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I tear my gaze away and stand, meeting Conor at the fridge. “I’ll open up some wine too.”
“Ky.” My dad sighs. “I know your mom expects a lot from you. But she just wants the best. Nothing is going to change until you two talk this out.”
My jaw clenches, and I glare at Conor because it’s taking all of my willpower not to spit out that she’s a lying cheater. But my dad isn’t and doesn’t deserve to be told that way.
“We ordered some pizza,” Conor says, opening my dad’s beer and handing it to him.
“Okay, but—” Dad starts to say something else, but suddenly stops, and I’m guessing that it’s because of the look Conor is giving him.
This is our family dynamic. I allow my mom to push and push me until I finally push back. Then I retreat and ignore the fact that I’m mad. Sometimes I suck it up, let her apologize, and we make up. But those times, she wasn’t sleeping with a man who wasn’t my father. It was always about her control over my life, my career, and my decisions. To my dad, this is no different than any other time, and he thinks we’ll be one big happy family again soon. With Conor returning, he’s probably excited for weekly family dinners.
My chest squeezes, and I have to force myself to keep my face neutral.
“Sorry I’ve been MIA while you’re looking for a place here,” Dad says to Conor. “I should’ve been helping you. Have you decided whether you’re buying or renting?”
They sit in the chairs across from one another while I sit on the couch. Conor looks so at ease with his baseball cap on backward, his worn jeans, with an even more worn T-shirt. While I feel like a kink in a necklace and no matter how much I try to free the knot, the metal tightens.
“No worries, Ky helped out. I ended up buying. I’m hoping I’m here for a while.” He shrugs. “I mean, I think I will be.”
“You will. You’re the best thing that could happen to the Falcons,” my dad says.
“Besides Landry,” Conor says, and my stomach feels as if a dozen helium balloons were let go.
My dad smiles. “That entire offensive line, but how is Rowan?”
“He’s great. Solid. Has it all together like usual.” There’s a jealous note in Conor’s voice that I’m not used to hearing.
“He’s definitely got a good head on his shoulders. Doesn’t let all that fame get to him.”
My dad is right. I never would’ve imagined how grounded Rowan seems for being the player he is in the league. Not to mention how fucking hot he is.
“I can’t wait to play with him again. But I’m staying at Tweetie Sorenson’s until my place is ready. Funny enough, he lives right above Rowan.”
“They live in the same building?” my dad asks.
There goes that dread washing over my body again. How am I going to get to Rowan’s apartment without Conor seeing me? Plus, they’ll be at Peeper’s, and that’s the bar I’m buying. Our time together is running out.
Conor’s hasn’t brought up the bar again, but I’m sure once he returns for good, he’s going to want to insert himself into the situation.
“Yeah. Hensley and his son too.”
My dad nods.
“They call it The Nest,” I say before I think better of it.
Conor’s head whips in my direction. “How do you know that?”
Shit.
I scoff. “Hello? I mean…everyone in Chicago knows.”
Conor narrows his eyes, and I try to push away all the anxiety quickly overtaking my body language with the hopes that he’ll believe me.
“They mentioned it in an interview onSportsNightwhen they told the three of them about your trade.”
Thanks for the save, Dad.
Conor nods and strips his gaze off me. Thank goodness.
