The summer guys were all over him, hyping him up and congratulating him—fucking congratulating him—asking how his night went, their tone heavy with insinuation.
He brushed them off at first, but he is a weak man, and eventually they wore him down.
A young prick with wavy blonde hair cropped short on the sides and way too much confidence—Joel, I think—slapped Lane on the shoulder and said,“Come on man, give us something to dream about.”
Lane hesitated. Then he looked right at me and smirked. And I knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth.
“Let’s just say the bull wasn’t theonlything she rode last night.”
The words hit like a sucker punch.
His eyes stayed locked on mine as the guys hooted around him. The room erupted with laughter and cheers, and all I could do was stare at him.
He wanted me to hear it.
Wanted me tofeelit.
To know he’d won.
I wanted nothing more in that moment than to put him through the fucking wall. To bash his face in until he was unrecognizable.
But it wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t undo what already happened.
The thing is, I don’t even know when it stopped being about rules and started being about her. But I can’t remember a single day this summer where she wasn’t in my head, messing with the rhythm of every thought.
And now she’s his.
I have to fight the overwhelming urge to deck him every time I see his smug face.
When Land and I got back, Lane was on the schedule to help Emmett and I with a guest ride. If I thought we could handle everyone, just me and Landon, I’d have told Lane to fuck off and do something else.
But I wasn’t going to risk guest safety just because I hate looking at his face.
By the time I step into the house, I’m still on edge, the anger vibrating through my bones.
Do I want him gone? Abso-fucking-lutely.
But there’s a pit in my stomach whispering that if I do this, if I open my mouth, I might loseherfor good.
Dad and Emmett are already at the table when I walk in. Emmett’s mid-story, animatedly telling Dad about the donkey he’s convinced is out to get him.
I pass through the dining room and into the kitchen to wash my hands. I always think of my mom, drilling into me and Emmett to wash up before dinner. My chest tightens thinking of her. I wish she were here to tell me what I should do.
I fill a glass of water and slide into my seat. Sadie’s usual spot next to Emmett is empty.
“Where’s Sadie?”
“She said she was running a little behind. Lane’s helping her finish,” Dad says casually, scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate.
Emmett chokes on a laugh, trying to hide it behind his hand.
Dad glances up, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing,” Emmett says quickly, eyes glinting. “I’m sure Lane’s doing a great job helping Sadiefinish.”
I nearly snap the glass in my hand.
My jaw tightens, my throat thick with the taste of blood I can’t quite swallow.
