Page 71 of Checks & Bonds

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, voicefirm 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."

22

Henry

My fists still ached from pummeling Jensen last night, from using them for practice this morning. Freya's delicate hands had patched me up, but the rage simmered beneath the surface, an unrelenting fire. She was right beside me now, guiding me out of the west wing and up to our bedroom. I should've pulled away, left her to her own devices, but I couldn't. Not when she looked at me like that.

She stopped at the door, turning to face me. Her pale green eyes betrayed her nerves. Yet, beyond the fear, there was something else—determination. It gnawed at my insides, twisting them into knots. How could she be so stubborn?

"You can't keep doing this," she whispered.

My jaw tightened. "Doing what?"

"Trying to control everything."

"I have to."

"No," she said, her voice firmer now. "You don't."

Her defiance sent a surge of anger through me. I wanted to shout, to demand she understand why things had to be this way. But words failed me.

Freya stepped closer, placing a hand on my chest. Her touch was soft, but it felt like a brand against my skin. "Let it go," she pleaded.

"Let what go?"

"This anger." Her fingers traced the contours of my knuckles. "It's tearing you apart."

I looked away, unable to meet her gaze. "You don't understand."

"Then help me understand." Her grip tightened slightly as if willing me to open up.

I inhaled sharply, fighting the urge to pull her into a fierce embrace or push her away entirely. She was a puzzle I couldn't solve, a storm I couldn't calm.

"It's not that simple," I muttered.

"It is if you, let it be." She tilted her head slightly, searching my eyes for any sign of relentment.

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