Page 97 of Lennox Lane

Nova nodded against Lane’s side. “All of you. The mad parts. The broken parts. The petty parts. The lavender menace parts. We got you.”

A wet laugh broke through Lane’s sob.

“There she is,” Nova whispered. “Our mean little flower.”

Lane cried and laughed at the same time. Lennox held on like his arms had been built for this exact collapse. For a long time, nobody rushed her.

The kitchen became a sanctuary of quiet encouragement and soft hands. Cadence murmured reminders that Lane was loved. Nova cursed Jeanette in creative, whispered bursts that made Lane laugh through tears twice. KC got water and stood close.

Tariq, who rarely knew what to do with heavy emotion, eventually said, “For the record, if we need to jump anybody, I got comfortable shoes in the car.” Lane gave a watery snort into Lennox’s shirt.

When Lane finally pulled back, her eyes were red, her lashes wet, and her face bare of every shield Lennox had ever watched her wear.

She looked alive in a way pain sometimes made people after it passed through instead of staying trapped. He knew she was exhausted but still beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Everyone objected at once.

“No,” Cadence said.

“Absolutely not,” Nova snapped.

“Don’t apologize for being tired of carrying the weight of your past,” Tariq added.

Lennox wiped beneath her eye with his thumb. “You ready to go home?”

She looked up at him with a softer expression on her face before saying yes. They said goodbye to everyone, and he took her home. He considered going to his place, but he wanted her everywhere he was, including his bed, his table, and his car. Truthfully, he wanted her beside him in every room he entered for the rest of his unreasonable life. But tonight, Lane needed to sleep beneath her own roof and know support could come to her and meet her needs in the space she’d built for herself.

He followed her inside with a small overnight bag he’d stopped for on the way. Lane hadn’t commented, which meant she was too tired or she wanted him there. Either way, he accepted the mercy.

Her townhouse smelled like her. Warm vanilla, lavender, coffee, and clean laundry. Her living room was neat but lived in, with books stacked beside the couch, framed photos of Nova and Cadence, and a throw blanket tossed over the arm of a chair. On one wall hung a framed print of a lavender field pushing through cracked stone.

Lennox stared at it for a second too long, and Lane noticed. “Cadence gave it to me.”

“Of course she did.”

“She cried when I hung it.”

“Of course she did,” he said again, softer.

Lane went upstairs without another word, and he followed. He waited in her bedroom as she showered, sitting on the edge of the bed listening to the water run. Lennox was trying not to replay every second of the day until anger swallowed him again.

She’d gone alone and almost walked into that apartment alone. If he’d been ten minutes later, Daryl might’ve gotten impatient, and Jeanette folded under pressure if the drugs and desperation kicked in.

Lennox closed his eyes, remembering she was safe and sound. The rest was a conversation for when she wasn’t held together by exhaustion and grief. When Lane came out in soft shorts and an oversized T-shirt, her face freshly washed and eyes puffy from crying, Lennox felt something in him drop to its knees.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m breakable,” she rebutted.

“You’re not breakable.” He stood and crossed to her slowly. “You’re tired.”

She let him pull her into a hug with no protest, and that alone told him everything about how tired she was. They climbed into bed without talking much as Lane curled on her side with her back to his chest, and Lennox fit himself around her. He kept one arm around her waist and one hand over hers, holding her the way she seemed willing to be held.

For several minutes, the room was quiet, and Lane whispered, “You’re still mad.”