64. CORA
CORA
Brinn’s apartment is too small to hide in. It’s a studio, but definitely on the small end of that already tiny spectrum. It’s a good thing we like to cuddle when we sleep.
I have an English paper that I’m trying to get ahead of. It’s not due for a few more days but I want to get it off my plate.
Old habits die hard.
Good thing, because now that my research project is eighty percent finished but I don’t have enough data to get to the finish line—and my subject probably hates me—I need to do my best to get to the end of this semester. This year.
And my best is not this heroic perfection I thought was in my grasp.
It never was. It feels like a pressure valve has been opened and the things I was agonizing over two weeks ago aren’t even on my radar.
No professor cares if you turn things in early, or how many perfect scores you get on a test. Math is math; you pass or fail by the numbers.
Plus it’s the perfect distraction. I haven’t sat still for the last few days.
I’ve picked up every single spin class opportunity and am running my body ragged.
Haven’t instructed this many classes in a row in a while.
But if I’m moving, giving my body something to do, maybe it will stop feeling like I could fall over the ledge at any moment.
The one where I miss Lane so much it physically hurts. Where I feel so horrible for what’s going on that it makes it hard to eat. The place where I try and keep it together.
The cursor blinks on my laptop. It’s been hard to focus. I’ve been here since everything happened Sunday morning with Lane and my dad. My mom keeps calling to make sure I’m okay, but I don’t really know how to answer her.
I’m not. But there’s not much I can do about it.
My phone buzzes, a notification showing on my screen: OTTERS STAR LANE MAXWELL HEALTHY SCRATCH FOR CRITICAL ROAD SERIES.
I should turn these off. It’s not common for me to get more than the occasional mention of the Great Lakes U hockey team on the sports app everyone has, but this week has been out of the ordinary.
Luckily, there’s not been much to report on.
Seems like everyone is keeping their word—no one really knows about what happened Saturday night.
Or at least no one has leaked it to the press.
I wonder if Oliver or Lane’s old coach have tried to get a hold of him? I know my dad has had more than one conversation with Coach Knight—not sure if he’d share this or not.
“What’s got your face all scrunched?” Brinn asks as I look at my phone.
Tossing it to the edge of the bed, I sigh. “Oh, nothing. Just the same news cycle over and over. Lane’s not playing.”
She nods, sitting at the small bistro table a few feet away in the kitchen area. “Have you talked to him?”
“No. He made it pretty clear he didn’t want to see me. Or hear from me.” I think back to the morning in his apartment where my heart cracked down the middle.
“Leo said that he’s been at all the team stuff. Working out. Skating. But he hasn’t said anything. Won’t hang out with any of the guys.”
I have no idea what the team vibe is. I’ve been here since everything happened.
I know I’ll have to go home eventually, but I just can’t stomach it right now.
My mom alluded to my dad having a rough few days, and no matter what he’s feeling, I’m sure there’s pressure from reporters, boosters, probably the athletic director.
“Do you really think he’ll go to Europe?” she asks.
“I have no idea.” I close my laptop and press the heels of my hands in my eyes. “I just wish there was something I could do. My dad thinks this is repeat behavior. But it’s not.”
“Do you think if the accident in Ohio hadn’t happened, your dad would’ve reacted differently?” Brinn uses the word accident with caution. I didn’t tell her the whole story, but definitely alluded to the fact that it’s not even close to what everyone thought happened.
This isn’t the first time I’ve thought of this. Yes, it’s partly the fact that this is me dating one of his teammates, but my dad has always been fair. If this was Troy or Matty, I don’t see a world where he comes down this hard.
I tilt my head, resting my chin on one of my hands. “Maybe? But Lane isn’t going to tell him. And it’s not my story to tell.”
“Damn. Wish there was someone else. But Lane definitely knows how to keep a secret.”
He does know how to keep a secret.
Then there’s a lightbulb. The one I’ve been hoping would come for days. Something to help.
There’s only one other person who knows this story.
Brinn gestures a circle with her hand. “I can see the wheels turning. Care to share with the class?”
“Not yet. I don’t know if it’s anything. But… I have to try.”
If anything, the potential plan could be enough of a distraction to get me through the next few days. If it works, I might be able to get Lane back on the ice sooner than planned.
Maybe life isn’t about getting everything right. Maybe it’s just about getting the right things right.
Lane feels like one of them.