A throat clears behind us.
I drop my hand from Emmett’s arm and put a little more space between us.
Lane leans in the doorway, quickly slipping on a mask of calm, but his eyes reveal everything. His gaze slowly drifts between me and Emmett, and my skin heats. Like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t.
Emmett and I are just friends, but the way Lane’s looking at us makes the words stick in my throat. His jaw flexes once, a warning, and I swear I can feel the room tighten around him. My pulse stutters. I know he won’t lose it like that again. I do. But still, my muscles twitch with the urge to take another step back.
“Hi, Lane,” I say, voice thin. Emmett stiffens beside me, his grip on the dish towel tight enough to bleach his knuckles. “What’s up?”
Lane’s eyes flick between us again. The smile on his lips is nothing like the ones that used to make my stomach flip. It’s cold, tight, and empty. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s hurting or because the veil has been lifted, and I no longer see him through rose-colored glasses.
“Can we talk?”
Emmett tosses the dish towel on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s clearly asserting his dominance, and I’m caught in the middle of this whole display.
“Oh…Um, yeah, I guess so,” I say, trying to diffuse the tension. “What about?”
Lane looks at Emmett, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “I was sort of hoping we could talkalone.”
“Oh.”Shit.
I hesitate. The sensible voice in my head says no. Absolutely not. Nothing good ever comes from reopening old wounds. But another part of me—a reckless, restless part—wants to hear him out.
“Five minutes,” he says, softer now. “If you ask me to never bother you again, I’ll honor it.”
That softer tone gets to me. For a moment, I see a glimpse of the Lane I knew—or at leastthoughtI knew.
“Five minutes?” I ask, and he nods. “Okay.” I pat Emmett’s arm in silent reassurance before following Lane out onto the porch. The chill in the air doesn’t help my trembling hands.
“You with him now?” Lane’s voice is rough and his eyes are just a shade too glassy, his focus snagging on me a second too late.
“What?No. Not that it’s any of your business, but no.” I hesitate by the door, immediately regretting coming out here.
“I’m sorry. That’s not how I wanted to start this. Do you want to sit?” he asks, pointing to the rocking chairs overlooking the scenic landscape.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Yeah, okay.” He clears his throat. “I, uh—I know you said there’s nothing left to say, but I would still like to apologize for everything. I’ve been going to meetings in town and part of recovery is taking accountability. I’m not…proud of my behavior that night. Or the things I said to you.” His voice is brittle and raw.
“What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for the hurt I’ve caused. In the beginning, I wanted to blame Wes and the guys for pressuring me to drink, but I know I’m the one responsible for my decision and the consequences.”
I can’t tell him it’s okay—it’s not. Two weeks is not enough time to heal this wound.
“Thank you for apologizing,” I say instead. Because Iamthankful he’s owning up to it—but it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make it hurt less.
Blinking away the tears welling in my eyes, I force myself to look away, focusing all of my attention on the horizon and the wildflowers peeking through in the distance.
“Can I ask you something?” My voice is quiet as I turn back around to face him. He’s leaning against the wooden support beam.
“Of course. Always.”
“What made you say what you did? About Wesley?”
I’ve heard the saying,“a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts,”and I can’t help but wonder if there was any truth behind his words that night.
Lane scoffs. “You’re joking, right?”
“Why would I be joking right now?”
