Lane’s hands slide from my face to my waist, like he needs something steady to hold onto. His gaze drifts over my shoulder for a second before coming back to me.
“It’s the easy button. The thing that’s right there for everyone to poke at when they need something extra.”
A wave of regret washes over me. Freddy wasn’t always this horrible or vindictive, but there are definitely things you look past when you care about someone. The pool of guilt opens in my belly, my hand goes to it like I can stop it from happening.
“Cora…” Lane’s thumb brushes absently along my hip. “Areyouokay?”
My brows pinch together while I think of how to answer his question. “Yes, but… it’s complicated. It’s like I’m trying to find the place in the past where he changed.”
He nods along. “Freddy doesn’t get to talk to you like that. Or look at you like that. Or act like he still has some kind of claim.” His jaw ticks again. “I don’t care about him taking shots at me. But you…”
Oh.
My chest tightens in a completely different way now.
“You looked like you were about to swing at him,” I add, brushing my fingers over his collarbone.
His mouth twitches. “He was pushing it.” Lane watches me and asks, “What is it?”
“I don’t want him back or even to be friends, but it feels like I’ve been tricked. I’m trying to figure out when it happened. For example, for my birthdays, he used to….”
My words fade. Dwindle into the silence swirling around us. I don’t think this is what Lane wants to talk about.
“Sorry. We don’t have to—” I start.
His eyes flicker at that. Something vulnerable flashes there—something almost startled.
“If you want to talk about it, I can listen. As long as this doesn’t lead to a Freddy redemption tour. I can imagine it’s hard to deal with how he is now, compared to what you remember.”
He studies me like I’ve handed him something fragile. Like he’s not sure he deserves it. Silence settles around us, softer this time. Not tense. Just heavy with everything neither of us is quite saying.
“It’s late. You have practice tomorrow,” I protest, and I don’t know if it’s for me or him.
He grabs my hand, pulls me to the couch, and sits. “But I have you here, right now. I’m all ears, baby.”
Nervousness pricks at my skin. It’s not that I haven’t talked about Freddy with Lane before, but this feels different. More intimate. Closer. Because part of this whole thing is how, above everything, Freddy and I were friends. And now, I don’t recognize him.
I sit next to Lane and my heart does that stupid, fluttery thing it refuses to stop doing when I’m with him.
And maybe that’s what I need most—someone who stays.
Chapter 45
LANE
Snowflakesflurrythroughcampusas I walk to the rink. It’s not enough to stick yet, but winter is right around the corner.
Everything seems to be… good? It’s hard to accept, considering the second you do, that’s typically when the thing you weren’t even worrying about makes itself known and terrible.
The Otters have won our last five games and it’s been easy. We have the type of chemistry coaches would pay for—believe me, Coach has said that more than once. And it doesn’t make us lazy or ungrateful—it makes us want to keep going.
Not sure if I’ve ever been in better shape.
Going to Coach’s office for a meeting, though, puts a knot in my stomach, the tension growing with each step closer. On my old team, we never met with Coach unless you were royally fucking up. According to the guys, this is standard—Coach meets one on one with all of his players throughout the season.
Standard or not, my stomach fucking hurts.
I knock on the door frame before stepping in. Coach lifts his head, offers a small smile, and waves me in.
