57. LANE
LANE
We sit on the beach until Cora’s teeth start to chatter. It doesn’t take much convincing to get her back to the party, her eyes shining when she talks about getting back to her new friends.
She’s holding my hand when she pulls it up, kissing the inside of my wrist.
Fucking Christ. I’m never coming back from this. From her.
I love you.
She said that to me. And it wasn’t like her words slipped or she didn’t mean to say it. Cora told me she loved me in a way that made it feel impossible not to believe her.
No part of me thought I’d tell her how much I care about her while we were outside of some random house party, but I couldn’t help it. It was like if I didn’t say it right in that moment, something horrible would happen. It was the only choice.
Now we’re back inside, the warmth of bodies and laughter surrounding us. Cora takes Leo’s jacket off, finds him at a table, and slides next to him.
Next thing I know, we’re playing beer pong. Me and Leo against Cora and one of her new friends.
Her hair is falling out of the messy knot she’d thrown it into a few minutes earlier, dark strands slipping loose around her face.
The kitchen light catches in it, almost blue where it curves over her shoulder.
She bites her lip in concentration, then glances up to check the distance and I catch the flash of her eyes—bright, clear blue even in the dim light.
Then she smiles.
Not at anyone in particular. Just that little crooked smile she makes when she’s about to do something she needs to think about.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. Even in the party lighting, about to toss a ball in one of the remaining cups.
And she loves me.
I’m the beer pong winner and luckily,Cora’s ready to go. Leo’s back at the party, not ready to go—true Leo energy—and I’ve got her keys.
She leans against me as we walk toward her car. She pulls out a bottle and takes another swig—the bag that keeps on giving.
“Think we’ve had enough?” I suggest. No part of me wants to boss Cora around. It feels like she needed tonight a little bit, to let go, to not be the carefully curated version of herself she’s spent years perfecting.
“Maybe,” she says with a laugh. It’s hard not to smile right alongside her. Her energy is contagious.
I get her in the car and put in my apartment address to get us back. I’ve not been out this way and definitely don’t trust Cora to get us home. I turn the heat up, but a minute into the drive she rolls the window down, needing fresh air. I’d need it too if I’d had as much tequila as she did.
Cold air pours through the open window, whipping Cora’s hair across the car like we’re driving through a storm instead of a quiet area near campus.
She giggles and leans farther out. Before I can say a single word, she clicks her seatbelt off.
The sound makes my stomach drop.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She pushes herself almost halfway out the window, her hair flying everywhere as she sticks her head out into the wind.
“It feels so good!” she yells, the sound carried off by the wind.
For a second, I consider pulling over, but we’re only a few minutes away. Really, I just want to get back to my place and get her safely inside.
“Cora,” I say more firmly.
She doesn’t move.
I reach over, one hand on the steering wheel, the other grabbing one of her arms and trying to pull her towards the seat. “Come on,” I try to coax her.
“It’s just a little fresh air,” she argues, tucking her hair behind her ears.
I swallow, trying to focus on the road, while grabbing her seatbelt and trying to get it to click into place.
“Someone is bossy." She waves her hands to make her point.
I’ve got both hands on the wheel, letting out a long breath, when I see the flash in the rearview mirror.
Blue. Red. My chest tightens instantly, like there’s not an ounce of air available to me.
For a second I just stare at the lights in the mirror, hoping maybe they’ll pass me, maybe they’re for someone else, maybe—
The siren chirps as the cop speeds to me.
Definitely for me.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel and suddenly the car feels too small.
Too warm. The smell of tequila is still floating in the air and crashes into me all over again, sharp and unmistakable.
Cora mumbles something and makes sure her seatbelt is on.
She tries to grab for her bag on the floor and when she grabs it, she spills.
Fuck.
My pulse hammers in my ears. Not this. Not again.
I check the mirror one more time, like maybe the lights will disappear if I look hard enough, but they only flash brighter against the dark road.
The gravel crunches under the tires as I pull onto the shoulder. My ears start to ring as I try to catch my breath.
The siren cuts off, but the red and blue lights keep flashing, filling the inside of the car with quick bursts of color that make everything feel unreal.
My hands are locked around the steering wheel. Cora shifts beside me, blinking slowly like she’s just remembering where she is. She sits up a little straighter, hair falling across her face.
My brain is moving too fast now, trying to think of every scenario.
I glance over and my stomach drops straight through the floor when I see a bottle of tequila.
This can’t be fucking happening.
The bottle is on the passenger side floor, half out of Cora’s bag where it must have rolled when she leaned toward the window. The cap is loose, and tequila has splashed across the mat.
The smell in the car is unmistakable.
The flashlight beam hits the back window, then the driver’s side mirror. I roll the window down slowly. As the officer steps to the door, he sweeps his light inside the car. His eyes land on Cora, the bottle, and then on me.
My pulse is pounding in my throat.
“Lane Maxwell. Cora Banks.” The officer calls us out by name. Fuck.
Cora gives a tiny wave as I say, “Evening, officer.”
“You been drinking?” he asks me.
I take a breath, trying to ease the shaking. “No, I’ve not had a single drink. She is a different story.” I tip my head in Cora’s direction. It’s not against the law for her to drink, so better to be honest.
He flashes the light in my eyes, determining if he thinks I’m telling the truth or not.
I’ve got nothing to hide so I continue, “I’ll take a breathalyzer. Field sobriety test. Whatever you want.” I lift my hands in surrender.
Flashing the light to the back of the car, he says, “Do you know you’ve got a busted taillight?”
I have the worst luck.
“No, sir.”
This time, the flashlight lingers on the tequila bottle by Cora’s feet. His eyebrows lift as he looks between me and her.
“Let me see that,” he barks to Cora, who reaches down, grabs the bottle, and offers it to him. The clear liquid sloshes around as her hand trembles.
He holds it, looking at the half that’s clearly missing.
“Open intox.”
I can’t believe this is happening.
“This is my car,” Cora protests. “Lane was just driving me home. This is all me. My fault. It was in my bag and I forgot. I know it should go…”
She can’t remember where you’re supposed to put open bottles of liquor. Probably because this isn’t a situation she’s found herself in often.
“In the trunk,” the office answers for her.
She nods. “Yes. The trunk.”
The cop looks around like he’s trying to make a decision. I can’t get a ticket. That would be the nail in my coffin—the one I just crawled out of.
It feels like time is crawling by. Each breath takes too long, every movement feels like I’m experiencing it in slow motion.
The officer sighs. “I believe you. I’m not going to give you a ticket. But I’m going to need you to call your dad. Have him come get you.”
“What? Why?” Cora asks. Even though I want to know the answer, I want her to stop talking. Leave it alone. Just do what this man says, even though it’s going to be part of my demise.
“Because I said so.” He stops any more of the questions she may want to ask. “Now, both of you, get out of the car.”
I unbuckle my seat belt and open the door. My legs feel like they can barely hold me up.
This is really happening.
Fuck.