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I go out in the hallway to wait. Conor comes out two minutes later with a white T-shirt and sweatpants on. He crosses his arms and widens his stance like he’s been doing since this whole roller coaster began.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Had I known she was your sister, I wouldn’t have started something.”
He drops his arms to his sides. “Thanks.”
“But…”
He crosses his arms again when he hears my tone.
“I can’t turn back time. I can’t change the outcome.”
Conor’s eyes narrow. “What are you saying?”
I inhale a breath. “I like her. A lot. I fell for her. And as your friend, I’m sorry it upsets you, but I’m not backing down. I want her in my life.”
His eyes burn holes into me. “She’s going through a hard time. You’re taking advantage. She’s vulnerable right now.”
“She’s stronger than you think.”
“Don’t act like you know her better than me.”
I don’t say anything because I’m not sure what to say to that. “It’s her mistake to make, but I don’t think it’s a mistake.”
“She bought a bar. She’s a fucking fashion designer, and this entire thing with my parents has screwed her up so bad, she bought a bar. That should tell you something.”
“If it makes her happy, I don’t see the harm.”
He huffs and looks down the hallway. “You’re gonna hurt her.”
“You have no say in this,” I say. “It’s her decision. I just wanted to be upfront with you.”
“Fuck you.” He cocks his fist back and punches me in the face.
“Shit.” I cock my jaw and hold my cheekbone, then hold up one finger. “That’s your one shot.” I walk down the hallway, cheek throbbing.
“You’re throwing away your chance at the Cup. This will poison the locker room,” he shouts after me.
“Only if you don’t let it go.”
He growls, and I push open the doors to outside. Thankfully, my Uber is already waiting. I slide in, give him Kyleigh’s address, and pray she’s home.
Thirty-Six
Kyleigh
I’m sittingcross-legged on my couch, my sketchpad on a pillow on top of my lap withSouthern Charmplaying in the background. I draw a few lines and tear off the piece of paper, crumpling it and tossing it into the growing pile on the floor.
A knock sounds on my door. Since I’m not expecting anyone, I almost don’t get up to answer it. Someone probably let a solicitor into the building.
“Leigh…Kyleigh.”
Oh my god. Rowan.
I toss the pillow and sketchpad off my lap and look down at myself. Of course he picks the day I’m in sweats and an oversized T-shirt, no makeup and my hair thrown up in a messy bun.
I tiptoe over and look out the peephole. There he is, and holy shit, his eye is swelling, and there’s a bruise forming on his cheek.
I swing open the door. “Rowan!”
