Meeting Henry had turned my whole life upside down in a matter of hours, and now I didn’t know which way was up.
“Do you want something else?” Henry broke the silence and pointed at my unfinished glass of whiskey.
I shook my head. “No, I’m fine.” I shifted on the couch, pulling my leg up under me with my foot dangling off the side. The questions in my head began to win out, and I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “What happened with your mother and the company?” I regretted the question when a dark look flashed through his amber eyes.
“What didn’t happen?” he said, reaching forward to refill his glass.
“What does that mean?”
I leaned in, resting my hand on his arm, the one that was reaching for his glass. He stopped and sat back. His eyes met mine. For the first time, I think he realized that I wasn’t just making small talk; I genuinely wanted to know what had happened.
With a sigh, Henry ran a hand over his face, the dark stubble on his cheeks rasping. “She hates my drinking.” He gestured towards the bottle of whiskey. “She doesn’t think I’m stable enough to be of use any longer. She and Jax had a meeting about me, behind my back, to discuss what to do with me. Like I was a child or an animal that needed to be put down. That was a month ago. I’ve been trying to convince them I’m all right, going to the occasional therapy session, and whatever. They told me I can’t come back until I’m completely sober.”
He stopped talking and leaned forward to pick his glass up again. When his hand circled the clear tumbler, he froze. I could see the wheels turning in his head. With a slight shrug not meant for me, he pulled the glass to his mouth, throwing it back in one gulp before he set it back down on the table again. His eyes met mine again, shame and regret clouding their tawny depths, which were so like the color of the alcohol that had its hooks in him. I could see it now, see that he hadn’t been joking when he’d made the comment about his drinking. But what I could also see was that he didn’t want it to be this way.
We were so alike, Henry and I, with our coping mechanisms that were more self-destructive than helpful. My heart ached for him as he bared himself to me, a virtual stranger. The pain of his mother’s rejection was written all over his face.
“I’m so sorry she’s doing this to you. Addiction is difficult.” I wanted to let him know that despite him appearing to choose to drink, I knew it wasn’t really his fault.
“Well, I don’t know if I’m addicted.” He shook his head, as if he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince me.
“We don’t have to talk about that. We can talk about something else,” I said in an effort to change the subject, just in case he expected me to share my deepest secrets with him.
Henry nodded, scooting closer to me on the couch. “Tell me about your job.” His relief at the change of subject radiated in his eyes.
I grunted without meaning to. “It’s a good job, but not what I want to do forever. I mean, it pays well, for the city, but it’s so boring. I know I said this before but I would love to work in fashion. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. It doesn’t help that my boss is so demanding. She uses me as her personal gopher even though I have shown that I can do so much more than that.”
“Why do you stay?”
“My dad feels like I should do something reliable, something that I can be sure I will be able to make money from for a long time. He is really overprotective, but he means well.”
A strange look passed over Henry’s face before he spoke again. “At least it seems like your dad actually cares about your future,” he said, taking another swig of his drink.
“He does, a little too much. “
“I’d love for either of my parents to feel something for me other than contempt.”
“Henry, I—”
He waved the comment away. “Don’ t worry about it. I’m used to them not caring.”
I wanted to tell him that I cared, but we had only just met.
“I’d kill to work at your mother’s fashion house.” I changed the subject.
“Mother would love for you to replace me on their marketing team. You’re just the kind of person she would want.”
My jaw dropped. Working for a fashion house was my dream.
“You think she’d consider me?” I asked him when I was finally able to speak.
“Oh, I, uh—”
I realized too late that he was being sarcastic again. “Oh, no. Oh, gosh. I’m being so ridiculous. Of course, you were joking.” I shook my head and stood, ready to leave.
He was too drunk, and I was too vulnerable.
“No, don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m an ass. You’ll probably be great, but I don’t think my mother would trust my judgment. She doesn’t trust me with anything.”
I shook my head again. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” I gestured between the two of us.
Henry jumped up from the couch and closed the distance between us. He gripped my hips before I could stop him. His face was so close to mine I could smell the alcohol on his breath. The scent of him made my heart speed up. He leaned in, our breath mingling, his lips inches from mine. Then he was kissing me, our mouths slamming together, our tongues tangling. I could taste the whiskey—sweet, strong, and heady—on his tongue. I wanted him to keep going, to take all of me, to numb my pain. With an internal sigh, I broke the kiss and pushed him away. If I let him numb my pain tonight, I’d never talk to him again.
“I can’t do this,” I said, taking two steps away from him and covering my mouth with my hand.
“Shit,” he hissed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s right. I’m always fucking everything up.”
I shook my head for the third time—my body unable to react in any other way. “No. It’s not that. I can’t do this because if I do . . .”
I couldn’t tell him what I was thinking. I couldn’t tell him about everything I had done wrong up until now.
“I have to go. I have that thing tomorrow.”
