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“It explains a lot.” A smirk tugged at her mouth.
“Oh yeah?”
“All that pressure, the expectation… it explains why you’re a grade-A asshole.” Hailee laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. But I didn’t laugh. I didn’t even smile. Because she was right.
I was an asshole because I could be. People treated me like the prodigal son of football and somewhere along the way, I started acting like it. But what most people didn’t realize was, it was a defense mechanism. A way to protect myself.
“I’m joking, Jason.” Hailee added when I didn’t reply.
“No you’re not.”
“Then maybe, but now? Now, you’re not so bad.” She grabbed the door handle to studio two and slipped inside. “What the—” Her words trailed off and I stepped up behind her to see what had rendered her speechless.
Art supplies were strewn everywhere. Red and white paint was splashed up the walls, and across the canvasses lying haphazardly around the place.
“I can’t believe someone did this.” Hailee’s voice trembled as she swiped tears from her eyes. “It’s all ruined; the Seniors Night project is ruined.”
I looked at my step-sister, the person whose life I’d made a misery in the past, and felt like the worst kind of shit. For so long, I’d used Hailee as a punching bag to deal with my anger at her mother and now she was being used in the same way by someone else.
All because of me.
For a moment it was like I was looking in on us, for the first time actually looking beyond the armor I put around myself, the ‘hurt people before they hurt me’ principles I lived by, and I didn’t like what I saw.
I stepped closer to her and I put my hand on her arm, causing her to jump slightly, as her attention shifted from the ruined canvasses. “We got this, okay? What do you want me to do to help?”
Hailee took a deep breath. “Can you help me get them back on the stands?”
I nodded.
The silence was deafening as we worked together to clean up the studio. I spotted my face amongst the chaos. Cam’s too. Some of the canvasses looked worse off than others. When we stood back to survey the wreckage, Hailee let out an exasperated breath. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” her body shook with anger. “Tell me Thatcher didn’t break in and ruin my hard work because of some stupid football rivalry. Tell me, Jason.” Her eyes flew to mine, pinning me to the spot, making me feel five inches tall.
“I can’t,” I ground out, my fists curled tightly against my thighs as I took in the devastation. Art wasn’t my thing, but I knew how hard Hailee had worked on the project. How many hours it had taken her to paint each portrait.
A beat passed.
Another.
Until I could hear nothing but the roar of blood between my ears, the thud thud thud of my heart against my ribcage. “I’m so fucking sorry,” the words sliced through the air like a hot blade through ice, as my fist smashed into the wall.
“Shit, Jason,” Hailee rushed over to me, trying to get a look at my hand. But I shook her off, cradling it against my chest.
“It’s fine,” I said. It wasn’t, but I’d had worse. It was nothing a little ice and a few shots of whisky wouldn’t solve.
“You weren’t supposed to see it until tonight.” She sniffled, ignoring my apology.
“I never realized you were so talented.” Even covered in red and white paint splatters, I could make out the intricate detail of my helmet, the way my shirt seemed to ripple as I hiked the ball. It wasn’t just good.
It was fucking incredible.
“You should have seen them before...” she trailed off, sadness radiating from her.
“Can you fix them?” The one of me was the most affected but at least four seemed to have escaped the paint splatters.
“I’m not sure. I’ll need to talk to Mr. Jalin.”
“Hailee—”
“I know what you’re going to say, Jason, and I get it
