21. Freya

21

Freya

B y the time I woke up, Henry was gone.

Morning practice, I remembered.

I sat up and stretched, the fabric of his shirt warm against my skin. His scent clung to me, and I breathed him in, letting it fill my lungs.

Last night came rushing back—the way Jensen had lunged at me, fury in his eyes. I could still feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the raw fear that had gripped me. Henry had saved me, appearing like a storm, fists flying until Jensen lay crumpled on the floor.

We’d ended up playing poker afterward. A ridiculous thing to do after such chaos, but it had felt strangely normal. The tension between us melted away with each dealt card and stolen glance. I won, somehow—against all odds.

My cheeks heated at the thought of Henry's expression when I laid down my winning hand. He’d been surprised, maybe even impressed. That memory brought a small smile to my lips despite everything.

And what I won…

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching again to shake off the lingering remnants of sleep. The room felt emptier without him, an odd sensation given how little time we’d actually spent together since our engagement.

The West Wing incident flashed in my mind—his anger, his possessiveness. Yet last night showed a different side of him, one that was protective and perhaps even caring in his own rough way.

With a sigh, I moved to the bathroom to freshen up. My reflection in the mirror showed someone who had been through too much in too short a time. Dark circles hinted at sleepless nights and stress. But there was also a spark in my eyes that hadn’t been there before—a determination to navigate this twisted path we found ourselves on.

The shower called to me, a necessity where I could wash away the remnants of the night. I turned the knob and waited for the water to heat up, steam beginning to fill the bathroom. I stepped in, letting the hot spray hit my shoulders and cascade down my body. The sensation was both soothing and invigorating, like shedding an old skin.

I stood under the stream, eyes closed, letting the water work its magic. My muscles relaxed, the tension of the last few days ebbing away with each drop. I reached for Henry's shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into my palm before massaging it into my scalp. The familiar scent of pine filled the air, mingling with the steam and creating a calming atmosphere.

As I rinsed out the suds, I thought about everything that had happened since Henry and I had become entangled in this mess. The engagement, Ravenwood, our arguments—each memory played out like a scene from a chaotic play. But here, under the steady flow of water, it all seemed distant, almost surreal.

I grabbed the soap next, since he didn't have conditioner, running it over my skin in slow circles. The act felt almost ritualistic, a way to cleanse not just my body but my mind as well. I watched as the soap suds spiraled down the drain, taking with them fragments of doubt and fear.

I tilted my head back, letting the water run through my hair until it felt like silk between my fingers. For a moment, I imagined a different life—one where I wasn’t bound by contracts or engagements. A life where choices were mine to make freely. Would Henry still pick me without a contract? Would I still pick him? But reality pulled me back as quickly as it had let me wander.

With one last rinse, I turned off the shower and stood there for a moment longer, letting the final droplets fall from my hair and eyelashes. Wrapping myself in a plush towel, I stepped out onto the cool tile floor. The bathroom mirror was fogged up; I wiped it with my hand and caught sight of myself again.

Freshly scrubbed and slightly pink from the heat of the water, I looked more alive than I had in days. There was something comforting about these small rituals—things that grounded me when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

I took a deep breath and padded back into the bedroom, feeling slightly more prepared for whatever awaited me next.

After washing up, I headed downstairs, passing by rooms that seemed to echo with silence. The house felt like a maze sometimes—endless hallways leading to places I hadn’t yet discovered or understood.

Downstairs, the kitchen was empty too. No sign of breakfast or any sign that anyone else had been there recently. No Carmen. My stomach growled in protest, but I ignored it for now. There were other things to think about—like how to navigate another day in this unpredictable life with Henry.

I found myself wishing he were here despite everything. Wishing we could talk without all the barriers between us for once. But he wasn’t here, and morning practice would keep him occupied for… I didn't actually know how long.

With another sigh, I decided to explore more of the house on my own terms this time—no running into walls of anger or misunderstanding if I could help it.

