44. CORA
CORA
The problem is that I let myself relax. Which, in hindsight, was a mistake. Because Freddy has always had impeccable timing when it comes to ruining my peace. Almost like he has some sort of radar that alerts him when I’m having a good time.
I hadn’t even seen him tonight except in passing. He acted like I didn’t exist, giving me a taste of what it’d be like if I got what I wanted, only to come over and interject himself like this now.
With his pointed eyes flicking from Lane to me and back again—to the space between us—it feels like something tightens around my chest.
Brinn’s posture shifts instantly beside me. Protective, like she can feel the temperature drop before anyone else does. I straighten, just slightly—not shrinking. Just preparing.
I take a risk and look at Lane. His jaw ticks. A small flex of muscle near his ear, like he’s grinding his teeth and forcing himself not to react. His expression is otherwise neutral, almost bored, but I know him well enough now to see the restraint underneath it.
Freddy hooks his thumbs into his jeans and rocks back on his heels like this is casual, like he didn’t just step into the kitchen with a purpose.
“Did you know I was supposed to be the test subject for that research?” he asks, glancing at Wes before his gaze lands on me and stays there.
“No, I didn’t,” Wes answers.
“Wasn’t talking to you,” Freddy snaps before he looks to Lane.
Before anyone else can say anything, Brinn scoffs. “Don’t be mean. We like Wes.” The way she emphasizes Wes fills in the rest of the sentence: we don’t like you.
Poor Wes shrinks next to Freddy—struggling with the pivot from our fun chat to one of his older teammates being a problem.
He waves his hand and rushes to say, “Don’t worry about it. Good seeing you guys,” and then Wes leaves.
“Did Lane know that?” Freddy sneers. “That the research was our idea?”
Rage starts to bubble under my skin. Freddy is lying about something I thought of to try and get back at Lane? What did I ever see in this guy? For a moment, the logical part of my brain reminds me that he wasn’t always like this. He used to be kind. Sweet. Thoughtful.
Freddy lets the silence stretch as if he’s waiting for someone to flinch.
Lane doesn’t. Instead, he shifts his weight and questions, “Did you stretch before reaching like that?”
It’s not loud. It’s not aggressive. But it lands clean.
Some people around us, clearly eavesdropping, let out a collective, “Oooh,” like when there’s a big hit during a game.
I press my lips together to keep from laughing.
Freddy’s smile tightens. “Careful,” he sneers, his voice dropping half a note. “Don’t forget where you are.”
“Oh, I’m very much aware.” Lane pulls up the sleeves of his shirt, a smile forming on his lips. The tension weighs on my shoulders.
“Hey, did someone drive you here? Wouldn’t want you getting behind the wheel.”
Fuck. The punch lands. Whatever lightness surrounded the two of them is gone. I can feel the anger rolling off Lane as Freddy leers at him like a smug asshole. Like he got him. Like calling on one of the worst nights of someone's life is playing fair.
Someone lets out a low whistle and I can feel everyone watching us now. Even the music has stopped and the four of us are under a microscope. Lane takes a step forward just as Leo appears and puts a hand between them.
“Lane, this party’s tired. Let’s get out of here,” he insists, almost ready to grab Lane by the shirt and pull him out of there.
Lane takes a breath but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he steps back and slides past Freddy where the rest of the hockey guys are waiting for him.
“You know you’re a fucking dick, right?” Brinn asks Freddy, the snarky smile falling from his lips when a few people cheer her on. My best friend is a force to be reckoned with even before she’s had a few drinks to remove the filter she works hard to keep in place.
Immediately, Freddy starts to look uncomfortable. Some people give him shit, and I know he didn’t expect that.
Before the guys leave, Lane looks back to me when he reaches the door, just for a moment.
His brows are furrowed and it makes my stomach flip.
It’s not often I get to see him let his guard down.
To lean into being an athlete on campus without his history or past for people to hold onto.
I hate that we were having a normal night before Freddy had to be so cruel.
I want to take care of Lane. Smooth out that tension out of his jaw with my hands. Tell him he didn’t need to prove anything. I want him to know that walking away like that? That’s strength.
Freddy thinks volume wins. Lane just proved that control does.
And standing here, having watched his team step in before anyone did something they couldn’t take back, I feel it settle deep in my bones—Lane is a better man than Freddy could ever dream of being.
It’s after midnight when Brinn and I leave the beach. The party burned out hours ago—Freddy’s theatrics killed the night.
