Leo grins immediately. “Hey, Cora girl. We all know Ryan.”
Cora girl.The nickname he’s always used for me.
Troy raises an eyebrow, looking Ryan over like he’s assessing a threat. “Knowofhim, at least.”
Ryan laughs, the sound a little too tight, lifting a hand in an awkward wave. “Ready for the season?”
“Yup,” Leo replies, way too loud. Even through the drinks, I can tell they’d all rather Ryan be somewhere else.
Matty and Noah hold back laughs as Leo leans back, nudging Troy with his elbow. “Cora, you look… great. Sloshed, but still holding it together. That’s impressive.”
I giggle and sway a little, gripping my glass for balance. “Thanks, Leo. I try.”
Lane sits across from me, quietly sipping his beer. His jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on me like he can see straight through everything I’ve done tonight and every reason behind it. He doesn’t say a word. That’s worse than anything else.
“Seriously,” Troy says, his tone lighter but still carrying weight, “what’s going on with you tonight?”
I know he cares. Troy’s always been one of the easier ones. We’ve had classes together. He pays attention, and knows me well enough to know this isn’t normal.
“Nothing. Just… celebrating the weekend,” I lie, my words slipping a bit as I wave a hand.
“Seems like one hell of a celebration,” Leo snickers.
“Hey.” I try to sound offended, but I sway more than I mean to. “I’m fine.”
But even as I say it, the words feel hollow. My glass wobbles in my hand. Ryan’s thumb is still on my leg from earlier, and my stomach twists. I shouldn’t have let him touch me—shouldn’t be here—but I’m too stubborn to care.
Troy leans forward, tone sharper now. “Cora. Set the glass down and give me your keys.”
I blink, confused. “What?”
“You’re all wobbly. You’re drunk. We should take you home.”
I laugh, but it’s high-pitched and shaky. “No! I’m fine. Really.”
Leo groans. “Here we go.”
Ryan frowns, suddenly realizing he’s been outmatched by a bunch of college hockey players. “Uh… I think I should get her home—”
“No,” Troy cuts him off flatly, “you’re not driving her anywhere.”
I grip Ryan’s arm instinctively, trying to argue, trying to prove I can handle this. But my legs are unsteady and my head spins.
“Fine,” I mumble, giving in to the inevitable and placing my keys on their table. “Whatever.”
Lane doesn’t move, just watches, silent and lethal in his quiet judgment. I feel my stomach drop.
Leo stands and grabs my other arm. “Alright, princess, let’s escort you home before you do something stupid. Matty, you got the keys?”
Matty looks at the table and then back to the group. “Lane, can you take her? We’ve all had more than one drink.” He tosses his own keys and it’s like Lane’s fingers snatch them in slow motion.
I stumble between them, Ryan trailing helplessly behind and muttering, “I can get her home…”
“You can’t,” Noah says sharply, eyes never leaving mine. “But we can.” It’s enough to make me concede.
As we file out of the bar, the banter dies off. Lane keeps his gaze onme the whole time, silent and, simmering. And I hate that even in this moment—humiliated, dizzy, caught in my own stubborn defiance—I can’t stop thinking about him.
Next thing I know, I’m being buckled in the passenger seat as Lane slides into the driver side of Matty's car. Alarm bells echo through my rib cage. I don’t want Lane to take me back home. Being in the car with him? Even for a few minutes? Part of me fills with rage and the other worries that I can’t be trusted.
