Chapter 30

Thirty

Kyleigh

I'm standing at the curb, waiting for the Uber to arrive, when I hear the security gate open. I glance over my shoulder, berating myself for hoping it's Rowan. Conor's dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt with a backward hat on.

"I can get myself home," I say loudly enough for him to hear.

"We need to talk. And unlike other people, I'm not letting you go home by yourself at three in the morning." He stands next to me, his protective stance trying to showcase some sort of dominance.

"You know it's none of your business, right?"

His head rocks back in sheer disbelief. "He's my fucking teammate. And friend."

"He wasn't. At the time, he wasn't."

Thankfully, probably due to the time of night, my Uber pulls along the curb. Conor opens the door, and I huff, getting in, my gaze floating up to the window of Rowan's condo. He stands there with his arms crossed, watching me leave. I really wish he'd let me talk to him and tell him everything, but I also understand how big trust is to him, and I broke that. I knowingly broke that.

Rowan turns around as if satisfied I'm gone, and I slide into the car. Conor climbs in after me.

"I'm an adult in case you haven't noticed."

"You'll always be my little sister. Deal with it."

The Uber driver looks at me in the rearview mirror, recites the address, and I nod. He doesn't react to Conor, which means he must not be a hockey fan.

"I can live my own life. I don't need you or Mom telling me what to do." I stare out the window.

"So, when I got traded, you were already with him?"

How much information do I want to give him? I'm not sure. I really want Rowan to know everything first. "Yes."

"And with him means what? Because I've heard about the girl he's with, and it didn't sound much like dating to me."

Shit. Of course they've talked about me. Most likely Tweetie opened his big mouth. Rowan doesn't seem like the kind of guy to kiss and tell. "We had an arrangement."

A strangled growl erupts from deep inside his chest, and I watch his fists clench on his thighs.

"Oh my god, grow up. Your little sister has sex."

The Uber driver coughs into his fist.

Conor glances at the driver and sits there quietly, probably wanting to wait until we're out of here before he says anything else. He's used to having to stay guarded around strangers in case people overhear his conversation.

His silence makes the car ride awkward and uncomfortable. I really wish he would've let me go home by myself.

Finally, the Uber parks in front of my apartment building, and Conor gets out. I thank the driver, press the tip on my phone, and go to my building's door.

"I'm home. Bye."

"No way. I'm staying the night in case Landry's ass shows up here," he says.

I wish I had something pointy to stab him in the eye with. But I'm not going to make yet another scene on the street in the middle of the night, so I let him follow me up to my apartment. Once we're behind my apartment door, I decide it's about time we define our adult roles in our sibling relationship.

"Listen, I'm not twelve. I'm twenty-five years old. I can fuck who I want, when I want, and you can't say anything about it. I'm sorry that you found out the way you did. It wasn't my intention."

"It was your intention. That's the problem. You were purposely lying to me, to him, and to yourself." Conor opens my fridge and grabs a beer that's there from when my dad was here. He cracks it open, and I shake my head.

"You have no idea what I was thinking. I'm not having this conversation with you. The only person who deserves this conversation is Rowan."

His jaw clenches so hard I think he might crack a tooth. "I fucking hate it, Ky. He's my friend."

"So what?" I toss my purse on my small table and wind around him to the fridge.

"You don't get it, do you?"

I grab a water and twist the cap off with more force than necessary. "You're trying to control me, just like Mom. Well, news flash, no one is controlling what I do anymore."

"Listen to you. You're like a spoiled child. I mean, who buys a bar just because? You're not even you anymore. You think you have something with Rowan? Well, news flash to you, sis, he doesn't even know the real Kyleigh Nilsen. He didn't even know your name." He finishes half the beer, slips off his shoes, and stomps over to my couch.

He cannot be serious right now. He's going to sleep on my couch? Overstep much?

"Leigh is part of my name."

He stares blankly at me. "That's your answer? Some bullshit that it's part of your name? You never go by that, and in fact, you hate when people call you that."

"I said that once when I was in the fourth grade when Mrs. Trinton kept calling me that."

"Okay, so I'll call you Leigh from now on then. Hi, Leigh, I'm Nor."

I narrow my eyes and inhale deeply, my fist clutching my water bottle so tightly, water spills over the rim and down my hand, dripping onto the floor. "You're being a real jerk."

"Because you're about to fuck everything up for me here. This is the year. I can taste the fucking Cup, and you fucking Landry is going to screw it all up."

Good thing Bodhi isn't here to overhear that sentence.

"I should've realized this is all about you. Figures. My entire life has been about you."

He rolls his eyes. "Fuck off. You're so dramatic."

I put the cap on my water and slam it on the counter. "I'm sorry, did you have to go to all my sporting events? I must have missed that. Did you have to sit in the stands, or worse, get pushed to play with kids you normally wouldn't have because instead of being with your real friends, you have to befriend the siblings of your brother's teammates?" I twirl my finger. "Yeah, that was me." I point my finger right back at me. "And now you're going to come to Chicago when you've been gone for years and tell me who I can and can't see? You don't get to tell me what to do."

"See? You think you're seeing Landry?" He shakes his head. "Jesus, Ky, he's using you for sex. As soon as the season starts, you're gone." His words cut through the flesh and bone right through to my heart. "Not because he's a bad guy, but he's not gonna have time. And believe me, I know the guy. He carries shit from his childhood deep down, and he's told me more than once that he's not the marriage type. So, come down from the tower, Ky, he's not saving you."

"You're such an asshole!"

I stomp down the hallway and slam my bedroom door, flipping the lock. Then I crawl into my bed, curl into the fetal position, and let all the frustration surface, crying myself to sleep while wishing I could magically disappear.