“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.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ELLE
It’s been one hell of a week. A bona fide pl
ethora of sticky emotions that started out in the worst possible, darkest place, and then turned itself around in the matter of a day. I owe it all to Tassie’s mother, who somehow managed to get my mother into a private, anonymously funded room in Houston’s Mercy Hospital. They have one of the best oncology departments in the country.
The most amazing part, however, is that the doctors at the hospital and Tassie’s mother pulled off a miracle. We got it. The medicine. Literally, I cried for an hour when I heard the news. But nothing topped the look on my father’s face when I told him. He hugged me so hard that my ribs are sore. “I love you, little Elle. I love you so much,” he’d said, nearly sobbing, making me cry right along with him.
But I won’t lie. There was a moment when my brain urged me to temper his excitement with facts. This drug isn’t a cure. It’s a treatment. And treatments don’t always work. So I quickly reminded myself that we all needed to focus on a positive outcome if we wanted to give my mom a fighting chance.
Anyway, she started the new drug almost immediately. Not a trial patient, not a placebo, but the real thing. And it’s been shown to turbo-charge the immune system so that the body fights off the cancer on its own. In short, this is her best shot at making it, and I am committed to being hopeful. Besides, miracles like these just don’t fall out of the sky for no reason.
“Hey, I’m going to get something greasy for lunch and run home to feed Mr. Nucleus,” I whisper to my dad, who’s sitting in the chair beside my mother’s hospital bed, reading a book. With the care she’s been getting, her vitals have improved, but she’s still sleeping a lot. “Can I bring you anything back?”
“No, thanks, baby,” he says.
“You sure?” I got here around ten in the morning, and he hasn’t moved or eaten.
“If I get hungry, I’ll run downstairs.” He flashes a warm smile that shows in his brown eyes, which I love seeing.
“Okay. When she wakes up, tell Mom that I’ll be back later.”
“Take your time. Get some fresh air,” he says.
I know I look like I could use it. Hospitals are not my favorite place. Especially since my mother’s been in and out of them for almost two years.
I take the elevator down and head outside to the back parking lot. The afternoon air is crisp and cool, and I already feel lighter.
“Elle, hey,” I hear a deep familiar voice say.
“Henry?” My mind snaps to attention and I spot him walking toward me in his jeans and plain blue Polo shirt. His green eyes look a little tired, but he is as beautiful as ever and my heart does this crazy little pitter-patter. “How’d you know where I was?”
“I went by your dorm room a few times this week, but you weren’t there. Then I saw Tassie this morning, and she told me the good news.”
“Oh. Yeah, I’ve been here all week.”
He bobs his head. “I heard. You got a minute?”
I’ve been meaning to call him, actually. After Ohio and his big public episode with Hunter, I’ve wanted to tell him so many things. Mostly, that I’m not mad about what he said. I get why he was angry. But the moment I understood how similar he and I are, with our crazy walls and apprehension to trust, I realized the problem was never him. It was painful to admit, but it was always me. After feeling alone for so long, I just don’t know how to share my life with a man. Especially one that forces me to take a good hard look at myself—walls, battle scars, self-perpetuated lies, and all.
The only solution I can think of is to take it slow. Friendship first. Only, I know it’s not what he wants, and standing here looking at him now, the hunger in his vivid green eyes and slight tension in his angular jaw, friendship isn’t what I want either. I want to rewind the clock and go back to that moment in my dorm room last Friday and say what I now know I feel: “I think you might be right. I might need you, too.” But I didn’t say it. And now, I’m not sure how. Fact is, I’m just not as brave as he is. Fact is, I care about him and have to wonder if he’s ready for my world. It’s not exactly an easy place.
Let him decide, Elle. He laid his heart out there. Now, it’s your turn.
“Elle? I promise this will only take a minute,” he says.
Nope. This conversation is going to take much longer. But I need time to warm up. I hadn’t planned on doing this today.
“Actually,” I say, “I was just thinking of getting something to eat. They only have salads and healthy crap here. I need a bacon cheeseburger or something fattening. Wanna join me?”
I can’t read his expression, exactly. But he’s not smiling, not his usual self.
“I already ate,” he says, “but I know a place that makes a respectable grilled cheese. I’ll drive. My car’s right over there.”
I notice he’s parked in a reserved space. Such a cocky guy. Thinks he can park anywhere. Of course, I like that about Henry. He acts like the world is his oyster. That’s because it is.
