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“Before what?”
“Before we ended things.”
I froze. I’d spent years replaying our story without realizing someone else had been standing just outside it all along. I knew Bryant was angry that night, but I didn’t realize that this was more than reckless words.
“Why?”
“Because you became important to me. At first, he blamed you for distracting me.” Lane’s voice hardened. “Then he started saying you were changing me.” His voice sounded defeated.
A knot formed in my stomach. “Changing you how?”
“Making me selfish. Making me distant. Making me forget where I came from.”
I stared at him. “But I wasn’t making you do any of that.”
“I know.” His eyes met mine. “But trying to explain Bryant in a logical way is almost impossible. He thinks he should always come first. His plans. His opinions. His needs. When I started choosing you sometimes, he saw it as me choosing you over him. Bryant doesn’t believe I should have to choose him. He believes I shouldn’t have a choice.”
I stared down at my light pink toenails, unable to find words.
The knot in my stomach grew. “I don’t know what to say, but I feel like I should’ve known.”
He looked back at me. “Why?”
“Because I thought I knew everything about you.” The words came out softer than I intended. “And apparently there’s this huge part of your life where someone hates me, and I didn’t even know.”
Lane moved closer. “Cali—”
“No, I’m not mad.” I shook my head. “I just . . . I just need a minute.”
He nodded once and loosened his grip on my hand instead of letting go.
“What do you mean?”
I looked down at our hands. “You and I are trying this again. We’re figuring out what we are. And tonight felt easy. It felt like maybe we were getting it right.”
My voice cracked slightly.
“But then your dad texts something like that, and suddenly I’m wondering if I’m walking into something I don’t understand.”
Lane’s expression softened.
“Hey.” He lifted my chin gently until I looked at him. “You’re not walking into anything alone.”
I searched his face. “Is he why you said those things?”
His silence answered before he did. Every cruel word from that night suddenly sounded less like Lane . . . and more like an echo.
My heart sank. “Lane.” I blinked quickly as he nodded, trying to hold back the emotion building behind my eyes.
“I didn’t know,” I whispered.
“I know.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “That’s the problem. I didn’t let you know.”
The phone lit up again. Neither of us looked at it.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said.
I nodded. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with it,” I said.
