“Give him time.”
Arthur didn’t hear the rest of her words. Apparently he wasn’t even doing the cripple role correctly. Was he supposed to be grateful for Sam’s help? He hadn’t asked for it.
A sour taste in his mouth made him turn around and head back to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
He was a burden to his friends. Maybe he should leave. He could hitch-hike to the airport and fly back to Perth. Then he didn’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations.
The darkness closed in around him, pulling him down. He opened a drawer, pulling out his bag and a notepad fell out. The soft thud on the floor made him stop.
Arthur picked it up and, flicking it open, saw the sketches he’d done on his last mission, the last one of a child playing in the streets.
His body tensed and he moved to the next page, a blank one, the emptiness of it helping him to clear his mind of that day. He exhaled and took the pencils out of his bag, sitting on the bed with his notepad on his lap.
Drawing was a waste of time, a useless hobby.
Defiance made him make the first line, a light sketch with no image in mind. He glanced up, spotting the chest of drawers across from him. The line could be the front of the furniture.
A tingle spread through him as he added another line, and then another, the quick strokes forming the outline in moments.
The darkness faded as the white of the page captured his focus and the drawers took life.
Three sharp raps on the door made Arthur jump. He slammed the notepad shut, tucking it behind him as Sam burst into the room.
“What are you doing?” Sam demanded.
“Nothing.”
Suspicion crossed Sam’s face. “You’ve been up here for almost an hour.”
Arthur glanced towards the door. He’d lost track of time. “I figured you wanted time alone with Penelope.” Sounded like a good excuse.
“What’s behind your back?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. I saw you put something there.”
“It’s none of your business.”
Sam moved forward. “Everything you do is my business.”
“You’re not my father.”
“No, I’m nicer than him,” Sam retorted. He exhaled heavily. “I’m worried about you.”
Arthur looked him in the eye, saw the worry. What did Sam think he was doing here? “I’m fine.”
“Then show me what’s behind your back.”
Panic filled him. “It’s nothing, I swear.” He’d managed to keep his drawing secret from all his teammates. Whenever they asked what he was doing, he’d told them he was writing notes, or strategic plans, or something like that.
“If it’s nothing, it won’t matter if you show me.” Sam stared down at him. He wasn’t going to let it go.
Arthur couldn’t do it. Not another thing ripped away from him. This was the only thing he had left. “No.”
“I won’t let you kill yourself,” Sam muttered, moving closer again, reaching for him.
“What?” The word shot out of him.
