Page 68 of Love on the Waiver Wire

Leo takes a deep breath. “Isla used to be the golden child. Straight-As, awards for her art, passionate about the things she loves. I loved that about her. I was the one who didn’t take things too seriously.”

“Why does this matter?”

He flashes me a glare and I quiet down.

“When I found football, it took over our lives. She was always a fan, but now she spent her time traveling with our parents to watch me. She spent time helping me practice however she could. My parents, though supportive of both of us, only saw me.

“Isla’s accomplishments were celebrated, sure, but they were on the backburner compared to mine. My games and practices came before celebrating her birthday. Before anything that mattered to her. It was like the family, including Isla, decided that my hobby would get me somewhere, and hers wouldn’t.”

A pit settles in my stomach as I look down at my feet, seeing where this is going before he has the chance to say it.

“Isla eventually fell into a depression. And it was bad. She threw away years and years of work, Owen. Years of it just gone. She stopped eating. Just stayed at home and wasted away. I came home one day after a game to find her curled in a ball in her bed, sobbing. She couldn’t tell me why.

“I vowed that day to make sure I never made her feel that way ever again. I’ve always supported her. Always wanted her to follow her dreams just like I am. But I get it. There’s more appreciation in this world for what I do than what she does. And that’s not fair to her.”

I nod, humming in agreement.

“No matter what we may wish our lives are like, we’re professional athletes. Professional athletes on one of the best teams in the league right now. We go to a different grocery store than normal and there’s photos of us everywhere.”

He’s right, and I hate that he’s right. The memory of Isla and I at the apple orchard flashes in my mind, and I have to force down a smile.

“She gets involved with one of our players, that’s all the media is going to talk about. It’s not going to be her talents, or how much she loves art, or her showings. It’s going to be how she’s dating someone on her brother’s football team. If you break up,” his eyes narrow at me, “that’s all they’re going to talk about. That’s not fair to her.”

I get it. I do. But on the other hand, I feel as though Isla should be able to decide for herself what’s fair or not.

But he’s right. And I hate that he is.

26

ISLA

Monday Night Football came and went. I lost this week. I never got a text about my punishment.

All I’ve done is sit on my floor painting, feeling sorry for myself over a stupid boy.

A stupid boy who apparently lets my brother dictate his life.

Leo tried to come by my place on Tuesday, but I slammed the door in his face, not interested in talking to someone completely unwilling to listen to what I have to say.

And now it’s Thursday, and I haven’t gotten out of bed yet.

But I’ve come to the realization that this isn’t me being dramatic over a boy. No. It’s me being livid over not being able to make my own choices.

I liked someone. I liked someone for the first time in a very long time. Liked them enough to let them in and actually allow myself to feel hope that it goes somewhere.

But that’s not enough for Leo. There has to be rules and regulations to what I’m allowed to do and feel.

I look around my apartment, taking in the home I’ve created for myself here in only a few short months.

I’d give it all away if I could just be free.

So maybe I should.

But a much bigger part of me feels as though I’d be the most ungrateful bitch in the world if I did. There are people without homes, and here my brother is giving me.

Don’t get me wrong, I make enough to afford a comfortable life. My commissions make quite a bit. But being able to use that money to invest in new supplies, new tools, and booking gallery shows until I hit the jackpot and get invited somewhere?

I can’t put a price on that, and that’s the problem.

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