Page 43 of I Hear You

Pieces of last night slowly come into focus. Playing beer pong with Caleb. Henry getting pissed off at me for being drunk and, oh crap. Henry throwing me over his shoulder like a child and carrying me out of the party. I am mortified. I knew I was drinking too much. Still, I don’t know if I should be grateful he got me out of there or pissed at him for being so... so… possessive?

What gives him the right? He had multiple opportunities to ask for my number, or ask me on a proper date, and he never did. When he finally did make a move in the library, he ran away without any explanation. If anyone’s ever been given a trophy for sending the most mixed signals, it’s probably on Henry’s shelf, among his others.

I don’t rush to go downstairs. Facing Henry and the rest of them isn’t exactly at the top of my to-do list right now. I take in more of the room and notice a bulletin board on one of the walls and move to it. It’s got concert tickets and photos tacked to it. Several of the photos are of Henry with a beautiful older woman. She must be his mom. The indignation I was just feeling is slipping away as I stare at the photos, his arms wrapped loving around her. That one dimple he has, exaggerated by his broad smile.

There are also pictures with Jesse, Taylor, and Emmett. Even one of all of them with Jackie in it, from what looks like a school dance. They’re all dressed up, standing in front of a limo. Henry looks amazing in a tux. Jackie looks alright, I think to myself. Not bitterly at all.

Behind some of the photos, a handwritten note is peeking out. I lift the photos to see it more clearly. It’s a poem.

Isn’t that a risk worth taking

Confessing all your desires

Setting love free, hoping it returns

When the alternative is an ending

It’s beautiful and oddly familiar, but there’s no author noted. I turn to face my fate when the door to Henry’s room creaks open slowly. I still, like a deer in headlights. What if it’s his mom, but wouldn’t she knock? Henry’s face comes peeking around the door. He smiles softly at me and guilt, shame, lust and a million other emotions wash over me.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” I say, a small smile on my lips.

He walks further into his room. Still in what I assume are his pajamas. A plain black shirt and flannel pants. He hasn’t done anything with his hair and a few pieces are sticking up in weird directions. He looks completely adorable, and it makes me want to cuddle up with him on a couch in front of a fireplace with hot chocolate. One glance at him and I forget I’m supposed to be angry with him.

“How are you feeling?”

I take a seat on the edge of his bed, crossing my legs at my ankles.

“Not nearly as bad as I deserve,” I admit. “Thank you for letting me sleep here. I’m sorry I was such a mess.”

He doesn’t give my apology any acknowledgement. How awful was I last night?

Henry rummages around in his dresser and pulls out a pair of jeans.

“I’m gonna go get changed and then I can take you home.”

“Okay,” I say, not making eye contact with him.

I’m feeling pretty embarrassed right now. I think about sneaking out and walking back to the dorms while he’s in the bathroom. When Henry gave me a ride on my first day in Easton, he said he didn’t live far from campus. It would only be fair, right? He disappeared from the library and I’ll disappear from his bedroom. But before I can decide, he’s walking back into the bedroom. He’s wearing jeans now, but still has on the black t-shirt.

“I forgot a shirt,” he admits while he goes to his closet and pulls a button-up off a hanger.

It’s green like the flecks in his eyes. His back is to me and he pulls the black t-shirt up and over his head, tossing it in the corner. His back is what you expect to see on the covers of romance novels—muscular and tan, with broad shoulders that have perfect divots you could sink your hands into. The tattoo I noticed before I can now see is definitely a script. He rarely lets it show, always wearing shirts with sleeves that cover it. The words go from his left arm and all the way across his upper back and wrap up around his other shoulder. The font is too small and delicate for me to read from here, but when he turns around, he’s still finishing buttoning his shirt. I can see it continues across the front of him, ending over the left side of his chest where there’s what looks like a bird flying out from the words.

“Madison, how much of last night do you remember?”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment when I realize he’s caught me staring. Then again, if he didn’t want me looking, he could have gone back to the bathroom to finish changing. I wrack my brain, willing it to repeat the question he just asked me. He was asking about last night.How much do I remember from last night?

My skin prickles and I break out in a cold sweat. Oh no. Memories of last night are definitely hazy, but the way he’s looking at me has me worried. Did something more happen between me and Henry, or even worse, me and Caleb? I don’t remember anything that bad happening. I remember finding Henry and Jackie making out in the kitchen. Playing beer pong with Caleb, he was a little handsy. But the end of the night is just out of focus.

“Things are a little fuzzy,” I admit. “Did we–”

I don’t finish the sentence hoping he’ll understand and answer without me having to say it out loud.

“I slept downstairs in the basement with Jesse and Taylor. You slept up here alone. Madison, I would never, ever take advantage of someone.”

I’m relieved by his answer, but I can’t help shoot myself in the foot.

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