Chapter 5 – Lena
chapter
five
Lena
I shoved through the front door and the cool night air hit me, sharp enough to make me suck in a breath.
The thumping bass faded behind me as I escaped the crush of bodies inside.
I needed to breathe, to think—no, to forget.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking and all I could see was Trace's smirk, his stupid perfect face, those piercing blue eyes locked on mine like the last three years hadn't happened.
Like he hadn't destroyed me three years ago and left me to pick up the pieces.
I wished I'd brought a jacket. The Kappa Nu porch—wraparound, custom built, the kind of real estate that probably cost more than a semester of my tuition—was littered with crushed Solo cups and someone had abandoned a flip-flop next to the engraved stone railing.
A half-deflated balloon that said CHAMPS in gold lettering drifted across the floorboards in the breeze.
Classy. Even when they trashed the place, it still looked expensive.
My tennis-honed legs carried me faster than I intended down the porch steps, muscle memory from years of chasing down serves.
The athletic scholarship I'd turned down to stay close to Mom flashed through my mind—another life, another Lena, one who got to want things for herself.
Meanwhile, Trace Coulter got to waltz through life taking whatever he wanted, consequences be damned.
Must be nice.
"Lena!" Kimmy called from behind me, her heels clicking down the steps. "Hey, slow down! Talk to me."
I stopped at the bottom and wrapped my arms around myself, staring at the pavement. The streetlight above us buzzed and flickered, sickly orange, and somewhere down Greek Row someone was playing a terrible acoustic guitar. Crimes against music at eleven p.m. on a Friday. Typical.
Kimmy caught up, slightly winded, her red curls wild from dancing.
She'd been right there when I'd turned around and seen his face, had stepped between us like a five-foot-two bodyguard with her chin raised, ready to throw hands with a guy who had a full thirteen inches on her.
She'd seen me flinch before I got my shit together.
"Okay, so, clearly that went worse than I expected," she said, grabbing my arm.
I whipped around. "You knew? You knew it was him and you didn't tell me?"
She held up both hands. "In my defense, I only know like three things about Trace.
You knew him in high school, you dated his brother, and you make a face like you've smelled sour milk every time someone says his name.
That's it. You've never told me why." She dropped her hands, her jaw softening, brows pulling together.
"So yeah, I saw it was him. But you two were vibing, Lena.
Like, really vibing. And I figured maybe you guys were finally getting past whatever happened.
He's gorgeous, he was clearly into you, you were having the time of your life—I thought, good for her.
If he's making a move to reconnect and she's feeling it, why would I kill that? "
Hard to argue with that logic when she didn't have the full picture. That was on me. You can't expect people to protect you from the things you never tell them about.
"It's not your fault." I rubbed the back of my neck, voice flatter than I intended. "I just—God, Kimmy. Of all the people in that place."
She tugged me to the side of the porch, away from a couple going at it against the railing. "Are you okay? Because back there, the way you looked at him…"
More like the way my body betrayed me the second I realized who I'd been grinding on. Ten out of ten, would not recommend discovering your mortal enemy is the best dancer you've ever had pressed against you.
And that was what was killing me. Every other guy who'd tried to dance with me tonight was the same tired playbook.
Hands going straight to my ass, hips on a completely different tempo, the unmistakable rub of a hard-on like that was supposed to be flattering.
But Trace—his hands had landed on my hip bones, not my ass, not my waist, gentle, like he was asking permission with his fingertips before his mouth ever opened.
And when I'd leaned back into him, he hadn't ground on me like every frat bro in the building.
He'd matched me and moved with me like we were having a conversation without words, his whisper against my ear, his breath hot on my neck, his chest warm against my bare shoulders.
No one had ever touched me like that. Like I was someone to pay attention to, not grab at.
And it had to be him. Of course it had to be him.
One dance. A few minutes of contact. And I was coming apart at the seams like I was eighteen and stupid again.
Cool. Great. Love that for me.
And then his parting shot, that smirk while Kimmy stood between us. "Lena was just having an allergic reaction to me. Par for the course." Like the whole thing was a joke—like I was a joke.
