Page 94 of Sinful

I wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to just speak to me, but I didn’t hate that he wrote the notes. In fact, I rather liked the effort he put in.

What do you want to do?

I took the notebook from him and answered.

Talk? I like doing this.

He smiled at me, and I wrote another note.

How are classes?

He frowned and took the pen.

Lame. I’m not a fan of school. I can’t wait until I’m done.

I studied his answer, wondering what he planned next in his life. The possible answer made me nervous because, ultimately, I hoped it had to do with me and the guys.

What will you do after you graduate from the program?

He took the pen back from me and poised it over the paper for a long time before he finally wrote.

I honestly don’t know. I guess I never thought past Chapel Crest. I like building things, so maybe I’ll work in construction or something. What about you?

I bit my bottom lip for a moment before writing my plans. Hopes. Dreams.

I want to paint. Mayfair has an excellent art program. When I was younger, I dreamed of attending there to learn to sing better. Now, I’d be happy to go so that I can paint with some of the best.

He stared at the page for a moment.

Do you sing?

I hesitated before writing my response.

I used to sing and dance. I did ballet for many years. I even tried after I was hurt. I just couldn’t anymore. My body didn’t want to move like it used to. I loved ballet. I always wondered if maybe I could grow up to be a famous ballet dancer/singer. Silly, huh?

He took the pen back from me.

It’s not silly, Siren. It’s a wonderful dream. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a professional hockey player. My dad loved hockey. Maybe I thought if I played, it would make him proud of me and create some semblance of happiness in his life since he seemed so angry about everything. I played for a few years and did good, but then shit happened to me too. So here I am.

His words saddened me. I hadn’t known he played hockey and had loved it.

Do you think you’d play again? For you this time?

He quietly contemplated my words before snagging the pen from me and writing his answer.

Maybe. I don’t really have a reason to do it anymore, even if I do still love it.

That made me sad. I even said as much.

What about doing it for you and not worrying about anyone else?

He let out a soft chuckle.

In case you didn’t know, one of my toxic traits is that I’m always doing things for myself. I’m trying to do things for others as a means to an end to the noise in my head. I’m trying to be better for those around me.

I paused before writing my answer because I wanted to get it just right for him.

You’re better than you think, Sinclair. I wish you could see what I see.

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