Chapter 15 #2
The walk back is quiet except for the steady whir in my chest, every step pulling me closer to him, the anticipation curling low in my stomach.
The smell of alcohol is pungent the moment we step into the bunkhouse. Laughter spills across the entire room from where the guys are gathered around the table, cards fanned in their hands.
My eyes immediately find Lane. He’s sitting at the far side, elbows resting on the table, his eyes narrowed in concentration at his cards.
Lydia bounces straight for the small wooden cabinet against the back wall, rummaging through the clinking glass bottles until she finds the one she wants. She pops the cork, takes a long swig straight from the bottle, then holds it out to me.
I grimace. “No thanks. I’m going to go see Lane.”
Her smirk does little to hide her thoughts, but I don’t care. I make my way around the table to Lane and slide into his lap. His arms wrap around me without hesitation, pulling me in until I’m tucked tightly against him. He presses his nose to my hair, inhaling deep like he’s been starving for it.
“Mmm, you smell like heaven. I missed you, baby.”
I tilt my head, a little caught off guard by the new nickname. Lane always calls me love—it’s my favorite—but I’m probably overanalyzing, so I brush it off.
“Missed you more. You should’ve come to the bonfire.”
He doesn’t respond and instead points at Landon with a mock-serious look, sliding a stack of chips in. “This is where you tap out, big guy.”
Landon shakes his head, a small grin tugging at his mouth, revealing his dimples. “You’re out of control tonight, man.” His gaze shifts and he nods at me. “Hey, Sadie—“ But his words cut off mid-greeting, eyes darting past me toward the cabinet. “Dammit, Lyd! Get your thieving hands off my stash.”
Emmett lifts his chin in greeting, the corner of his mouth twitching up before he goes back to his cards. A couple of other guys nod, their faces familiar but names completely erased from my memory.
And then—without meaning to—my gaze collides with Wesley’s. He’s leaning forward, hat turned backward, forearms braced on his knees. There’s a tightness in his jaw and his eyes are unreadable as they hold mine.
Eye contact with Wesley feels intimate in a way I’ve never experienced. I long for the day I’m free from this magnetic pull toward him. But why don’t I feel these things for Lane? Shouldn’t I be drawn to my boyfriend in such a compulsive way?
Lane roars with laughter, breaking my trance, and tosses a card onto the table before replacing it from the pile. The movement stirs the air, and the reek of alcohol slams into me—sharper now, thicker. My nose scrunches as I spot the nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the center.
Waves of nausea roll low in my stomach, and a faint tremor runs through my hands. I press my palms into my thighs, trying to ground myself. Bitterness coats the back of my tongue, even though it hasn’t touched my lips.
I’ve always hated the smell of whiskey, but after that night—after him—it’s enough to make bile rise in my throat.
Lydia leans into the back of Emmett’s chair with a dramatic grimace. “Ugh, I can smell how drunk you guys are!“ She swipes his glass and takes a sip, eyebrows drawing together. “This doesn’t taste like Jack.”
“Because it’s not,” Emmett chuckles. “I’m not drinking tonight. That, sweetheart, was the last of the sweet tea Lane made.”
Lane is deeply passionate about his sweet tea craft. I smile, grabbing his glass to steal a sip.
The first swallow burns like liquid fire, tearing down my throat and scorching all the way to my stomach before my brain can process what’s happening. My eyes water. I cough, choking on the heat painting my insides.
Laughter explodes around the table. A can of soda is pressed into my shaking hand. I gulp it down, desperate to erase the sting.
“Damn, Sades! I’ve seen you toss back tequila easier than that. Whiskey too much for you?” Emmett teases.
I don’t respond. I can’t.
Because the warmth seeping through me isn’t from the alcohol. It’s from Lane’s arms. My hands tingle. Too close. Too tight.
The safety of his embrace presses in, heavy and smothering—like a wet blanket thrown over flames.
I twist to look at him, my voice low and flat. “You’re drinking?”
“C’mon, baby. It’s not a big deal.”
If I wasn’t looking directly at him, I would’ve sworn on my life someone else had said the words.
I try to stand but his arms clamp tighter. His mouth drops to my ear, hot breath soaked with whiskey. “Let’s go to my room. I’ve been dreaming about you … tasting you … sinking deep into your sweet little pu—“
“Lane.” I shove his chest, wrenching myself free. My pulse ricochets in my throat as I back away, needing distance.
But he’s faster.
He lurches to his feet, closing the space between us until my back hits the wall.
He leans in slowly, inhaling me like I’m prey. My stomach rocks and I make the mistake of closing my eyes, squeezing them shut. My nails dig into my palms and the air around me becomes too heavy to swallow.
And then—I’m there.
In that house.
Hands up my dress.
My heart is racing, and I can’t move.
I can’t—I can’t breathe.
