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However, I don’t think Nate is quite near this good of an actor. His blond hair is in complete disarray, and his blue eyes are wide, almost unblinking like he’s seen a ghost.
We make it to Laney’s door, and both raise our hands to knock. We freeze.
I drop my hand first. “You do it.”
“No, you can,” Nate says with an encouraging nod.
I almost refute him, but I don’t think he’s in the right state of mind for a silly argument like that. So, I rap on the door.
It is silent. We wait.
I lean toward the door. “Laney?”
Nothing.
Nate knocks this time, harder. “Laney!”
I glance down the hallway of her building, hoping no one will come running, thinking we’re some intruders.
“Laney, open up, please,” he says in an anguished voice. “I just–wejust want to talk.”
Again, nothing. At least for a moment. Because then I swear there’s some shuffling inside, movement that indicates she hasn’t disappeared, isn’t yet gone.
Nate and I exchange a look of hope. We’resmiling. God, it’s pathetic. We’re smiling at the mere idea oftalkingto her. That doesn’t promise anything.
The locks behind the door crunch and then, the door opens.
There she is. Our woman. The one we both want beyond a shadow of a doubt.
She looks beautiful as always.
Laney’s never had to do much to be beautiful. It’s innate. So even as she stands here in some yoga pants and a cropped tank top, her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head, she’s just gorgeous.
Though Laney isn’t big by any means, at least compared to Nate and me, she takes up the whole door frame, creating a barrier between us and the inside of her apartment.
“What are you doing here?” Her expression is dull and empty.
“We need to talk, Lane.” I look down my nose at her, hoping to look somewhat vulnerable and needy so she’ll give us a chance.
Her gaze flicks from me to Nate and then to the ground. “There’s nothing to say. I’ve got a new job. I’ve got to pack for it, I–”
Nate’s body undulates forward; he presses his hand against the door, afraid she could shut it at any moment which is a high possibility. “Where are you going?”
Laney’s eyebrows thread together. “None of your business.”
I grab Nate’s shoulder. “Hey, relax, okay?”
My friend looks at me, his eyes wide. “How am I supposed to relax when I–whenshe–”
“I’m sorry you’re so upset by me living my life and making choices for myself, Nate,” Laney says, her voice so low and unfeeling it doesn’t even feel like talking to the real her. “Now, please leave, or else I’m going to have to call the cops, and that would be a bad look on you two.”
Nate lets out a strained breath. He’s not in a good state. And how can I blame him.
Laney has been with him every step of his recovery, in the darkest days when I’m sure he wondered if he’d ever be able to walk again.
My friend needs me to be strong right now. And I’ll do what I can, though my heart is breaking just the same as his. “Nate,” I say in a soft tone.
His posture shifts and changes in a mere moment. He backs away from the door, looks away, strained, red staining his cheeks. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
