Always Fighting // Kyrie Irving

Thank You, but Please Go

Sabrina-

"Klay, what the heck. You scared the crap out of me!" I say, both relief and frustration evident in my voice. He walks over to me and sits on the bench.  "Why are you here?"

"Because it's late out. I don't care whether you're mad at me or not, I still care about you."

"So instead of waiting by myself at the bus station, I have the Golden State Warrior's star shooting guard sitting next to me." 

"There's no paparazzi," he says tiredly, scratching the back of his neck. As if that was what I was hinting at. "Now, please, at least let me drive to your hotel." 

I insist I'm fine, he insists he must. I finally concede, letting him open the car door. "How do you have a car, Klay?" 

"I rented it. Didn't want to taxi or take the bus everywhere." He states it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh," I don't know what else to say. That was my only idea for conversation. It's not like we have to talk, but I'm one of those people who can't stand silence. I find it awkward. "You played well today."

"Not well enough. 'Bron's giving us a lot trouble and he doesn't even have Kyrie or Kevin with him. It's almost embarrassing. If we lose this..." he drops the sentence and looks over at me before returning his attention to the road.

"You're fine. Just because I'm Cavs fan doesn't mean you can't talk about it," I had been staring out the window, watching the city pass by, but now its my turn to look at him. Even in the dark of the night, I can still see how tired his eyes look. I don't know if it's from all the pressure being put on him or all the stress of the finals, but it makes me feel a pang of sadness. These should be the most exciting games he's ever played it, but it might take a toll on someone too. 

His beard is also scragglier than usual not as neat and polished. Makes me wonder if he's even getting decent hours of sleep. 

"I guess I'm just scared," he finally says, the car slowing down at a red light. "I'm scared to come so far and fail. I'm scared of what people will think or how seriously they'll take us. I'm still a kid, Sab. Living the dream, yet so afraid to lose it." 

"Why would you lose it? Have you seen yourself play?" 

"Ha, very funny." Sarcasm. An art form he has mastered. "No, you know what I mean. I've worked so hard to get this far, to be as good as I am. I'm just afraid that our credibility will go down if we lose." 

"No one would blame you if you do. Every series, every game, every quarter is won and lost by team effort. Whether someone actually scores, or whether they assist, or block, or guard. It's not a one man show. Besides, you're playing againstThe King. I don't think many people will hold that against you if they win." 

"I'd believe you if Kyrie and Kevin were playing, but their not. This is run solely by LeBron. I don't care what you say about team effort, this is his team." 

* * *

We pull up at my hotel and as I suspected, he declares he's walking me in. 

"You really don't have to, Klay, but I appreciate the ride," I try to tell him but he shakes his head as if to say 'You know me better than that.' Which is true, I do know him better than that. 

We near my room and I pull out the key from my purse to open the door. I step in and he leans against the frame. 

"Thank you, Klay," I say softly, looking down at the ground. 

"No problem," he says, taking a step closer towards me. I look up with surprise and take a step back when his face is right in front of me. In one swift motion, he lifts his hand to my cheek and presses his lips against mine. My eyes flutter close but I stagger backwards, jerking away. 

"What the heck?" 

"I'm sorry," he says. "I miss you. It was something I had to do." My phone buzzes in my back pocket, shaking me out of whatever strange daze I was in. I bite my lip, frantically trying to think of what to say to him. 

"Look, Klay, I don't know what happened between us, but it didn't work out." 

"But can't we try again?" 

"It is the NBA Finals. Now is not the time. Besides..." I'm about to mention Kyrie, but stop myself in time, sighing instead. "Thank you for taking the time to drive me here, but please, Klay, you need to go,"  

He nods his head and turns out the door with a 'goodnight.' I let out a shaky breath and lean against the now closed door. 

When we decided to break up after our short lived 'thing,' I was fine and over it. But now I see him more than ever. He can't keep doing things like this. It messes with my feelings. 

I suddenly remember my phone and pull it out to check. It's not Kyrie, though I don't know why it would be. He just got my number tonight. Actually, it's my mom. She was wondering if we could have lunch sometime before I leave. Like I would say no. 

I haven't seen my mom since Christmas, her living in Cleveland and me all the way out in California. Sometimes I wonder if it bothers her that I live closer to the father I hardly knew than the woman who raised me to be who I am. She never comes out and says so, but then again, she wouldn't. That's not the type of person she is. All she has ever wanted is for me to be happy, and if that means I'm thousands of miles away from her, she'll understand. 

It's not like I'm closer with Steve than I am with my mom. There still is a lot of underlying stress between the two of us, I just ignore it as much as possible. Things become awkward if someone mentions it. So instead, we just pretend like he was always there for me. 

I contemplate telling mom about what just happened with Klay and Kyrie since it's filing up inside me like an overflowing dam. For some reason, I feel like I can't hold it in. I can't figure this out on my own. A really big part of me can't believe that Kyrie asked for my number and has talked to me. That's every fan's dream. But the other part... the other part doesn't know if it can keep ignoring the butterflies that come alive every time Klay appears.