𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙒𝙀 𝘾𝙍𝘼𝙎𝙃𝙀𝘿 ↣ 𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉

38. FOR YOU (PT. 2)

[make sure you read pt. 1!!!]

My team won the charity match. It was low stakes, only for bragging rights, but I ended up on Niall's shoulders holding the trophy like we'd won the World Cup.

For about an hour, all I had to do was play soccer. It was the easiest thing I'd done in a long time. It was such a simple thing: the way my body knew what it needed to do and did it. There was no thought, because it was muscle memory.

After all, the two things that kept me alive when I was younger were Lizzie Lancaster and soccer. So this? The game? It was as easy as breathing.

After the game, I ended up in the locker room. I was throwing my belongings into a duffle bag, still breathing a little bit heavy from the game.

My metal water bottle clanged to the floor when I heard his voice.

"You have foster kids now, huh?"

The water bottle rolled away rather slowly, turning over and over as it put distance between itself and a nightmare.

I realized that it was purple. Purple had been my favorite color since I was old enough to know what a favorite color was. I carried that water bottle with me everywhere I went, because Harry needed help building the habit. I offered to do it with him.

The rolling came to a stop when it touched a row of lockers. There was a dull metallic thud.

Thud. Thud, thud. Thud, thud.

Across the locker room from the water bottle, leaned against a stack of lockers, was James Connelly. Six feet and three inches, raven hair, eyes so brown they looked black under dim lighting.

I stared with undisguised fear. My feet stepped back as much as they could before my knees touched the bench. Upon further observation, I realized James was stood in front of the only exit.

I was trapped.

"Keenan and Karter," James said. I swallowed.

"They aren't foster kids, we adopted them," I whispered.

James hummed thoughtfully, and let his hum turn into a laugh. I stared at him with eyes as big as dinner plates.

"Right, you and your husband," James said, "from the band your brother was in." My mouth opened and closed, looking for the right words. "You're surprised I know about that? I know about everything that's happened. I've been keeping my eye on you, Kenni."

"Mickey," I said.

"What's that?"

"It's Mickey," I said, a little bit louder. "My name is Mickey."

"Your name is whatever I say it is," James said, taking a few steps deeper into the room. When he got closer, I made out the shape of a gun in his hand.

This time, though, I wasn't lucky enough to have it be a dream.

"You don't get to decide how my life goes anymore," I said. My voice wavered, giving away how terrified I was behind my confident speech.