And it was true—I loved Lane. Not the way I loved my husbands, or the way Lane loved Greyson. But it also wasn’tquite the love normal friends shared, because honestly, we’d never been normal friends. It was a love I couldn’t really label—something closer than friends but not lovers, and not family either.
“You’re just my person,” I whispered, mostly to myself.
If Lane heard me, he didn’t show it. He only relaxed further, the tension in his shoulders easing as if the words had reached someplace deeper.
I closed my eyes.
I let myself remember the years we’d spent side by side—the late nights in Lane’s old apartment on his little beat-up couch, watching animal shows on TV and drinking cheap alcohol. I thought about the days before the Cohens had bulldozed into our lives, and the days after.
I thought about the way Lane always noticed when I was overwhelmed, how he always made space for me without asking. The way he touched me casually, affectionately, without fear or expectation.
A faint sound drifted in from the office—a muffled laugh, then voices again—but I barely registered it. My world had narrowed to the rise and fall of Lane’s chest, and the quiet intimacy of sharing space without needing anything more.
But along with the good memories came the bad.
I thought of the terrible fight we’d had years ago in the very living room we’d just been fucked in. My stomach still turned every time I remembered what I’d said to him that day. I’d said awful, unforgivable things—things I knew would hurt him. They’d come out of fear for his life, but that didn’t excuse them.
I also remembered how, hours later, I’d been kidnapped at gunpoint by the men I’d been falling for.
I remembered the crushing panic, the guilt, the terror, the self-loathing. I remembered the moment we’d been reunited—when Lane had hugged me and lifted me off the ground, even with a broken ankle.
After everything we’d been through, I still couldn’t quite fathom how we’d ended up where we were now.
I was still working on forgiving myself.
Lane was helping with that.
Eventually, he stirred. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then slowly found my face.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
“Hey,” I replied just as softly.
For a moment, we simply looked at each other. Lane’s gaze sharpened as awareness returned, but there was no alarm—only warmth and a small, sleepy smile.
“Did I miss anything?” he asked.
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Not really. They’re all still in Greyson’s office.”
“Wow, I wonder what they’re talking about.” Lane yawned, stretching just enough to make me tense before relaxing again. He didn’t move away, though. If anything, he leaned in. “Did you get any rest?”
“No,” I admitted, “but it’s okay. Just lying here was enough. I’m still stuffed from all the snacks and water they made us drink earlier.”
Lane studied me for a moment, something thoughtful passing through his eyes. Then he reached up and brushed his fingers lightly along my wrist, a simple, grounding touch.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly. “We don’t have to continue if this is too much for you. I’d never want to make you do something you didn’t like.”
“No, I want to keep going, Laney,” I promised, taking his hand in mine.
“You’re sure?”
“A million percent. This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done.”
Lane grinned. “Same. Do you think we should go check on them or just wait for them to come to us?”
“Let’s wait.”
* * *
