6. CORA
CORA
I think I forgot how to breathe. I knew I’d see Lane eventually, that he’d figure out who I am. I just didn’t think it would be in my dad’s office when I’m already running late.
“Did you eat breakfast?” My dad sets the folder on his desk and waits. My brain is still stuck on Lane practically bolting out of here. “Earth to Cora. Where are you?” He waves a hand in front of my face.
I shake it off and force a laugh. “Just feel like I forgot something.” I don’t tell him it’s the way Lane kissed up my thighs, across my collarbone. How I swear he left a mark on my lips.
No. I don’t say any of it. I’ve been trying to play it off.
Like I haven’t been kicking myself for not leaving my number or getting his.
Like I didn’t know exactly what I was doing.
It’s hard to come back from actually, my name’s Cora, and yeah, I knew you were the hockey player my dad saved from that scandal in Ohio.
“No, I’m meeting Brinn. I’ll see you at home.”
The second I’m out of the office, I’m trying to catch up with Lane. I push through the door and spot him down the path. When I’m far enough away from the building, I call his name.
He doesn’t stop. I’m basically jogging at this point and when I’m close enough, I reach for his arm, needing him to look at me. “Lane, I’m sorry.”
Lane looks at me and as my fingers graze his skin, he pulls his arm away like I’ve burnt him. His eyes pin me in place. “For what? I should’ve gone home. Never should’ve went back to that stupid fucking bar.”
Doing my best to explain, I say, "I almost told you, but—”
“You didn’t.” Lane’s eyes flick around before landing on me. His gaze is sharp and dark, irritation simmering.
“Listen closely.” He closes the space and he smells like peppermint—it reminds me of last night. His features are soft, a contrast to his tone. “It never happened. This was the first time we met. Got it?”
There’s so much I want to say, but there’s no space for it. The air between us feels strangled.
I nod because it’s all I’ve got. He’s not wrong to be pissed, but I did try Friday night. None of that matters now. Not with the way he’s looking at me.
“Use your words.” The annoyance in his voice is sharp.
Maybe he really is a dick, because this is nothing like the guy I sat across from at the bar. He had this way of pulling me in, making me crave his attention until Freddy felt like a distant memory. It was the first time in a long time I didn’t feel like I was in free fall.
Doesn’t matter now. The tension in his face makes me want to recoil, like touching a hot pan.
“Got it.” The words are out of my mouth and over my shoulder as I head in the opposite direction.
“Wait. How are you just now telling me you fucked Lane Maxwell?” Brinn gasps, eyes as wide as the massive coffees in front of us. “For future reference, I need immediate details. You finally ditched vanilla Freddy, so I’m here for all of it.” She rubs her hands together.
“First, it was Friday night… give me a break. And second, Freddy wasn’t vanilla, he was—”
“Let me finish that for you: boring as fuck. The man knew one position. Missionary.”
My cheeks heat. Even after all these years, Brinn can still catch me off guard with how direct she is. According to her, life’s too short to waste words.
I take a sip of my coffee, knowing she’s not wrong. That’s part of why Lane pulled me in so fast. He’s nothing like what I’m used to.
Freddy was quiet. Predictable. He made me feel safe, comfortable, but it never felt like what it was supposed to. Maybe that’s what happens when you grow up together, see every awkward phase and bad haircut. Part of me thought that meant something, but I got that wrong.
“This is a good thing! You can get him completely out of your system. Properly move on.” Brinn takes a drink of her latte. “Thank god. Plus, what’s the deal with Lane? Heard people talking about him getting kicked off his team in Ohio.”
This doesn’t surprise me. Lane’s dismissal wasn’t quiet, even if there weren’t a lot of public details.
“I only know what everyone else does.” Even if my dad has additional information on Lane or what happened, he’d never share. One of the reasons he gets his teams to respond so well is that he truly respects them—treats them like real people.
Brinn scrunches her eyebrows like she’s trying to remember. “Car accident, right?”
I nod in agreement. “Sounds like he was coming back from a party, crashed into a park. He wasn’t charged with anything and that’s really all that came out. He lost his roster spot a few days later.”
“Damn. And your dad swoops up the bad boy from Ohio? Savior complex much?” She nudges my shoulder, a smirk paired with her signature directness.
“It doesn’t matter. Lane wants nothing to do with me. You should’ve seen him when he heard my name was Cora and not Lee.”
She leans back, crossing her arms. “I can’t believe you did that. Where did my best friend go? Did you get body snatched or something?” Excitement surrounds her words.
I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “Trust me, she’s still here.”
I’m still the girl who follows the rules. Still the girl who doesn’t complicate things.
I’m coming to terms with the reality of what happens when you just do things instead of calculate every possible scenario first. And now I’m left sitting with it. The look on his face. The tension I created.
Guilt settles in again, quieter this time but just as steady.
Brinn nudges my foot under the table. “Hey. It’s fine.”
Maybe.
I take another sip of my coffee, letting the warmth ground me. “Yeah,” I agree, more to convince myself than her. “It’s nothing.”
But as I stare out the café window, watching a group of guys walk by in Great Lakes U hockey shirts, I know better.
Nothing about this feels like nothing.
And somehow, I have a feeling this is going to be a long hockey season.