.” She shakes her head.
I know. I’m awesome. Only, maybe that’s changing.
“Well,” she continues, “then it makes perfect sense. She’s disrupted your game mojo.”
“Why? It’s not like I got attached to her.”
“Maybe not, but you liked her and she dumped you. That’s never happened.”
“I feel fine. I promise, no broken hearts here.” Though maybe I do miss hearing Elle’s snorty laugh.
“If you say so, but she’s planted a seed of doubt in that thick skull of yours. So you’re going to have to find a way to fix it.”
But how? Elle hates me. And we fight every time we see each other. “Easier said than done.”
“Not really. Whatever you did to piss her off, just apologize.”
“I didn’t do anything. She says we’re just not right for each other and accuses me—me of all people—of not being a man.”
My sister frowns and rubs her pointed little chin. “Hmmm…then man up. Show her you’re not afraid to grovel a little. If that doesn’t work, then hit her with the old Henry charm. I’ve yet to see a girl resist you when you act like an actual human being.”
“Gee. Thanks, Georgie,” I scoff.
“Call it like I see it.” She shrugs. “But hopefully the worst case is you’ll end up friends, and it might be enough to let you move on, get your head back in the game.”
I start thinking about landing in the friend zone with Elle. I don’t like it one little bit. Seems…wrong somehow. On the other hand, maybe I could convince her to come to a few games and test out my theory. Because there’s no denying the truth: The moment we stopped seeing each other, my game went to shit. She shows up? Gold again.
Still, I don’t have time to dick around, groveling and praying Elle might forgive me. I need to take immediate action.
I look at my sister. “I have to go and check some stuff out. You’ll be okay up here by yourself?”
“Way better than downstairs with all those scary people.”
My poor sister. One of these days, I’m going to have to figure out a way to get her out of her shell. Some serious social immersion therapy or something. Because sooner or later, she’s going to graduate and have to get a job whether it’s with my dad or someone else. There are no free rides in the Walton family despite our billions.
I pat her head of brown hair. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, Henry.” She smiles when she says it, but looks away. It’s the one thing we have in common. At the end of the day, we’re both kind of private people, and we don’t feel comfortable with I love yous. Not even to the people we love. But little Georgie is always my exception.
I get up from the bed and head for “my room” to do some research on my phone and make a call. I quickly find what I need online and then dial Hunter and tell him what I’m thinking.
“Tassie’s roomie Elle? Dead-cat T-shirt Elle?” He coughs.
“Yes. Elle,” I growl.
“The woman you screwed for a couple of weeks has single-handedly ruined a lifetime of training and now you need her to win,” he says with a hint of laughter. “You’re not suffering from a concussion, are you?”
Now I’m kind of kicking myself for telling him, but it had to be done. “I’m not the only player who believes in good luck charms. Not that I’m superstitious.” Although, if I were, I can’t see the big deal. Over eighty percent of our teammates have a ritual or lucky rabbit’s foot, so to speak.
“You’re really going to tell her all this?” he asks.
“No choice, which is why I need a favor.”
“What?” Hunter asks.
“I need you to talk to Tass.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because when I tell Elle, she’s going to laugh in my face, accuse me of being illogical and unscientific, and then rip out my nut sack for wasting her time with something so beneath her intellect. Tass needs to convince her to do this.”
“Why would Tass do that?”
“Because she’s into you, man. She’ll do anything for you.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the phone, and I’m guessing it’s because Hunter just made up with Tass earlier this week after some front-yard, family-versus-family blowout. I know this because yesterday I invited him to the party and he told me about it—the nondramatic version for guys. Anyway, I’m glad it all worked out, because Hunter and Tassie are clearly into each other, unlike me and Elle. I liked her, sure, but I never loved her. Now I just need to find out if my theory is true.
“I don’t know, Henry. I’m wondering if Tassie won’t throw up on your idea, too.”
“Hunter, man, you have to help me.” And I know he will because A) he’s a good guy and B) I gave him a place to live so he could afford to stay in school and play football since his scholarship only covers the basics and none of us can realistically work during the season. Between practice, games, travel, and classes, we barely have time to study or sleep.
I continue, “Look, man, I know how lame I sound right now. Even telling you this makes my balls want to shrivel up and fall off. But I’m out of options and I’m out of time.”
Hunter groans on the other end of the phone. “I’ll talk to Tass, but no guarantees. Our truce is on thin ice. When are you going to do your pitch to Elle?”
“Tomorrow. I’m going to her house.”
“On Thanksgiving. Uninvited.” His tone indicates he doesn’t think that’s such a great idea.
“I’m not going to crash their dinner. I’m just going to stop by, beg, and leave. It’ll be harder for her to say no on a day when you’re supposed to be all charitable.”
“How do you know she’ll even be home?” he asks.
“I just checked the math tutoring site. She posts her hours and schedule there.” Elle once told me to use it so we could figure out our hookup schedule. “Says she’s home for the week, but available for online tutoring sessions.”
“Stalker.” Hunter laughs.
“I call it smart. I’m a resourceful guy.”
“I call you fucking nuts, bro.”
“Yeah. But what do I have to lose?” I say.
Hunter is silent for once. He gets how far I’m willing to go to succeed. I’ve told him about my dad.
“I’ll call you tomorrow to check in,” I say. “And have a happy Thanksgiving with your new in-laws.”
Hunter laughs. “Hey, we’re not married. Yet. But I am thinking Christmas will be a good time to pop the question.”
Huh? Hunter is nineteen, three years younger than me, so marriage sounds pretty insane. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah, man,” Hunter says without shame. “I mean, we wouldn’t get married until after college, but it took us over a decade to get here. Tass needs to know I’m not letting her go.”
Oh boy. I sense we’re going to need a bigger apartment for next semester—me, Tass, Hunter, Mike C., and Nathan—luckily, my family owns the building. The only catch is my father will want something in exchange. He always wants something. Just getting the apartment in the first place cost me the summer. I’ll be working for him, overseeing some new pharmaceutical venture he says is a big moneymaker. I don’t mind earning my keep, but I know it’s my dad’s way of covertly preparing me for what he feels is the inevitable: me giving up on football to work for him. It’s why he’s forced all four of his kids to major in business. One by one, he guilted us to drop our chosen majors. I’d wanted to get my BA in sports science, focusing on sports management. I thought that maybe someday, when I retire, I might want to have my own agency or something. Too many slick sharks in the sports waters, trying to take advantage of young, bright-eyed athletes looking to get signed. I would protect them and mentor them along the way. Of course, I have to get through my own shark-infested waters first, and there will be no swimming if I don’t play with perfection over the next four weeks.
I clear my throat. “Well, thanks for helping me out, Hunt. And I’m glad things are in a good place with Tass. She’s, uhh…”
“Overbearing, opinionated, and quirky?” Hunter says.
“I was going to say pretty—but yeah.”
“Well, she keeps me on my toes and has since kindergarten. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I think it’s a weird match, like if Elle and I decided to get married and have kids. Nerds and jocks just don’t make good teams. No common ground when it comes to interests. But hey, maybe Hunter and Tass will be the exception.
“All right,” I say. “Call you tomorrow after I visit Queen Brainiac.”
“Be careful. I have a feeling she bites.”