The Wish

Chapter Twenty-Six: Footprints on My Soul

Okay so I have a lot of news... I have entered the UNDISCOVERED WATTPAD STORIES AWARDS 2014 in the category of Teen Fiction. It would mean the world to me if you guys would help and support me even if I don't win. If you wanna know more about it read the book on the award on @FantasyFairy profile.

Secondly, I have applied to a Wattpad magazine and am awaiting to see if I got in.

Thirdly, I will be headed to England one week from Tuesday and I will be gone till mid-August. So I may not be able to update for a while, but I will try and post as many updates as possible.

Finally, I remade my cover... Let me know what you think

This Chapter is dedicated to @LeahFernez for all her comments and support.

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Camille

It was late when I finally arrived home from the dance. We had already dropped off Quentin and Abby and now it was just me and Layton standing on the porch.

Layton had his head pointed down, admiring his now scuffed dress shoes. "Uh... Thanks." He finally said looking up to meet my eyes. "I had fun."

I reached for his hand and intertwined my fingers with his in one quick motion. "Me too."

He looked up meeting my gaze with his baby blue eyes. He held my gaze and it seemed to say everything he'd ever said to me.

"I love you." He said. "With all my heart." He made a cross over his heart with his finger.

He gave me a sweet kiss goodnight and then left me alone on the porch. " I love you too." I said into the street.

I sat down in the chair on the porch and watched as the limo pulled away in the moonlight.

The light from the street-lamps caught my dress and seemed to illuminate the silver band and dance across the fabric.

I looked back towards the house. It was dark and all the lights were out except for the lights that were on in the den. My father was home.

I walked quietly in the front door past the guest bedroom where Jordan lay asleep and into the den. My father sat quietly on a stool in front of his easel, a paint pallet on the desk beside him and a brush held firmly in his hand.

His brush made light and delicate strokes on the paper as the colours and patterns merged on the page to show a picture with greater meaning than just the surface. It wasn't done yet and I couldn't tell what it was yet, but I remember coming in here as a young child and just sitting here to watch them, him and mama.

I found a seat at his desk where I could watch the painting progress from over his shoulder. His hand was steady and he was silent, focused.

He turned suddenly to get paint and spotted me. He put the paint brush down and turned his chair to face me.

He lean to kiss my cheek and I returned the gesture.

"You were right." He said in a voice that was just barely audible to my ears.

I looked at him, confused, "About what?"

He placed a hand on my shoulder, "About everything." He said, "I'm not home as much as I should be, I'm not here when you need me most, and I'm a terrible father." A tear ran down his face, which fell into my lap.

I had said those thing, hadn't I. My heart ached at his genuine apology. 'I should have bit my tongue.' I thought. I had never meant to hurt him. I only said it out of the shock and anger of the moment.