𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 | 𝟏# 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦-𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 | 𝑐𝑟𝑦

LOGAN

My legs led me to the kitchen, where the entire group was already there. Fane and Jean were in the kitchen while Jeremy and Gunnar were eating at the table. "There's the sleeping princess." Gunnar immediately joked.
In the morning?

I sat down at the table when the two guys in front of me looked at me. "We thought we have to report you missing yesterday." Jeremy took a sip from his mug and put it down again.

"Where have you been anyway?" "Had something to do. It was important." "More important than the last practice session before the game? Coach will fuck you up." Fane came to the table with the pan.
Yes, I'm completely done.

I know that I had to come to training yesterday, not only because it's important for tomorrow's game, but also because it's important for the team. I should have come as captain. That was my duty, but I choose Brook.

I just wanted to check if everything is okay with her. Then the day continued. The problems became bigger, but also faster to solve. I got a glimpse of the real Brook to see. The injured. I could fall even more in love with her at that moment.

I saw that she didn't need me because I know she can do everything on her own, but she took me anyway. I was the choice. She confided in my arms even though she didn't have to. She also said that she likes being near me. Me!

I think that's the best thing she's ever said to me. So if someone asks me if I would change my choice if I had the chance, I would immediately say no. It would always be Brook. Every time.

The pan was placed on a wooden base and plates were also positioned at the table by Jean. "He won't fuck him up, he'll destroy him." The brown-haired guy spat into the room with his British accent, which I really don't need. "But there was someone else." I raised an eyebrow and swept my eyes to Fane, who sat down at the table. Who else was there? I heard my phone ring. I flipped the screen and saw the number for my Mother.

She was especially saved by the word warning. If she calls, it's really not a good thing. I got up and just made my way to my room so no one would have to overhear the talk.

I can already feel what's going to happen. I get mobbed, but why is the question? My thumb pressed the green button and the phone was already on my ear.

"Good morning mother." "Save that. Why the hell didn't you go to practice yesterday? It was the last one before the match!" she wasn't loud. She didn't scream, but the way she said it immediately reminded me of the past.

Her voice always had that certain power that I couldn't understand. As if she had practiced it every day in front of the mirror just to piss me off. Her facial expression was so burned into my mind that I caught myself looking up slightly.

As a little kid, I always looked at my mother from below. Her gaze was stern, angry, evil, but also so unfriendly that someone would rather get lost in the city than ask her for directions.