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I sit at my desk in my room and stare at the sketchbook. I’m supposed to find a few sketches that speak of me and my style so I can send them to colleges, but I got lost somewhere.
For the past hour, I’ve been staring at multiple sketches of Levi. There are a few of him scoring, running, or just standing over the team with crossed arms.
I can’t get him out of my head.
Since that day he walked out on, I keep replaying the last look in his eyes. The hurt. The defeat.
I broke his wings, but I’m the one who’s bleeding.
I’ve been dreaming that he’d come back to knock on my door or sneak from my window.
But that’s all they were. Dreams.
Even if he came, it’d only make it harder to push him away again.
Because I said the truth. He’ll only see me as the daughter of the woman who killed his father. And while Mum had nothing to do with it, his father died that day.
I can’t live having him look at me that way.
That doesn’t mean I can stop thinking about him, though.
That doesn’t mean I can stop my muse from sketching him.
A few months.
It’ll be less than a few months before we go our separate paths.
Dan mentioned that Jonathan King allowed Levi to play professionally.
He’ll pick either Manchester or Liverpool and live at the other half of the country while I continue studying in London.
My heart aches and bleeds at the thought of never seeing him again.
“Those are really pretty.”
I startle and meet Dad’s gaze. I fumble with the notepad, slamming it shut and fight the embarrassment creeping up my cheeks.
Thank God Dad didn’t see the half-naked sketches.
“I knocked,” he says. “Three times.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He pulls a chair and sits beside me. “I mean it. You have a special talent that’s different from your mother’s.”
I smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Are you returning to school?”
I wince. “It’s time, I guess. I can’t run away forever.”
No matter how much I want to.
“I know it’s been crazy around here recently, but you’re strong and I trust that you’ll get through this.”
“I know, Dad, it’s just…”
“That King boy?”
