He takes another. Same thing—off target, barely any snap in his release.
We go through ten, maybe twelve. Each one is worse than the last. Lane doesn’t curse, doesn’t crack a joke, just resets with his jaw tight.
“Lane,” I finally sigh, lowering my clipboard. “Stop.”
He straightens, breath coming a little hard, but doesn’t meet my eyes.
“This isn’t…” His eyes find mine and there’s something there. Something heavy. Something dragging him. “This isn’t going to work.” My voice is gentle.
He presses his lips together, nods once like he’s bracing for a hit, and skates a slow circle without answering.
I watch him, the pen loose in my fingers, wishing I knew what to say, how to pull him back to himself. Not for me or the project, but for him. For his team.
“It’s the start of the season. You’ll find your rhythm,” I encourage.
Lane lifts his chin, tilting it slightly, brows drawn together. “What are you doing?”
The question throws me. “It seems like you’re being hard on yourself. But the team won both games and—”
“I don’t need you to do whatever this is.” He gestures between us, his hand dropping to his thigh with a sharp slap.
“Lane.”
“Lee. Oh wait, Cora.” His voice cuts through the room, but it doesn’t break the tension. The way his jaw flexes makes my stomach drop.
Back to this again. That first night. The mistake that gave me whiplash, perfect in the moment and a complete disaster after. Lane sure knows how to hold a grudge.
I scoff. “Go ahead. Be an asshole. Something you’re consistently good at.”
Lane skates over and stops right in front of me, his hair falling across his forehead. “Yeah, I’m the asshole. While Freddy’s grabbing you like you’re something he owns. And I’m the one making sure you get home safe after your disaster of a date with whoever the fuck.”
“I didn’t ask you to do any of that.” My voice echoes through the empty rink, irritation clawing at me.
His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His hands plant on his hips, jaw tight as he slowly shakes his head.
He just stares at me, pinning me in place, like I don’t get to move until he decides I can.
“You’re right. Youdidn’task.” He takes a big breath, holding it for a few seconds, and gruffly sighing it out. The way he agrees with me feels like a catch, like I’m about to fall in a trap. “Just like I didn’t ask for the after school special on how there’s time for me to bounce back or whatever the fuck you were about to do.”
The rage that rushes in my stomach has my heart racing, pounding in my ears.
Asshole.
We’re close enough that I know he can see the quick rise and fall of my chest. “Right, Lane Maxwell, he doesn’t need anything or anyone. He’s got it.” I lift my hand in fake understanding.
He presses his lip in a thin line, the scar on the left side more prominent. The movement is slow, meticulous. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not this thing you can study. There’s no books with the answers. You’re out of luck, Coralee Banks.”
The way he says my full name is like a jab—enunciating every letter.
He turns, headed for the tunnel, and the blood leaves my face. His back is to me as he calls over his shoulder, “We’re done here, right?”
“Obviously,” I snap, looking down at the useless data on my clipboard.
Fuck.
Chapter 25
LANE