“Thanks.” I head for his SUV, my hands as tight as my stomach.
He unlocks the doors and opens the passenger side for me. I slip into my seat, unable to stop checking him out. Something’s off. Something’s really off. Like he’s aged ten years despite looking like his same, youthful, stunningly handsome self.
Damn, I just can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s because he’s not smiling. Maybe he’s nervous because he thinks I’m going to tear into him.
Best let him off the hook. I’ll need his full attention for what I have to say.
He starts the engine and pulls out into the parking lot, immediately heading toward downtown.
“Henry.” I clear my throat. “I want you to know that I’m not mad about what you said in Ohio. So there’s no need to apologize. In fact—”
“You’re not mad?”
“No,” I say. “I know you were just upset when I saw you at the game.”
“Then why are you still blocking my number?”
I am? “With all the commotion around my mom, I guess I just forgot.”
Henry takes a right turn. I guess he knows where he’s going, because he doesn’t use maps or anything. I hardly ever come into Houston except for the rare shopping trip or to go to the airport—too much traffic.
I’m about to begin the painful process of open honesty, when he cuts in.
“So,” he says, keeping his intense eyes on the road, “now that your mom is being taken care of, I’m sure it’s a huge relief.”
“Oh. Yeah. I mean, we’re not even close to being out of the woods, but at least we have hope now. And she’s a fighter. If anyone can make it through this, she can. Especially now that she’s starting this new treatment. Statistically, her chances are sixty percent.”
“Is that good?”
“It was zero last weekend, so I’d say yes. Plus, Tassie’s mother has been giving me information on all of the other things we can do to help, like diet and meditation. There’s a special kind of yoga she can try—I hear it helps the body heal.”
Henry grumbles something about yoga under his breath. Guess he’s not a fan.
“So when are you coming back to school?” he asks.
“I’m not. I’ve decided to drop out, which leads me to—”
“What?” He glances at me for a moment but quickly returns his eyes to the road. “You’re dropping out?”
“My family needs me,” I explain, “and I’ve had to face some hard truths lately.”
“But school, Elle. You’re so smart. Why wouldn’t you want a degree?”
It’s not who I am. “I thought it was the right thing to do, but now I know it was a mistake.”
Henry is silent on the matter, but I can tell from his flexing jaw muscles and the eagle-like intensity in his eyes, he’s bothered.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing. So you’re really not coming back?”
I debate my next words carefully because the pretend Elle would make up some bullcrap and say something a normal person might about how college is so important. It is, but I�
��m not normal. So I opt for being honest with Henry and taking a baby step toward telling him who I really am.
“I never wanted to go to college,” I confess. “Besides, I’ve already read the books in all my classes. Ten years ago. And now I’m realizing that it’s a waste of time going through the motions of getting a degree just to make someone else happy.”
“Make who happy?” Henry flashes me a confused look.
“My mom. She’s the one who wanted me to go to school. I think it’s just the way she was raised. You go to college, get a job, get married, have kids and then you retire. That’s not me.”
“So no marriage and kids for you, huh?”
“Why, you asking, Henry?” I joke, but he doesn’t laugh with me.
“You never know.” He pulls up to a stoplight and looks at me. “Elle, are we back on, or are we over?”
Suddenly, my heart starts going all crazy and my toes are tingling. “Well—” I swallow whatever’s in my throat, probably my ability to keep a clear head. “I think I want to crawl before I walk. And you and I are in different preschools. We’re crawling in different directions.”
“I thought you showed up to the game in Ohio because you wanted to give us a shot?” he says.
“I did. I do. But you have to understand, Henry. I’m conflicted over us. I was forced to grow up so fast, and I don’t want that kind of accelerated life for you. I want you to savor every minute and enjoy it. And I definitely don’t want to be the person who gets in the way of your dream. It just wouldn’t be right.”
“That’s not your choice,” he scowls.
Oh no. The conversation is going sideways. Regroup. Regroup.
“Henry, let’s be honest. I can’t see how I can do all the things I want in life and be with you, a guy who travels all the time, going to games, having women throw themselves at him.”
Wait. That came out wrong. I’d merely wanted to point out how our lives are in different places and I’m not sure what to do about it.
His sensual lips flatten and his large hands tighten around the steering wheel. “So you’ve already dismissed us? Completely.”
Oh, Henry Page 10