Page 108 of What We Knew Then
“Cora. Really?” he asks, looking around like the answer to our problems is somewhere on the walls.
“I should’ve known better.” I look down at my feet.
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re right. You should’ve.”
Chapter 62
CORA
Ikeepreplayingthatnight, as if there’s a version where I don’t ruin everything. Where the boy on the beach tells me he loves me and that’s where it ends. But then my body catches up with me and it hurts even worse.
Chapter 63
LANE
Itoldherloveisn’t enough and I hate that it’s true.
Chapter 64
CORA
Brinn’sapartmentistoosmall to hide in. It’s a studio, but definitely on the small end of that already tiny spectrum. It’s a good thing we like to cuddle when we sleep.
I have an English paper that I’m trying to get ahead of. It’s not due for a few more days but I want to get it off my plate.
Old habits die hard.
Good thing, because now that my research project is eighty percent finished but I don’t have enough data to get to the finish line—and my subject probably hates me—I need to do my best to get to the end of this semester. This year.
And my best is not this heroic perfection I thought was in my grasp. It never was. It feels like a pressure valve has been opened and the things I was agonizing over two weeks ago aren’t even on my radar. No professor cares if you turn things in early, or how many perfect scores you get on a test. Math is math; you pass or fail by the numbers.
Plus it’s the perfect distraction. I haven’t sat still for the last few days. I’ve picked up every single spin class opportunity and am running my body ragged. Haven’t instructed this many classes in a row in a while. But if I’m moving, giving my body something to do, maybe it will stop feeling like I could fall over the ledge at any moment.
The one where I miss Lane so much it physically hurts. Where I feel so horrible for what’s going on that it makes it hard to eat. The place where I try and keep it together.
The cursor blinks on my laptop. It’s been hard to focus. I’ve been here since everything happened Sunday morning with Lane and my dad. Mymom keeps calling to make sure I’m okay, but I don’t really know how to answer her.
I’m not. But there’s not much I can do about it.
My phone buzzes, a notification showing on my screen:OTTERS STAR LANE MAXWELL HEALTHY SCRATCH FOR CRITICAL ROAD SERIES.
I should turn these off. It’s not common for me to get more than the occasional mention of the Great Lakes U hockey team on the sports app everyone has, but this week has been out of the ordinary. Luckily, there’s not been much to report on. Seems like everyone is keeping their word—no one really knows about what happened Saturday night. Or at least no one has leaked it to the press.
I wonder if Oliver or Lane’s old coach have tried to get a hold of him? I know my dad has had more than one conversation with Coach Knight—not sure if he’d share this or not.
“What’s got your face all scrunched?” Brinn asks as I look at my phone.
Tossing it to the edge of the bed, I sigh. “Oh, nothing. Just the same news cycle over and over. Lane’s not playing.”
She nods, sitting at the small bistro table a few feet away in the kitchen area. “Have you talked to him?”
“No. He made it pretty clear he didn’t want to see me. Or hear from me.” I think back to the morning in his apartment where my heart cracked down the middle.
“Leo said that he’s been at all the team stuff. Working out. Skating. But he hasn’t said anything. Won’t hang out with any of the guys.”
I have no idea what the team vibe is. I’ve been here since everything happened. I know I’ll have to go home eventually, but I just can’t stomach it right now. My mom alluded to my dad having a rough few days, and no matter what he’s feeling, I’m sure there’s pressure from reporters, boosters, probably the athletic director.
“Do you really think he’ll go toEurope?” she asks.
