Page 11 of What We Knew Then
“Wait.Howareyoujust now telling me you fucked Lane Maxwell?” Brinn gasps, eyes as wide as the massive coffees in front of us. “For future reference, I need immediate details. You finally ditched vanilla Freddy, so I’m here for all of it.” She rubs her hands together.
“First, it was Friday night… give me a break. And second, Freddy wasn’t vanilla, he was—”
“Let me finish that for you: boring as fuck. The man knew one position. Missionary.”
My cheeks heat. Even after all these years, Brinn can still catch me off guard with how direct she is. According to her, life’s too short to waste words.
I take a sip of my coffee, knowing she’s not wrong. That’s part of why Lane pulled me in so fast. He’s nothing like what I’m used to.
Freddy was quiet. Predictable. He made me feel safe, comfortable, but it never felt like what it was supposed to. Maybe that’s what happens when you grow up together, see every awkward phase and bad haircut. Part of me thought that meant something, but I got that wrong.
“This is a good thing! You can get him completely out of your system. Properly move on.” Brinn takes a drink of her latte. “Thank god. Plus, what’s the deal with Lane? Heard people talking about him getting kicked off his team in Ohio.”
This doesn’t surprise me. Lane’s dismissal wasn’t quiet, even if there weren’t a lot of public details.
“I only know what everyone else does.” Even if my dad has additional information on Lane or what happened, he’d never share. One of the reasons he gets his teams to respond so well is that he truly respects them—treats them like real people.
Brinn scrunches her eyebrows like she’s trying to remember. “Car accident, right?”
I nod in agreement. “Sounds like he was coming back from a party, crashed into a park. He wasn’t charged with anything and that’s really all that came out. He lost his roster spot a few days later.”
“Damn. And your dad swoops up the bad boy from Ohio? Savior complex much?” She nudges my shoulder, a smirk paired with her signature directness.
“It doesn’t matter. Lane wants nothing to do with me. You should’ve seen him when he heard my name was Cora and not Lee.”
She leans back, crossing her arms. “I can’t believe you did that. Where did my best friend go? Did you get body snatched or something?” Excitement surrounds her words.
I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “Trust me, she’s still here.”
I’m still the girl who follows the rules. Still the girl who doesn’t complicate things.
I’m coming to terms with the reality of what happens when you justdothings instead of calculate every possible scenario first. And now I’m left sitting with it. The look on his face. The tension I created.
Guilt settles in again, quieter this time but just as steady.
Brinn nudges my foot under the table. “Hey. It’s fine.”
Maybe.
I take another sip of my coffee, letting the warmth ground me. “Yeah,” I agree, more to convince myself than her. “It’s nothing.”
But as I stare out the café window, watching a group of guys walk by in Great Lakes U hockey shirts, I know better.
Nothing about this feels like nothing.
And somehow, I have a feeling this is going to be a long hockey season.
Chapter 7
LANE
Ineedtogetout of this apartment. My alarm goes off and the gray walls could probably choke me if I stare at them for another second.
There’s been an influx of people moving into the building, with eager friends and family here for the transition. Moms cry as they hug their adult kids, siblings banter and bicker even as they leave their brother or sister behind, and I can’t relate to any of this.
I was thirteen when I moved out. That’s the day my mom bought booze instead of food for probably the tenth day in a row. She was on some sort of a bender and I was legitimately starving. I went to the only place I knew: Oliver’s.
It was my first year of travel hockey, and I’m pretty sure the only reason I got my mom to say yes—and write the check—was because she was drunk. She never would’ve spent that kind of money on me otherwise.