The library felt different in the daylight. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the shelves lined with leather-bound books. The place where I had been attacked last night seemed almost benign now, but a chill ran down my spine as I approached the spot.

I refused to let fear control me. I walked over to the table where I’d left my books, forcing myself to breathe evenly. The air smelled of old paper and dust, a scent that had once been comforting. Now, it was tinged with memories of violence.

I flipped open my notebook and began reviewing what I’d written yesterday. My handwriting looked foreign, shaky in places where Jensen’s outburst had interrupted me. But I pressed on, tracing each line with determination.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway. My heart skipped a beat, but I steeled myself, refusing to look up until Carmen’s familiar voice broke the silence.

“Morning, Miss Reynolds.”

I glanced up to see her head peeking around the doorframe, a warm smile on her face.

“Oh, Carmen,” I said, my voice sounding more relieved than I intended. “When I went downstairs earlier, I didn’t see you.”

Carmen stepped into the room, wiping her hands on a towel. “Mornings when Mr. Mathers has morning skate, I get to sleep in a bit,” she explained with a chuckle. “As long as breakfast is ready by the time he gets back because he’s ravenous after practice.”

A small smile tugged at my lips despite everything. “That makes sense.”

“I’m making pancakes and bacon today,” she continued, her eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. “Figured you might want something hearty."

“Thanks,” I replied softly.

She nodded and turned to leave but paused at the doorway. “If you need anything else, just holler.”

“I will,” I promised, watching as she disappeared down the hall.

I took another deep breath and returned my focus to the notebook in front of me. The words began to blur together again, but this time it was because of determination rather than fear.

I returned my focus to the notebook, forcing my thoughts to settle. Finals were looming next month, and despite the chaos surrounding me, I couldn't afford to let my grades slip. I scanned through my notes on Contract Negotiations, trying to absorb the information. The intricacies of legal language swam before my eyes, and I scribbled down key points in the margins, underlining phrases that seemed crucial.

The clock ticked steadily, a constant reminder of time slipping away. My stomach growled, a low rumble that echoed in the silent library. Ignoring it for as long as I could, I pushed through another paragraph about breach clauses and enforcement mechanisms.

Finally, hunger won out. I stood up, stretching my arms above my head until I felt the satisfying pop of my joints loosening. My muscles were stiff from sitting for so long, and I rolled my shoulders to work out the kinks.

The hallway leading to the kitchen was quieter than usual. As I approached, the scent of breakfast wafted through the air—sweet pancakes mingling with the savory aroma of sizzling bacon. My mouth watered at the thought of Carmen's cooking.

Entering the kitchen felt like stepping into a warm embrace. The rich scent of maple syrup filled my nostrils, undercut by the salty tang of bacon grease. It was a comforting smell, one that reminded me of simpler mornings before everything had become so complicated.

Carmen stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease. She glanced over her shoulder when she heard me enter.

“Decided to join me for breakfast after all?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“Couldn’t resist,” I admitted, taking a seat at the table where a plate was already set for me.

She laughed softly and continued her work while I settled in, grateful for this brief respite from studying and everything else weighing on my mind.

The first bite of pancake melted in my mouth, buttery and sweet. Carmen really knew her way around the kitchen. I let out a contented sigh as I savored the flavors.

"This is amazing," I said between bites, glancing up at Carmen who was now frying another batch of bacon.

She smiled warmly. "Glad you like it. Always nice to cook for someone who appreciates it."

I took another bite, savoring the moment before curiosity got the better of me. "Carmen, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, dear," she replied without missing a beat, flipping the bacon with expert precision.

"How did you end up working here? With the Mathers, I mean."

She chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with memories. "Well, it’s a bit of a long story. But to keep it short, I’ve known Henry’s family for years. His mother and I were close friends back in the day. When she passed away, rest her soul, I stayed on to help with the household, thanks to his grandfather."

I nodded, intrigued by this glimpse into Henry's past. "That must have been hard... losing someone so close."

