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“You have to stay in London and keep drawing.” A horn beeping again forces me to hurry. “Because you haven’t drawn the whole story.”
“I have.”
I can’t back up any further. We’ve reached the river. Behind me, it forks in two directions.
“You can’t have, Rae.”
I meet his eyes and see the moment our journeys divide the same way as the water.
“Not unless you’ve already drawn me as an addict.”
20
HAYDEN
I don’t know what I expect him to say. I don’t hang around to find out. I grab his portfolio from his shoulder and march with it towards the car park until he shouts, “That’s really why you avoid your family?”
I halt as abruptly as I set off.
“What?”
He catches up with me, flushed like when we last shared a pillow, which was only hours ago. He’s still as gorgeous. Still as full of questions. Still wanting to know everything about me.
“I asked if that’s why you don’t see your family? Your mum said you were avoiding them.” Fuck knows what he sees flicker across my face. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “Your stepmum, I mean. Kirsty?”
I nod, unable to voice how him calling her Mum isn’t why I’ve faltered, or how I’ve actually stayed away from home for a whole other reason. One that didn’t matter between me and him as long as this was short term. What stops me dead is how, after weeks of me translating for him, he’s now trying to translate meas if he has every intention of staying around for longer, all while a horn beeps and he should hurry.
He doesn’t.
He also doesn’t phrase this as a question. “You’re not a user.”
I shake my head. I’m not.
“But you were and that’s why you missed your shot. Not because of a concussion.” He squints. “Is a test you failed ten years ago really why you keep your distance from them?”
No.
That isn’t my reason, but he asks another question which is easier to answer. “What did you use?”
“Tramadol.”
“Anything else?”
I shake my head, but then I have to nod. “Yeah. I took something else. Once.”
“When?”
“Right before my big chance. Second biggest regret of my life.”
He swallows. “Where did you get it?” He comes to his own quick conclusion. “At the academy. The one that scouted you? Fuckers.”
After the talk I just witnessed, I didn’t expect this reaction. I don’t expect his hand to reach out for mine, either. I’m too slow to dodge it. Too slow as well to look away from what crosses his face.
Protectiveness.
It’s such a familiar expression. One I’ve seen recently.
In all those drawings Sol showed me.
