I end the call, sliding the phone back into my pocket. The silence afterward is deafening. Leaning against the cool wall, I close my eyes. Fuck me.
I cut my trip short. My duty calls, same as it always has. Lane's face flashes before me. I can already see the hurt, the resignation.
But I don't have a choice.
I square my shoulders and look through the window at Sanders laughing with Luke. The sound drifts through the partially open door, lifting me and breaking me all at once.
THIRTEEN
Lane
We spill out of Macy’s into the churn of Herald Square. The afternoon sun slants low, gilding the tops of the buildings and throwing long shadows across the street. Digital billboards and storefront signs are already glowing, colors flickering against the glass as if they can’t wait for night to fall.
I adjust my bags, pretending the ache in my shoulders is the only reason my pulse won’t calm down.
All day, I keep going back to the studio, to Woody’s mouth on mine. Seven years of angst and surviving each other vanished in an instant with one hot, inevitable kiss.
I try to shake it off, even as my mind demands I make sense of it.
Not now.
The air truly smells like roasted chestnuts from a street cart, cut with car exhaust and the sharp bite of winter. My arches ache from walking, my arms from carrying bags, but Carly and Leigh are still pointing out window displays like they’re on a treasure hunt.
"I'm officially shopped out," I announce, adjusting my bags. "How does anyone do this all day?"
Carly laughs, her cheeks flushed pink from the department store heat. "Right? I've walked more today than I do in a week at home. I've never had the freedom to do this. It's fun but exhausting!" She kneels to fix Leigh's blue knit hat, which keeps sliding over her eyes.
"My toes are sleeping," Leigh declares, wiggling one foot dramatically.
My phone beeps deep in my bag. I dig past crumpled receipts and a half-melted lip balm.
I smile as soon as I see the screen and Woody’s name in the bubble. My pulse stutters.
Grabbing the phone a little too enthusiastically, I click the text. Looking up, I see Carly and Leigh are still caught up in the window displays. I slow my pace, giddy to see what his message says.
Dialysis done. Luke's wiped out. Boys and I talked—we're just gonna head back to the hotel. We'll stop for a hot dog on the way. Chill night. Movies + ice cream.
A warm sensation unfurls in my chest despite the nip in the air. I can picture Sanders right now, gangly limbs tucked into one of those metal folding chairs beside Luke's bed, both boys hunched over a phone, ketchup probably smeared on Sanders' cheek.
"Hey, Carly. The boys are finished with dialysis."
She turns toward me, the question already written on her face. "How is Luke?"
"Woody said they want to go back to the hotel and take it easy. What do you say to a movie and room service for the rest of today?"
Leigh jumps and lets out a cheer. "Yeah! I want to show the boys what we got. And I love room service."
"You've never had room service, silly," Carly laughs and pats her on the fanny. Then she looks up at me. "That sounds amazing. I'm ready for a break!"
I type back.
Perfect. We're heading in too. Long day—ready for a quiet night.
"Any news about the treatment? I trust all went well." Carly asks, adjusting her scarf against the wind.
"None specifically. Sounds like Luke's tired, but otherwise it was a success."
"That's normal for him. I figured that would be the case." Carly sighs, her expression softening with the familiar concern of a mother who's spent too many years watching her child's body betray him. "Dialysis always sucks the energy out of him."
