Page 27 of Watched

Me: I get a lot of attention.

Unknown: You have theirs. I’m the only person who should have yours.

I slowly move toward the table again.

Me: I won’t ignore people because of your jealousy about a relationship that doesn’t exist.

Unknown: It does in my mind.

I stuff my phone back into my pocket, and Indie adjusts the white bow in her half up ponytail as she spots me. Her long, pastel pink satin dress and wrap cardigan sway as she rushes toward me, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Save us,” she whispers.

Kilah trudges up from her seat and is next to embrace me, but I know I'm not what’s soured her mood. Everyone's faces look like they’ve just consumed an entire lemon after only five minutes with our parents. Kilah plops back down, and I round the table to kiss my mother’s cheeks. My father’s wrinkling hand takes mine.

Yep, cool disappointment, still there. One missed goal. That’s all it takes for him to look at me like I’m no better than dirt.

He eyes my white cashmere jumper and trousers in disgust. This man feels the need to wear a suit each time he leaves the house. “You’re late.” He rips his hand from mine.

“Traffic,” I reply dryly.

Stalking back to the head of the table, I remove my coat and scarf, draping them over my chair.

Indie lifts her cup, sipping her tea, while Kilah keeps her arms crossed over her navy and white cashmere jumper, staring aimlessly at the white tablecloth.

They’re so similar, yet worlds different. Indie is currently attending the Royal Ballet School, and Kilah is focused on achieving high grades in hopes of attending university to study criminal law.

“What happened?” my father spits.

“I missed,” I answer honestly. He arches a brow and that painful knot tightens. “Won’t happen again,” I assure him.

“Shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

My mother slides her hand over his arm, trying to calm him as she looks to me. “All he’s saying, sweetheart, is that we know you can do better.”

Her words seem light, but the harsh tone suggests she’s even more disappointed than him.

“It’s one point that can make the difference,” he argues quietly, not daring to look at the disappointment that is his son.

I bow my head, squeezing my hand in the other.

He is right. When approaching the end of the season and you’re neck and neck, one point can determine a chance for finals or a year’s work down the drain.

“It was one game,” Kilah argues. “It’s not the end of the world.”

He throws her a ‘shut your fucking mouth’ look. My body tightens, and I glare at him.

“Dad.” Indie reaches across for his hand. “Rome made a mistake. He said it won’t happen again.”

He relaxes and smiles.

Our father makes no attempt to hide that Indie is his favourite. I don’t care that I’m not, but I feel for Kilah and try to make her feel seen and heard.

After barely stomaching my food, my gaze drifts back to the security camera in the corner.

“So, have you been seeing anyone?” my mother asks, adjusting the sleeves of her tight black dress. My mother’s forty-one and my father fifty, but they still think themselves twenty. My mother certainly attempts to stay looking that young, and my father hasn’t let himself go at all. He’s still lean and fit.

“It would be all over the internet if he were,” Indie teases quietly.