Page 79 of Tell Me When It's Over

What I find interesting—maybe more than interesting—is that whenever Chase and Lenny are with each other, she clams up. I used to think it was nerves. Her first relationship is probably new territory, and I don’t force her to talk to me about it even though I’ve told her she can. Do I want to hear the happy couple in love? Not really, but I will if it makes her happy. What I do want to hear is why she always talks to me when the three of us are around, exchanging banter, old memories, and talking about things that she can talk to him about too. Part of me doesn’t want to analyze it because…I’m not sure I care. The asshole in me wants to pump my fist in the air and celebrate her giving me more attention than him, something his nostrils flare at occasionally, but I play nice and try including him because I don’t want to show the side of me that I keep locked up tight.

When I head upstairs to change my clothes, I notice Leighton’s door is wide open. There’s nobody in there though, which I shouldn’t have checked, but creeping suspicion had me channeling my inner nosiness.

Where the hell are they?

Heading back downstairs after tugging on a new t-shirt that doesn’t smell like beer and peanuts, I look around until I hear a thump on the other side of the guest bedroom. There is never going to be a moment or thought that would prepare me for what happens when I turn the doorknob.

“Leig—holy shit.” Before I can even hear the surprised scream tear from either of them, the door is slammed shut again with my death grip on the knob.

Holy shit.

Holy—

Before I know what I’m doing, my phone is out and pressed against my ear as I scramble away from the bedroom, putting as much distance between me and them as possible.

Barely able to rasp out the words when my sister picks up on the third ring, I croak, “You need to come over. Now.”

“Kyler, I’m—”

“Now.” My fingers are woven into my hair, gripping tightly. She can’t protest before I hang up and lean over the kitchen counter trying not to upchuck dinner. It’s tempting. So, so tempting.

Because the image seared into my head is not going anywhere. Ever. No matter how many other things I try burying on top of it, I still see the shirtless dark-haired girl on the bed, and the boy with his head between her thighs.

“Oh my God,” I groan, dropping my forehead against the cool counter.

Almost too soon, there are hesitant footsteps nearing the kitchen, too heavy to belong to Leighton. Suddenly, my blood boils in my veins and the white-knuckle grip I have on the island becomes painful as I grab Chase’s things and toss them in his direction, not caring if he catches them or not.

He clears his throat. “Listen—”

“Get out.”

A pause. “Kyler, I’m—”

“Get. The fuck. Out.” My voice is dark and barely recognizable, but he hears me perfectly fine. The threat. The warning. I don’t want to fucking look at him right now. For more than one reason.

This time, he listens.

The front door opens and closes moments later and only then do I stand to full height and grab my face trying to figure out what the fuck to do. Until Mia gets here, and she better make it goddamn fast, I’m staying right where I am.

Leighton never comes out of the bedroom. The house is eerily silent until twenty-five minutes later when a car door closes outside.

“What the fuck, a-hole?” my sister calls out.

“Kitchen,” I rasp.

As soon as she sees me, her face changes from irritation to worry. “What happened? Are you okay? Is—”

“Leighton.” I wet my lips and try making a coherent sentence, but it still comes out forced and pained. “You need to talk to Leighton.”

Her brows furrow. “What? Why?”

I thrust a hand through my hair again, knowing it probably resembles someone who put a fork in an electrical outlet, but I don’t care. “She…he…” Another deep breath.

Three more.

I’m still choking on air.

On the image.

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