Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
But that thought also gives me hope. Dad turned his career around.
I can’t let the pressure ruin my future. Pop said to follow my heart, and I won’t settle for anything less.
I want Levi, and I want football. Any which way I can have them both.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
levi
I put the finishing pieces on what I’m hoping will pass as a “purposefully broken” art project and tell myself to leave it alone and let it dry before I keep fiddling with it and it breaks even more. I’ve been at it since Peyton left, doing touch-ups, adding clay where I can to make it more stable, and trying to make it work, but as I stare at my phone where the unanswered text from about an hour ago still sits, my mind is no longer on my work.
It’s on Peyton.
How did it go?
When I got no answer to that, I followed it up with: That good, huh? Are you grounded? LOL.
And now that I’m actually worried, I send: They didn’t kill you, did they?
About thirty seconds after I hit Send, my phone rings, and his name pops up on my screen.
I answer. “Say I feel like bananas if you need rescuing.”
He laughs. “I’m all good. Thank you, though. It went … about as well as can be expected. There was less yelling than I was ready for, so that’s something.”
“What’s the verdict? PR train to famous-ville? Countless interviews and appearances?”
“Nope. The good thing about my NCAA contract is I’m not allowed to talk to the media unless the team and school approve it. They won’t be doing that anytime soon. Other than that, my uncles flew in from New York this morning and are here to help with talking Dad down, but surprisingly, he was all right. Not … great, but could’ve been a lot worse.”
“Wow. I’m happy for you but also kind of jealous. Could you imagine my father acting that way if he found out that I’m not in law school?”
“I’m sorry he’s not more supportive. I don’t have to talk about my dads if it makes you feel shitty.”
My heart thrums at his consideration for me, but it’s really unnecessary. “You don’t have to do that. At all. I’m thankful you have amazing parents. It’s not like I didn’t know growing up that my father had dealt with the same generational trauma that he put on me and my siblings. It … It is what it is, and I’ve accepted it.”
“Have you, though? You haven’t told him you don’t want to be a corporate lawyer. I’m guessing you haven’t shown him any of your art either.”
“Fuck no. I haven’t shown anyone outside of the art department. Other than you.”
“Why not? You’re so damn talented.”
I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “Maybe I’m good enough to do it for a living, maybe I’m not. But the main reason I haven’t told him yet is because I’m waiting until I’m twenty-five when my trust fund kicks in. Then I can tell the entire Vanderbilt family to eat a bag of dicks.”
“Ooh, right. Take their money first.” Peyton’s only teasing, but it does kind of hit where it hurts.
“The way I figure it, none of them earned their money either. The Vanderbilt fortune comes from a long line of fat-cat capitalist jerks. At least I’m going to use my money for good and not for evil.”
Peyton gasps. “You’re going to use it to build a superhero lair? Ooh, I can see you in all leather. Fighting crime. Aww, you’ll be my very own Batman. He didn’t have superpowers. Just money.”
“I was actually thinking of taking enough to support my struggling artist ass and donate the rest to people who actually need money, but sure, let’s go with the Batman thing.”
“Fine. Be charitable or whatever. Spend your money on worthy causes. Wow, you’re so boring.”
I scoff. “I might not know how much the Talon-Miller dynasty is actually worth, but I’m fairly certain you would have enough to set up your own bat cave.”
“Nah. I already asked, and Brady wasn’t down to be my Alfred or my Robin. The NFL was my backup.”
How is it that I miss Peyton already? It’s only been a few hours, and I want him to come back.
“When can I see you again?” I ask, but before he can answer, there’s a knock on my door. “Oh, hang on. Someone’s here.” I smile. “Is it you?”
I throw open the door, and my face drops.
No, my whole heart, stomach … every vital organ stops working.
“It’s not me. Who is it?” Peyton asks down the line.
“It’s my father. I’ve gotta go.” I end the call before Peyton gets a chance to say anything else.
Dad looks put together in his casual tan suit and light blue shirt. The scent of his overpowering cologne fills the space and takes up residence. It smells like old dude and money. His graying hair is perfectly in place. His crooked nose that matches my brother’s but luckily skipped over me seems more prominent than usual, but that might have to do with the twist of his lips like he’s trying not to snarl at me like some animal.