51. LANE
LANE
I was in the weight room when Cora called. Seeing the missed call notification made my stomach flip. She never calls.
When I try to call her back, she doesn’t answer. I text her. Call again. No response. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her for over an hour. Pacing in my apartment, I get a text message from an unknown number.
Unknown
it’s Brinn
answer when I call
A few seconds later, my phone rings. I answer immediately.
“Hey,” she says quickly. There’s noise behind her—metal clanging, voices, the low thump of music. “I’m in the middle of a shift and can’t leave. I got your number from Leo, don’t be weird.”
I rub a hand down my face. “What do you mean you can’t leave? Leave for what?”
“Cora. She’s at Shore Thing. And someone needs to go get her.”
My stomach tightens because it’s not even five p.m. on a Wednesday night. Why is she at the bar?
“How do you know—”
“The manager called me. We’re friends. I pick up shifts every once in a while. But, quit worrying about me and go get her.”
“I’m on my way.”
Shore Thing is nearly empty when I push through the door. A couple students are scattered along the bar. Two guys are throwing darts in the back. But there’s not a lot going on here in the middle of the day.
And then I see her. Cora is standing by the jukebox.
She’s swaying slightly, one hand holding a drink while the other points dramatically at the machine like she’s conducting something. Her hair is loose and messy around her shoulders, cheeks flushed pink, and there’s a small circle of students sitting around her like they’re watching a show.
One of them lifts their phone. Another laughs. A guy steps closer to her, trying to match the ridiculous little spin she’s doing.
I stop walking. Because Cora doesn’t drink like this. Not that she doesn’t drink, but definitely not in the middle of the day by herself.
She laughs and it fills the emptiness of the bar. When she turns too fast, she has to catch herself against the jukebox to stay upright. The guy beside her takes that as an invitation and reaches for her waist.
No fucking way.
I cross the bar in a few long strides and step between them.
“Hey,” I say.
The guy looks at me. “Relax, man. We’re just dancing.”
I ignore him. My attention is on Cora.
Up close, the signs are obvious. Her eyes are glassy. Her smile is loose and tilted in a way that means she’s way past buzzed.
Her gaze drifts to me slowly. It takes her a second to focus. Then she squints.
“Lane?”
“Yeah.”
She studies my face for a second before a crooked grin spreads across hers. “I always forget how tall you are.” Cora giggles, chewing on the straw from her drink.
Someone behind her snorts. I turn so fast to look at the culprit that the laugh turns into a cough and they do everything besides look at me.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “It’s time to go.”
She tips her head like she’s thinking very hard about that. “I just got here,” she whines, sucking down the rest of her drink and slurping when nothing is left.
“It feels like you’ve been here a minute.” I try to keep it light. I don’t want to embarrass her or anything but I need her to leave with me.
“No.” She spins away from me.
“Cora.”
“I never get to dance,” she complains, gesturing vaguely at the jukebox. “And it makes things better. So, dance with me.”
I glance around at the little audience she’s gathered. Two phones are still out.
My jaw tightens. “Show’s over,” I snap. “Quit with the fucking phones. Can’t you see something’s wrong?”
The guy mutters something under his breath but puts his phone down, turning back to the friends he’s with.
The music changes to a slower song, something depressing and a definite mood killer if there were more than ten people in this place.
“Fine, one song,” I suggest, grabbing the empty glass from her and setting it on the bar, then putting her arms at my shoulders. Mine find her waist.
Cora sways out of rhythm, her balance completely shot. I do my best to keep her steady.
“Whoa,” she mumbles. Her nose wrinkles slightly as she leans toward me. “You smell like hockey.”
“You smell like tequila.”
She thinks about that for a second. “That tracks.”
I exhale slowly. My hands hold her up as we dance. The panic radar in my body is going off. What the hell happened? Also, hopefully the phones stay put away and I’m not paying for this later.
Cora doesn’t say anything while we dance. Finally, when the song is almost over, she rests her head on my chest and it feels like she’s giving in.
When there’s no more music, I hold her hand and say, “Okay, let’s go. We can get french fries.” I try to soften the blow with the promise of salty, fried food.
To my surprise, she starts walking toward the door. I’m still holding her hand and when we get outside, I let out a low breath.
But then she turns toward me, her smile slipping. “I missed my exam,” she quietly admits.
Fuck.
"That’s okay.” I try to offer.
She shakes her head. “No. It’s really not.” Tears well up, making her blue eyes damn near the perfect shade. “I even studied. It was the pink color in my planner last week.”
“We should get out of here. It’s cold. Did you wear a coat?” I rub my hands along her arms.
Cora shrugs her shoulders and starts walking toward my place. I take her hand and spend the entire time making sure she doesn’t fall.
When we get to my apartment, she makes her way right to my bedroom. I grab a Gatorade from the fridge, ibuprofen, and follow her. She’s on her way to passing out after she takes them. I take off her boots, setting them near the door, and watch her curl up on top of the blankets.
“Will you stay with me?” Her voice drips with sadness. Like she doesn’t deserve to even ask for something like that.
It stings.
I don’t know what happened today but there’s no way that someone with a 4.0 has ever missed an exam. This has to be a first.
“Of course.”
The mattress dips and before I can even settle, Cora moves closer. Not like she’s thinking about it but more instinctually.
She turns into me and presses her face against my chest, one arm sliding across my stomach while the other hooks loosely around my bicep, like she’s anchoring herself there. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt.
A small breath leaves her, the kind that sounds like the first real exhale after a long day.
Within seconds, she’s asleep.