“Were you with someone else?” The words slur and slice at the same time—loose around the edges but cold at the center, his glassy eyes narrowing on me.
The laughter in the room dies. I can feel every pair of eyes shift toward us. “What? No, I was right outside—“
“Don’t lie to me,” he spits, and I instinctively flinch, pressing myself harder against the wall. “You finally got a taste and now you’re a little slut who will let anyone between your legs.”
My chest hollows, the air thinning until I can’t get a full breath. My pulse hammers in my ears, and the room tilts—too loud, too bright—as if the floor might give way beneath me.
“Lane, stop—“ I manage, but it’s swallowed by chaos.
Before I can fully process what’s happening, strong hands wrench Lane off me. The sudden absence leaves me unmoored, like I’m underwater and everything above is breaking apart.
I sink to the floor and a broken, desperate sound claws out of me—a sob, a gasp, I don’t even know, but it’s quickly drowned by ragged sobs that shudder through my whole body. I curl into myself, arms tightening around my knees as if holding myself together is the only thing left.
The room swims. Voices echo, disjointed—a deep voice shouting, a chair scraping against the wood, someone’s boots pounding the floor. The sounds stretch and flatten, like they’re coming through a heavy fog.
Hands reach out and pull me to my feet. I look up at Lydia as she guides me over to the living room next to Emmett.
“What the fuck is going on?“ she demands.
Emmett mutters something but I barely hear him. My hands won’t stop trembling. I can’t unclench them.
Was Lane going to hit me?
I glance back. Landon is wedged between Wesley and Lane, hands on their shoulders, keeping them apart. Wesley’s chest heaves, rage etched in every line of his body. Lane sways on his feet, barely upright, a stranger wearing the face of the person I thought I knew.
He promised me he wouldn’t drink. Swore he wouldn’t be like his dad.
Either it was all a lie or he decided drinking was worth losing me. I choke on another sob. Lydia’s hand rubs circles between my shoulder blades, the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely.
Because I wasn’t enough.
I’m never enough.
My fingers dig into my skin, half to hold myself together and half to feel something—anything—other than this. My chest aches like it’s filled with nothing but splintered glass.
I’m never going to be enough for someone.
The words pulse behind my eyes, over and over until they’re the only truth I know.
The shouting spikes. Landon’s voice cracks through the room, sharp and commanding. “Both of you—enough.”
He steps between them, broad shoulders blocking Wesley from taking another step.
His gaze is locked on Lane, voice low and hard.
“You’re drunk, you’re out of line, and you don’t talk to her like that.
Ever. Do you hear me?” He flicks his eyes to Wesley before turning back to Lane.
“You put your hands on her. That’s it—you’re done. Out.”
Lane shoves him off and steps forward, getting in Wesley’s face. “If you wanna taste how sweet she is, you’ll just have to wait your fuckin’—“
The crunch of bone is brutal and final. Lane drops, crumpling to the ground, the floor shaking under the weight of him.
One step. Wesley took only one step before striking his fist into Lane’s face.
Silence swallows the room. Cards are frozen, Lydia pauses half a step forward, and Landon’s hand is still suspended where it tried to hold Wesley back. Lane’s ragged breath hisses through his teeth, his blood hitting the floor in soft, ugly drops.
Wesley’s eyes scan over me and his confession pushes into me like pressing on a bruise. It should’ve been me.
And I think, just for a heartbeat, maybe it wouldn’t hurt like this if it had been him. Maybe.
I feel like such a fool. A hopeless fucking fool.
My gaze falls to Lane and my bottom lip trembles. He’s on his knees, groaning, one hand clutching his nose as blood runs down his wrist. I search for the boy who asked me to dance, who whispered endlessly that he wanted to savor me, to make me feel special.
He’s not here.
Maybe he never was.
One month.
For one month, I was happy.
I had a boyfriend—a real one.
I felt wanted. Desired. Loved.
Thought I had everything I’d ever wanted.
And now it’s gone.
The room feels too big and too small all at once. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. My feet are rooted to the floor and I press my palms flat against the wall, grounding myself, trying to feel anything that’s real.
Sounds blur together: Landon’s low, sharp warning as he pulls Lane off the floor. Lydia’s whispered curse. Wesley’s steadying breaths. Emmett mutters something I can’t make out as Lane groans again, staggering to his feet and clutching his bleeding nose—so much blood.
Wesley’s fists are clenched at his sides, his chest heaving and eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing he can see.
But I can’t move. I’m caught between wanting to scream and needing to curl into a ball and cry.
The weight of it all presses down, thick and heavy. I shut my eyes against the spinning room, trying to slow the thudding in my ears.
I don’t know what comes next. All I know is that this feels like the end of everything I thought I had.
Everything hurts.
And I wish I’d never fucking come here.