33. LANE
LANE
All week it’s been like this. Me orbiting around Cora Banks without trying to. I catch myself looking for her before I even realize it. Library. Dining hall. Film sessions. She slips into her seat and somehow I notice every time.
We work together before practice like it’s nothing.
She expects me there, I show up, and I do what she asks.
She writes in that notebook of hers, focused, locked in, and every once in a while she gives this small half-smirk when something plays out the way she predicted.
I’ve started chasing that look without meaning to.
According to her, we’re almost through the first phase of her research and getting ready to move on.
Neither of us brings up what happened after the game. I should be relieved. I am, mostly. But there’s a part of me that almost wishes she would say something. At least then I’d have a reason to talk to her about something other than hockey.
Tonight, I finish my homework early so I can head to the rink. I want to run a few speed drills, maybe get my legs back before Coach tears into us at morning skate. Ice time when it’s empty is a gift, and I need it.
The second I step through the door, I hear it. Blades cutting into ice. Clean. Steady. Someone skating hard.
My eyes adjust to the lights and I see her.
Cora.
She moves fast, but not sloppy. Controlled. Driven. Jacket zipped to her chin, hair falling loose in pieces, cheeks flushed from the cold. She doesn’t see me at first, and I don’t move. I just watch.
Of course she can skate. Her dad’s a legend.
It’s in her blood. But knowing it and seeing it are two different things.
She’s light on her edges, steady through the turns, and there’s something in the way she pushes herself that I recognize.
Like she’s trying to burn something off or maybe outrun it.
And yeah. I get that.
I should leave. Act like I didn’t see her and keep moving. I shouldn’t be standing here with my heart racing like I’ve never seen someone skate before. But it’s Cora; whether I like it or not, that changes things.
I shake it off, try to clear my head and remind myself why I came here. Work. Not this. Not getting caught up in someone I can’t have.
Doesn’t matter. I’m already there.
Cora slows when she notices me. Even from here I can see her brows pull together, trying to make sense of it.
I push off and skate out, meeting her halfway.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, breath still heavy from the laps.
Normally, I would give her shit. But things have been… different. And after seeing her in Coach’s office, I don’t push it.
“Speed drills.” I drag my hands down the front of my shirt. “Mind if I turn on more lights?”
Cora glances around, her eyes catching the light like the lake in the sun. “Yeah, that’s fine.” She turns toward the boards, gaze dropping as she passes me.
“Want to join me?” I ask. I try to keep it casual, but I want her to say yes.
She nods. “Sure. That’s fine.” It sounds like she’s convincing herself more than answering me, but I’ll take it.
I take a few minutes to warm up, then we start at the goal line.
We take off to the far blue line, stop, reset, and push back.
I hold back the first couple, letting her stay with me.
On the last few, I open it up. My thighs burn the way they should, and I hear her laughing behind me, her breath coming hard.
We do another set. This time I give her a head start.
It takes a few reps before I catch her, back and forth across the ice, and it’s easy to push harder with someone out there.
My chest tightens for a second, thinking about how Oliver and I used to do this after practice, staying out until we couldn’t feel our legs. It was always easier with someone else.
Lately, it’s just been me.
Cora bends over, hands on her knees, catching her breath.
“You’re done?” I ask, keeping my voice flat, like I don’t care either way.
Her phone rings before she can answer. Loud. Not on vibrate like everyone else. Her eyes roll when she sees the screen, and she bites her lip like she’s deciding whether to answer.
“What do you want?” she says when she finally chooses to answer, her voice going cold.
She turns away from me and I give her space, skating off toward the boards. I step off the ice, flip on a few more lights, then push back out.
I’m close enough to hear her this time.
“No, don’t… because I don’t want to see you.” Her voice is sharper now, carrying across the rink. “This isn’t about you. You don’t get to decide you made a mistake and just take it back.”
She jabs at her phone, rolling her eyes and ending the call.
“I should go,” she groans, already skating toward the boards. Her whole mood shifts. The lightness from before is gone, replaced with something tight and irritated.
I’ve got a feeling I know why.
“Going to see Freddy?” It’s out before I can stop it.
Cora freezes. Her arms cross over her chest, shoulders pulling in. Her hair’s tied back, dark strands falling down her back. “He’s going to keep calling. I don’t want to explain to my parents why he showed up at the house. My mom would probably let him in.”
That’s not what I expected.
“Wow. You’re really going to give in.” I shrug and skate closer.
She blinks slowly, head tilting and brows pulling together as she looks at me.
Cora is right in front of me, barely any space between us. “You have no idea what you’re talking,” she tries to laugh it off.
“I know enough. I saw the way he talked to you at the bonfire. I’ve heard what people say about him.” My voice comes out rough.
“You are unbelievable.” She shakes her head, and it’s definitely not a compliment. “You tell me to stay away from you, and yet you keep showing up wherever I am. Why is that?”
She throws it back at me, and yeah, this is the fight I picked. I could’ve let her leave. Let her deal with it. But the thought of a guy like that having any kind of hold on her pushes me past that point.
“Don’t act like you didn’t know who I was when we met. You knew whatever happened, you’d see me again. I’m on the goddamn team.” My voice rises, and she doesn’t even flinch. “So the real question is, why does it bother you so much?”
The silence between us snaps tight. It feels charged, like I could reach out and grab it. Cora’s eyes lock on mine, sharp and steady, burning bright blue. She takes a breath, starts to say something, then stops.
“You don’t want me to answer that.”
But before I can press her, the lights go out, taking the hum of the arena with it.