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Thirty-Four
Kyleigh
It’s been almost a week.
I’ve almost called him twenty times a day, but I can’t find the nerve.
So I go to the store to buy a new sketchbook and start fresh, wondering if I’m even in the right headspace to design my best friend’s wedding dress.
Eventually, I’ll have no choice but to move on, but I can’t find it in myself to do so.
Thirty-Five
Rowan
The last placeI want to be right now is at a fucking preseason practice. Seeing Conor is only a reminder of Leigh…er… Kyleigh. Fuck, will I ever not think of her as Leigh?
Seeing Conor across from me in the locker room, I now see all the similarities between them. The same caramel-colored eyes, and their hair color is close except she has some highlights. It’s also in the structure of their noses. Damn it. I tear my eyes away because it causes a heaviness inside me when I think of her.
“You okay?” Henry approaches me, voice low.
You’d think we’re all at a funeral home with how quiet the locker room is. I’m unsure if word got around, although I don’t think Tweetie or Henry would say anything to anyone who’s here. It’s our business. What happens at The Nest stays at The Nest.
“I’m good.” I put on my helmet and walk out of the locker room to get away from Conor.
I want to ask him if she’s okay. Is she still upset? I shouldn’t give a shit, but I do. I also know where he stands on the topic of our…former relationship, I guess. My only saving grace is that today I’m set to work on passing drills, which means I won’t be shooting pucks at Conor.
When my skates hit the ice, I already know it’s going to be a shit day. I’m exhausted from no sleep.
It’s been almost a week, and I haven’t reached out to her. Every time I pick up the phone, my thumb hovers over her name. I’ve even gone back and read some of our text exchanges. Then I’ll think about how long she lied to me. How I told her about my dad. Sure, I didn’t go into detail, but I opened up to her, and she continued to lie.
“Let’s go, Landry. You’re dragging today,” Coach Buford shouts.
Tweetie, Henry, and I pass among ourselves, but I’m slowing us down.
During the water break, they stick near me, leaving Conor with the other group of guys. Our eyes catch for a minute.
“You gotta get her out of your head,” Tweetie says.
I down some water. “Does it look like I’m not trying to do exactly that?”
He holds up his hands and looks at Henry, as if he’s the one to guide me. Then again, there’s a reason we call him Daddy.
“Have you talked to her?” Henry asks.
I shake my head.
His forehead wrinkles. “Fuck, Rowan, why not?”
Tweetie plays with the puck and his stick, doing tricks we’ve all been doing since we were kids.
I shrug.
“That’s not a reason.”
“I’m not your kid.”
Henry shakes his head at me. “Fine, suit yourself. It’s your life, and you’re old enough to take responsibility for your fuckups. And if you let her go, you’re fucking up.”