Allergic reaction. Right, because that's what you call it when every nerve ending in your body lights up at someone's touch. An allergy.
"Honestly, I don't know." I shook my head. "Seeing him brought back the lying, the choosing Trevor, the walking away. I thought I was over it."
Sure, Lena. And I thought I liked beer.
"Also, sidebar—" Kimmy held up a finger. "Did you see Matt in there? With the bottle blonde? Delta Gamma president, I think?"
I blinked. Matt. Right. Matt, who I'd come to this party to get over. Matt, who'd shown up with his blonde like he was trying to prove a point. Matt, who had dumped me over pad thai like he was commenting on the weather.
And I hadn't thought about him once since the dance—not once.
Kimmy must have read my face because her eyebrows climbed. "Oh. Oh wow. You forgot about him, didn't you?"
"I didn't forget, I just—"
"You forgot." She pointed at me, grinning. "Trace dances with you for three songs and Matt ceases to exist. Noted."
I crossed my arms. "That's not what happened."
"That is exactly what happened. But we'll circle back to that."
I didn't want to circle back to that. Because what it meant was something I really, really didn't want to look at right now.
She squeezed my arm. She'd been the first person at Loveland U to actually see me.
Not the girl with the sick mom or the Coulter brother's ex.
Just Lena. We'd been paired as roommates and on move-in night, she'd pulled out a bottle of cheap wine and said, "You look like you need a friend. " She'd been right.
"Look, I clearly don't have the full picture here," she said, pulling her jacket tighter and crossing her arms against the chill.
"Because I thought you guys just drifted apart or whatever.
But the way you reacted to him back there—that wasn't awkward ex's-brother energy, Lena. That was something else."
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. Mom. Then silenced it and shoved it back. I'd call her on the walk home. The familiar anxiety gripped my chest, the what-ifs piling up before I could stop them. What if her treatment wasn't working? What if the insurance denied the latest appeal?
Twenty-one years old and running on fumes. But sure, let's add boy drama to the pile. Exactly what I needed.
Kimmy sat down on the porch steps and patted the spot next to her, so I sat.
The wood was cold through my skirt and I tugged the hem down over my thighs.
From here I could see the quad, the oak trees lit up by the pathway lamps, a couple walking hand in hand toward the dorms—normal people having a normal Friday night.
"It's more than what I've told you," I said. "Trace wasn't just Trevor's brother. He was my best friend. Like, the person I told everything to. We grew up together in the same town outside Chicago."
Kimmy's eyebrows shot up. "Best friend? You never—"
"I know." I picked at a piece of peeling paint on the porch railing.
Somewhere inside, the DJ switched tracks and a muffled cheer went up—a different party, a different world.
"He was the person who drove me to the hospital when Mom had her first bad episode and Dad was 'traveling for work.
'" I made air quotes with my free hand. "He sat with me in the waiting room for six hours and didn't complain once.
He helped me study for every test I ever panicked about.
He was—" My throat closed up and I had to wait a beat. "He was my person."
I traced a knot in the wood of the step with my fingernail, needing somewhere to put my hands.
"And then I started dating Trevor, and everything got complicated.
When Trevor and I imploded, his brother got him in the divorce.
" I flicked the paint chip into the dark.
"Trace knew Trevor was cheating on me the whole time and never said a word.
Covered for him, actually. And then I overheard him telling Trevor he should end things with me.
Like I was a problem to be solved. Like our relationship was a chore Trevor needed to take care of.
" I let out a breath. "Not exactly a fan, considering he abandoned me right along with the rest of them. "
Three years and it still came out hot, every single time.
Kimmy blew out a long breath, her jaw tight, the little crease between her eyebrows deepening the way it did when she was about to say something she really meant. "You've been carrying all of that this whole time? Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because talking about it makes it real. And I was supposed to be over it."
"Okay, first of all, that's not how feelings work. Second—" She ticked it off on her fingers. "He was your best friend, he watched his brother cheat on you, covered for it, and then told him to end it? And you heard him say it?"
"Standing right in the doorway."
"That's not a falling out, Lena. That's a betrayal. No wonder you make the sour milk face."
I almost laughed, but not quite. "Yeah, well. Now you have the full picture."