I strode to the door, grabbing the knob to escape. I liked Henry, I wanted to get to know him, but I didn’t trust myself.
“Nicolette . . . wait.” With a few quick steps, he was at the door, his hand slamming against the door so I couldn’t open it.
He thrust my purse into my hand. I hadn’t even realized I’d left it.
“Thanks,” I muttered and tried to pull the door open.
“Before you leave, I just want to say one more thing.” He leaned over me, our bodies so close together we were nearly touching. “Don’t write me off yet. Please. I’m not good at this. Any of it. And the drinking. . .” He paused, and this time he was the one shaking his head. “Have brunch with me still. Please.”
I closed my eyes, my head dropping back against the door. I tried to ignore how close he was, the pleading in his voice, how I felt when I was near him, and how that kiss made me feel. It didn’t matter how much I wanted this, I knew my therapist would tell me not to go down this road. She would reprimand me and tell me that I couldn’t be in a relationship with anyone until I could love myself.
But the words that came out of my mouth contradicted everything that was running through my mind.
“Okay, I’ll still have brunch with you on Sunday,” I said with a sigh.
Henry released a breath. “I’ll try to get my drinking under control. I promise.”
I didn’t respond to that. I didn’t want him to get his drinking under control for me; I wanted him to get it under control because he wanted to. Maybe I’d been in therapy too long and Doctor Harper was rubbing off on me, but I didn’t want to be an enabler or co-dependent. I had enough problems of my own without contributing to someone else’s.
“Henry, I—”
He held up a hand to silence me. “Don’t say it. I know what you’re going to say. We’ll talk at brunch. We’ll figure it out. Until then, let’s be friends. Let’s just get to know each other, okay?”
He held out a hand for
me to shake, like this was a business deal. I smiled at him as I shook his hand.
“Okay, Henry. You’ve got a deal.”
I ignored the sensation that shot up my arm at the contact. How was I going to pretend I wasn’t attracted to him?
“See you Sunday,” he mumbled, opening the door to let me leave.
I nodded. “See ya.”
I had to pretend, because if I didn’t, I would have to give him up before I even had him.
Chapter 4
Henry
From the moment she stepped out my door and into the hallway, I wanted to call her back. This feeling of needing a woman for something other than to fulfill sexual urges was new and terrifying. I barely knew Nicolette. But none of that mattered. Nicolette made me want to be a better man, in a way I had never been before. She made me want to quit drinking. Nothing had ever made me want to quit drinking before—not even Mother’s threats of being disowned or fired from the family company.
I think that was the most terrifying thing of all. Never before had I felt like I needed to change myself for someone, but here I was, wishing I was someone else.
“Henry, are you even listening to me?” My mother’s voice, judgmental as usual, cut into my thoughts.
I didn’t want to be here, but in an attempt to be the better man I claimed I wanted to be, I went to the family therapy session my mother had been asking me to attend for the last three years. The individual sessions I had been attending at her request wasn’t enough for her.
“Well, are you?” she asked, her face a mask of irritation.
“Yes, Mother, I’m listening,” I lied.
Somewhere around page two on her list of my faults I tuned out.
“Are you willing to work on these things?”
“Of course, Mother.” Another lie.
She blew out a breath through clenched teeth before looking from the therapist to my father.
Doctor Gerard tapped his pen against the open notepad on his knee. “How are we all feeling after today’s session?” he asked, looking at each of us in turn.
“If Henry can abide by my terms, I think I feel pretty good about it. What about you, Hank?” She turned to my father whose face showed just how little he wanted to be here.
“Whatever you say, Beatrice,” my father answered with a dismissive wave.
Doctor Gerard pursed his lips, jotted a note down, then gave my father a pointed look. “Hank, there isn’t anything you want to add? Anything you want to say to Henry or Beatrice?”
Dad shrugged. “I want you to think about what your drinking and reckless behavior are doing to this family. Your mother has her own set of wants and needs, but I want you to think about not only the image we are projecting of our family, but the impact this will have on your future. We can’t, in good conscience, give you your job back unless you are sober, and I don’t see what other options you have for a career. Think about what you’re doing to yourself, Harry. Your mother and I may not have been the best parents, but we’ve been trying. Now, it’s your turn to try.”
He let out a loud sigh as he stood up, adjusted his jacket, and walked to the door. He gave me one last pointed look before he stepped from the room.
I was wrong. My father hadn’t been wishing he was somewhere else while Mother droned on about her wants and needs, he had been thinking how best to tell me that he was disappointed in me. Putting my face in my hands, I tried to quiet my racing mind. I could deal with my mother’s disappointment because I knew where it stemmed from. She wanted me to be more like Jax—a workaholic who had no social life and put the company before everything else—but I wasn’t Jax.
That was likely the main reason she couldn’t stand me.
