The Lucky One

Chapter Eighteen

"So I'm thankful for my sister, even though sometimes we fight

When high school wasn't easy, she's the reason I survived

I know she'd never leave me and I hate to see her cry

So I wrote this verse to tell her that I'm always by her side"

- If We Have Each Other by Alec Benjamin

POV Ryland

The second I got my cast off, I was back to soccer. I was so busy coaching soccer teams and playing friendly games that I hadn't had a chance to really talk to Layla. We had seen each other, but never for long enough for her to ask me about Noah. 

Today, though, I'm back at her house to watch Noah's game. The championship is coming up, and this is the first game of the playoffs. I can see Layla out of the corner of my eye, and I can tell that she wants to talk about it tonight. I try to mentally prepare myself as she makes her way over to me.

"You've made an active effort to avoid me this entire night," she says once she gets to me.

"What? Never. You're my favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister," she says with a sigh before continuing. "So, are we going to finally talk about it."

"Talk about what?" I say, and Layla frowns.

"Don't do that," she says, and I just stay quiet. "Ryland. We need to talk about it."

I roll my eyes and gesture towards her bedroom. Once we enter, I look around and see various mementos scattered around the room. A picture of me and her at a carnival when we were kids. A snow globe my dad got her. A leather jacket slung over a chair. Her macbook. A Boston Celtics hoodie. A pile of neatly folded clothes on a chair.

Wait.

I know those clothes.

That's Miguel's shirt he got from that marathon he ran a while ago. Those are the warm-up sweatpants we got from USMNT. 

That would mean...

Nope. Not going there. I mean, I'm happy that they make each other happy, but I am not at all ready to think that my sister and best friend sleeping in the same bed. Or what else they might have done. Nope.

Layla sees me looking at the clothes and blushes. I just raise my eyebrows at her.

"So, new house guest?" I say, and she just rolls her eyes.

"Stop deflecting. We are talking about you right now."

"Are we? I have no idea what we might even possibly be talking about."

Layla throws a pillow at me, which I dodge very skillfully, if I do say so myself.

"Ryland, be serious."

I sigh and say, "Layla, I don't even know what you want me to say! It all seems very self-explanatory."

"Anything! Literally anything at all," she says, frowning. "You've always told me about anyone you've even remotely liked, but suddenly, you're seeing a FAMOUS BASKETBALL PLAYER, and you don't even mention!" 

"It was new!" I say. We are both getting a little heated now, but I can't stop myself from saying, "And I don't tell you about every single-"

"Bullshit," Layla says, interrupting me. "Do you not trust me or something?"

"I do. You know I do!"

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

I say and fall dramatically onto the bed. Layla sits up against the headboard and just watches me for a second.