48. CORA
CORA
For a second, I don’t react. I’m too busy watching him.
Lane doesn’t look at me when he speaks. His jaw locks so tight I can see the muscle ticking beneath his skin. His shoulders—usually squared and steady—cave in like he’s bracing for impact. Like he’s waiting for me to pull my hand away.
That’s when I realize how hard he’s gripping it. Like he needs anything to hold onto. His fingers are wrapped around mine so tight it almost hurts.
I swallow past the tears threatening to fall. The way he talked about his family, the Knights taking him in—I had no idea. It makes me want to kiss that scar on his lip until he’s absolutely sick of me. Hearing him talk about being a kid, what happened to him—my heart hurts.
There’s something in his voice I’ve never heard before. Not even when he’s softened for me. This is raw. Stripped down. It sounds like shame and loyalty and regret all twisted together.
It sounds like grief.
The thing that gets me? He doesn’t say Oliver’s name with anger. There’s no bitterness there. Just… responsibility. Like he’d do it again. Like losing everything was easier than watching his best friend lose it.
My chest aches.
Because I can see it now. The weight he’s been carrying. The reason his smile never quite reaches his eyes. He took the fall for something he didn’t do and had no intention of ever coming clean.
He finally looks at me. I swear, I can see the moment he regrets telling me.
But all I feel is an overwhelming rush of protectiveness. Of sadness. Of anger for his biological parents who let him down.
Because the bravest, most self-sacrificing thing I’ve ever heard just came out of his mouth like a confession. And he’s looking at me like I’m about to decide if he’s worth saving.
“Lane…” My voice drifts off as I turn and wrap my arms around him. I pull us as close together as I can.
I feel the moment he melts into me. His head rests on my shoulder and I'm practically holding him up. He’s probably needed this for so long, even before the night of the car accident.
I don’t know where to start. “I’m sorry. For all of it. Your parents. That night.” It’s just fragments and pieces as I squeeze him. I have a list of questions that continues to grow as my mind tries to understand what he’s told me, but I’m guessing that isn’t what he wants. Or needs.
My lips find his cheek and Lane sits with me for another second before pulling away.
“When everything happened with the team, when I got kicked off, Oliver tried to come clean. He wanted to tell his dad. Our coach.” His face pinches like it hurts to even think about. “I told him no. The damage had been done and no one took another look at Oliver. Exactly what I knew would happen.”
“But you weren’t even drinking, right?” I can’t help but ask.
Lane shakes his head. “No. But, it didn’t matter. I was covered in beer. The cops came, and when they saw Oliver’s name on his license, they just called the school—because of course they knew the athletic director. And then they called Coach.”
This doesn’t surprise me. Some places treat athletes like they’re too valuable to punish.
“I do think my coach tried to keep me. But the public opinion was so horrible that I don’t know if I would’ve ever gotten a fair shot for my final season.”
Fuck, that’s even more true with the pedestal athletes are on. News like this spreads like wildfire; it doesn’t even matter what’s true. Once you have a chance to explain yourself, the damage is already done.
“When’s the last time you talked to Oliver?” I try to keep my voice soft and I hope that he answers.
Lane looks out the window, like he’s trying to find the words. “We moved around each other like people who lived in the same house, but nothing was the same. But, I guess it was the day I moved out. Moved here.”
His voice sounds like he’s trying to hide the hurt but I know this cuts deep. He didn’t just lose Oliver, but the people who took him in. My throat is tight with tears. To hear him talk about what he’s been through and no one has a clue.
I don’t have to ask why he did it. I know it in my gut.
He owed his life to this family. This was something he could do to keep their lives easy; keep Oliver in that golden light of someone you know is a good person.
He sacrificed himself, their relationship, and even his hockey future to save his best friend.
“Being here? It’s like I’m on borrowed time. There is no other luck after this. I promised myself I’d keep focused, not do anything reckless, and then…”
Lane’s voice drifts like he’s afraid to say it. He doesn’t need to—I can fill in that blank.
“Me.”
His brown eyes lock onto mine, darker now; thick with something that looks a lot like fear and maybe even a bit of warning. Like he should walk away or I should end this thing between us.
“I’m not going anywhere.” My fingers push through his hair until my arms loops around his neck. “If you expect me to give you an easy out, you’ve got me all wrong.”
He presses his forehead to mine, breath uneven, fingers tightening at my waist as if he’s afraid I’ll slip through them.
“I should be telling you to go. That this is over,” he murmurs, eyes squeezing shut for a second before he looks at me again. “But I can’t. My brain doesn’t match this.”
Lane grabs one of my hands and puts it on his chest. I feel the beat of his heart underneath my fingers.
My lips find his and I kiss him slow and steady, my hand still resting against his chest.
“I will keep all of your secrets. You and me. That night with Oliver. Anything. If it means I get to keep you.”
Even before hearing this story, I obviously knew what this was: a risk. My dad wouldn’t approve, no matter which player it was, and Lane’s got his final attempt at his dream future on the line. But, knowing what’s at stake? I can keep a secret.
And in this space between us—his heart racing under my palm, his confession hanging in the air like something fragile and holy—I understand what he’s really giving me.
Not just the story. Not just the truth about that night.
He’s handing me the part of himself he’s gone great lengths to bury, the part that cost him everything.
If I walk away now, I take that with me.
If I stay, I carry it. My dad’s expectations.
The whispers if anyone finds out. The way this could derail the last shot Lane has at the future he’s clawed his way back toward.
None of that disappears. But neither does this.
Neither does the way he looks at me like I’m the only safe place he has left.
I curl my fingers into his shirt, anchor myself to him, and choose him.
The risk. The secret. The boy who trusted me enough to tell it.
This feels like a significant moment. If you would’ve told me back at Shore Thing, when I asked Lane to act like my boyfriend, that we’d be here now? I’d never have believed you.
What we knew then is much different than what we know now.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.