But it had always been different with my dad. For a while, when I was younger, we got along great. I always thought I was more like him than my mother anyway. Slowly, as I became an adult and realized how little my mother actually cared about me over her company, my dad and I grew apart. He always supported Mother, gave in to her every whim, which was likely the reason they got along so well. I wasn’t like him in that way—Mother’s whims were aggravating and fleeting to me. I refused to bow down to the ideal of perfection she had for me.
I was my mother’s biggest disappointment, but I’d never thought I was my father’s. Not until just now when he’d walked out of the therapist’s office with a look of defeat on his face.
“I think I’m done for the day,” I mumbled as I stood and shuffled towards the door.
“Henry James Radcliffe-Rogers, you better not walk out of this office,” my mother admonished me like I was a toddler.
“I think everything that needed to be said has been said, Mother. I’m a disappointment, what’s new? You heard Dad, I have to look for a job.”
“Henry, if you could just—” Doctor Gerard began but I yanked the door open, and without a backwards glance at my mother, I stomped out of the room like the petulant child everyone assumed I was.
Chapter 5
Nicolette
“Look how pretty my baby girl is.” My dad held open his arms when he saw me and I stepped into his arms for a tight hug.
“Hi, Dad. You look pretty handsome yourself.” I stepped out of his embrace, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles from my sweater dress.
My dad was handsome for his late fifties. His dark blond hair was slightly longer on the top, which made him look younger, and he was dressed in a stylish suit and tie. Not for the first time, I wondered why he hadn’t remarried after my mom died. Though I had my suspicions why, he never spoke about it and I didn’t want to pry.
“I was worried you’d be late.” He gave me his sternest look before smiling. My father had always had a hard time being angry with me.
“No chance. I know how much this event means to you and the hospital.”
Dad smiled again, and I looped my arm through his as he guided me to the banquet room. We took our seats at a table right at the front. The event went smoothly. Before we ate, my father gave a heartfelt speech about the hospital and what it meant to him and our family. I felt a stab of grief in my chest when he mentioned my mom, but I didn’t let it get to me. Instead, I cleared my throat and ate another mini muffin to keep my hands busy. My phone vibrated inside my purse, but I ignored it. My father would not be happy if I missed his speech to answer a phone call.
By the time the breakfast was over, my phone had gone off three more times. I was worried something had happened to Liza. I slipped my phone out of my purse to peek at the screen as my dad went over to talk to someone else. I had three missed calls from Henry and two texts from Liza.
Sighing, I shoved it back into my purse just as my dad headed back to our table.
“You ready to go?”
I nodded, my mind whirring with questions about both the missed calls and the texts. From what I’d seen on the text notification, something had happened between Liza and Jackson. Henry hadn’t sent a follow-up text or left a voicemail, so I had no idea why he’d called me. We’d made plans to have brunch together tomorrow, but we hadn’t said we would talk more before that. My stomach somersaulted at the prospect of speaking to him again.
“Nic?” my dad said from several steps away. I hadn’t even realized that he had moved away from me.
“Sorry, Dad,” I answered as I closed the gap between us.
Even though we’d just had breakfast together, I knew, without asking, that he would hold me to our standing Saturday lunch regardless. My father and I had been having Saturday lunch since before I left for college. It was our way of catching up and his way of checking in to see if I was okay. Our lunches became even more important to him after my mother died.
After she killed herself.
An insuppressible ache gripped my chest. I took a deep breath and followed my father out to his waiting car, rearranging my face so he wouldn’t ask me what was wrong. There was nothing more agonizing than bringing up my mother or her death with my dad. I tried to avoid it as much
as I could.
Once in the car, we talked about the benefit breakfast, recapping the connections we made with people and our favorite foods. My dad was the easiest person to talk to because he always listened before he offered an opinion or suggestion.
“With all of the benefit hoopla, I forgot to ask about your date with Jackson Radcliffe,” he said when there was a lull in the conversation.
I paused, unsure what to tell him about the date. In addition to being a good listener, my dad was always ready with advice on dating and relationships. His main goal in life was for me to be happy. The problem was that he tried too hard to make sure I was happy.
Sometimes it was suffocating.
I shrugged. “Well, I didn’t really hit it off with Jackson . . .”
“But?”
“His cousin Henry is nice.” Heat rose into my cheeks and I quickly avoided my dad’s eyes.
Saying Henry’s name out loud reminded me of the missed calls. My mind began to spin again as I wondered what he had to tell me that badly to call me three times.
“Henry Rogers-Radcliffe? My dad pursed his lips for a split second before masking his face to hide his reaction.
“What?”
“Well, I don’t know too much about him, but what I’ve heard isn’t too great.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, but I knew he was faking it. My dad was very opinionated about who I spent my time with.
“What have you heard?” I was curious because Henry was the first man I felt anything for beyond the need for a quick fuck to soothe my aching psyche.
Dad narrowed his eyes at me, trying to read me before he spoke. I urged him on, widening my eyes and nodding my head at him.
One Chance Page 3