Carmen’s expression softened, and she nodded. "It was. But this place—these people—became my family too."

I took another bite of pancake, mulling over her words. "And Henry? Was he always... like this?"

Her laughter filled the kitchen, light and genuine. "Oh no, Henry was quite the handful growing up. Always getting into trouble, but he had a good heart. Still does, if you know where to look. And he adored his grandfather."

Before I could ask more, the front door slammed open with a force that rattled the windows. My heart jumped into my throat as Henry stormed in, still in his workout gear, face twisted in fury.

His eyes flickered between us before settling back on me.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Henry’s gaze snapped to me, dark and stormy. His knuckles were white around the strap of his gym bag. “Go home, Carmen,” he said, his voice tight. “Your services aren’t needed today.”

Carmen hesitated, her eyes darting between us. “But Mr. Mathers?—”

“Go home,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Carmen pressed her lips together, clearly upset but too professional to argue further. She gave me a brief, apologetic glance before turning and leaving the kitchen. The sound of the front door closing behind her echoed in the now silent room.

I glared at Henry, anger bubbling up inside me. “What is your problem? Carmen didn’t do anything.”

He ignored my question, his eyes still smoldering with whatever rage had driven him here in the first place. Without another word, he turned and headed toward the west wing.

My curiosity got the better of me. I pushed away from the table and followed him down the hallway. I didn't care that Henry didn't want me there; he wasn't allowed to speak to Carmen this way.

His pace was brisk, his movements sharp with frustration. I struggled to keep up but refused to let him out of my sight. If he thought he could just dismiss Carmen and leave me in the dark, he was sorely mistaken.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Don't walk away from me. You owe me an explanation! Hey!"

We reached a heavy oak door at the end of the corridor. Henry pushed it open with more force than necessary, disappearing inside without so much as a backward glance.

I paused for a moment before stepping through the doorway. The room beyond was dimly lit, filled with old furniture covered in white sheets. Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the slivers of light that seeped through partially drawn curtains.

Henry stood in the center of the room, his back to me. His shoulders were tense, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice echoing off the walls.

He didn’t turn around. “This is none of your concern.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” I shot back, taking a step closer. “You can’t just storm in here and send people away without an explanation.”

His silence was infuriating. The room felt like it was closing in around us, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and strained. “Just leave it alone, Freya.”

But I couldn’t—not this time.

I couldn’t let it go. “What is going on, Henry?" Henry whirled around, storming over to me with fury in his eyes. But I kept my gaze steady on him. “You don’t scare me,” I told him, voice firm despite the knot in my stomach. I hesitated for a moment before grabbing his hand. “You… you don’t have to do this alone. Don’t… don’t shut me out. No running, remember?”

His eyes blazed with anger, but beneath that, I saw something else—something raw and vulnerable. “Help?” he spat, yanking his hand away. “You? You’re the one who got me into this mess. If you just stayed away from the ceremony…”

“What happened?” I pressed again, refusing to back down.

He ran a hand through his hair, exasperation etched into every line of his face. “My uncle,” he said with a sneer. “Came to my practice. I have to miss the Championship game to attend a board meeting. Richard is trying to strip me of my inheritance because of what I did to Jensen.”

Shock rippled through me, followed closely by a wave of guilt. This was bigger than I had imagined. “Let me… let me help,” I pleaded.

"You? Help?" Henry’s laugh was bitter and humorless. “How?” he demanded, his voice laced with disbelief.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, frustration bubbling up inside me. “But there has to be something we can do together.”

His eyes narrowed, skepticism clear in his expression. “Why would you even want to help?”

“Because,” I said, taking a step closer, “despite everything, we’re in this together now. Whether we like it or not.”

Henry’s jaw clenched, the tension between us palpable. He looked away for a moment before finally meeting my gaze again.

“Come here." I reached for his hand again. "Come here. Come with me. Let me… let me make you feel better."