Page 72 of What We Knew Then
“Hey, did someone drive you here? Wouldn’t want you getting behind the wheel.”
Fuck. The punch lands. Whatever lightness surrounded the two of them is gone. I can feel the anger rolling off Lane as Freddy leers at him like a smug asshole. Like he got him. Like calling on one of the worst nights of someone's life is playing fair.
Someone lets out a low whistle and I can feel everyone watching us now. Even the music has stopped and the four of us are under amicroscope. Lane takes a step forward just as Leo appears and puts a hand between them.
“Lane, this party’s tired. Let’s get out of here,” he insists, almost ready to grab Lane by the shirt and pull him out of there.
Lane takes a breath but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he steps back and slides past Freddy where the rest of the hockey guys are waiting for him.
“You know you’re a fucking dick, right?” Brinn asks Freddy, the snarky smile falling from his lips when a few people cheer her on. My best friend is a force to be reckoned with even before she’s had a few drinks to remove the filter she works hard to keep in place.
Immediately, Freddy starts to look uncomfortable. Some people give him shit, and I know he didn’t expect that.
Before the guys leave, Lane looks back to me when he reaches the door, just for a moment. His brows are furrowed and it makes my stomach flip. It’s not often I get to see him let his guard down. To lean into being an athlete on campus without his history or past for people to hold onto. I hate that we were having a normal night before Freddy had to be so cruel.
I want to take care of Lane. Smooth out that tension out of his jaw with my hands. Tell him he didn’t need to prove anything. I want him to know that walking away like that? That’s strength.
Freddy thinks volume wins. Lane just proved that control does.
And standing here, having watched his team step in before anyone did something they couldn’t take back, I feel it settle deep in my bones—Lane is a better man than Freddy could everdream of being.
It’saftermidnightwhenBrinn and I leave the beach. The party burned out hours ago—Freddy’s theatrics killed the night.
Brinn and I headed to the beach after that outburst, wrapped up in a blanket as we sat on the cold November sand. We didn’t talk much, just sat with our thoughts. I couldn’t stop thinking about Freddy bringing up the accident, Lane’s face when he left, how he walked away with his guys.
“You okay?” she’d asked eventually.
“I will be,” I answered.
After getting Brinn home safe, I find myself standing in front of Lane’s door. My hand hovers before I knock. I didn’t text or call—he could be asleep for all I know. But I knock anyway, in the hopes that he’s awake.
There’s a beat of silence, one that threatens to tell me how risky this is, me just hanging outside his apartment. I hear movement inside and the door opens a second later.
Lane's standing in a gray T-shirt and sweats, hair floppy like he washed it and let it air dry. For a half second he looks at me. Surprised.
He doesn’t say anything; instead, he reaches for the front of my shirt and pulls me to him, his lips finding mine. Once I’m in his apartment, he closes the door then uses both of his hands while he kisses me.Fuck. It’s one of my favorite things he does. His thumbs at the side of my face, fingers at the nape of my neck, like he can’t help but hold onto me.
His mouth is warm and urgent, but not frantic. Like he’s been holding himself together all night and this—me—is the first thing he’s let himself feel.
I slide my hands up his chest, the cotton of his T-shirt soft under my palms. “Hi,” I murmur against his lips.
He exhales a quiet laugh, but it’s thin around the edges. “Hi. You taste like peaches.”
“The only snack I had in my bag were the peach rings. I was at the beach with Brinn,” I answer, our lips a breath away.
Lane kisses me again, slower this time. His thumbs brush my cheekbones, as if he’s making sure I’m real. I kind of wish people knew this version of Lane—the softer one I get to see.
I pull back just enough to see his face. “You okay?”
He rolls his eyes paired with a tiny laugh. “I’m fine,” he replies automatically.
I rest my forehead against his. “Freddy’s an idiot.”
That gets a huff of breath out of him. “Yeah, but what else is new?”
But the joke doesn’t land the way it normally would. There’s something heavier sitting between us.
“He shouldn’t have brought that up,” I say softly. “The accident.”