Brinn and I headed to the beach after that outburst, wrapped up in a blanket as we sat on the cold November sand. We didn’t talk much, just sat with our thoughts. I couldn’t stop thinking about Freddy bringing up the accident, Lane’s face when he left, how he walked away with his guys.
“You okay?” she’d asked eventually.
“I will be,” I answered.
After getting Brinn home safe, I find myself standing in front of Lane’s door. My hand hovers before I knock. I didn’t text or call—he could be asleep for all I know. But I knock anyway, in the hopes that he’s awake.
There’s a beat of silence, one that threatens to tell me how risky this is, me just hanging outside his apartment. I hear movement inside and the door opens a second later.
Lane's standing in a gray T-shirt and sweats, hair floppy like he washed it and let it air dry. For a half second he looks at me. Surprised.
He doesn’t say anything; instead, he reaches for the front of my shirt and pulls me to him, his lips finding mine.
Once I’m in his apartment, he closes the door then uses both of his hands while he kisses me.
Fuck. It’s one of my favorite things he does.
His thumbs at the side of my face, fingers at the nape of my neck, like he can’t help but hold onto me.
His mouth is warm and urgent, but not frantic. Like he’s been holding himself together all night and this—me—is the first thing he’s let himself feel.
I slide my hands up his chest, the cotton of his T-shirt soft under my palms. “Hi,” I murmur against his lips.
He exhales a quiet laugh, but it’s thin around the edges. “Hi. You taste like peaches.”
“The only snack I had in my bag were the peach rings. I was at the beach with Brinn,” I answer, our lips a breath away.
Lane kisses me again, slower this time. His thumbs brush my cheekbones, as if he’s making sure I’m real. I kind of wish people knew this version of Lane—the softer one I get to see.
I pull back just enough to see his face. “You okay?”
He rolls his eyes paired with a tiny laugh. “I’m fine,” he replies automatically.
I rest my forehead against his. “Freddy’s an idiot.”
That gets a huff of breath out of him. “Yeah, but what else is new?”
But the joke doesn’t land the way it normally would. There’s something heavier sitting between us.
“He shouldn’t have brought that up,” I say softly. “The accident.”
Lane’s hands slide from my face to my waist, like he needs something steady to hold onto. His gaze drifts over my shoulder for a second before coming back to me.
“It’s the easy button. The thing that’s right there for everyone to poke at when they need something extra.”
A wave of regret washes over me. Freddy wasn’t always this horrible or vindictive, but there are definitely things you look past when you care about someone. The pool of guilt opens in my belly, my hand goes to it like I can stop it from happening.
“Cora…” Lane’s thumb brushes absently along my hip. “Are you okay?”
My brows pinch together while I think of how to answer his question. “Yes, but… it’s complicated. It’s like I’m trying to find the place in the past where he changed.”
He nods along. “Freddy doesn’t get to talk to you like that. Or look at you like that. Or act like he still has some kind of claim.” His jaw ticks again. “I don’t care about him taking shots at me. But you…”
Oh.
My chest tightens in a completely different way now.
“You looked like you were about to swing at him,” I add, brushing my fingers over his collarbone.
His mouth twitches. “He was pushing it.” Lane watches me and asks, “What is it?”
“I don’t want him back or even to be friends, but it feels like I’ve been tricked. I’m trying to figure out when it happened. For example, for my birthdays, he used to….”
My words fade. Dwindle into the silence swirling around us. I don’t think this is what Lane wants to talk about.
“Sorry. We don’t have to—” I start.
His eyes flicker at that. Something vulnerable flashes there—something almost startled.
“If you want to talk about it, I can listen. As long as this doesn’t lead to a Freddy redemption tour. I can imagine it’s hard to deal with how he is now, compared to what you remember.”
He studies me like I’ve handed him something fragile. Like he’s not sure he deserves it. Silence settles around us, softer this time. Not tense. Just heavy with everything neither of us is quite saying.
“It’s late. You have practice tomorrow,” I protest, and I don’t know if it’s for me or him.
He grabs my hand, pulls me to the couch, and sits. “But I have you here, right now. I’m all ears, baby.”
Nervousness pricks at my skin. It’s not that I haven’t talked about Freddy with Lane before, but this feels different. More intimate. Closer. Because part of this whole thing is how, above everything, Freddy and I were friends. And now, I don’t recognize him.
I sit next to Lane and my heart does that stupid, fluttery thing it refuses to stop doing when I’m with him.
And maybe that’s what I need most—someone who stays.