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“That’s my son,” he said at the desk, already pulling out his wallet like this was just another inconvenience to pay away. Lane didn’t look up right away. When he did, it was quick—guarded.

Bryant walked toward him, slow and deliberate. “What did I tell you?” he said. “What did I say would happen if you started getting distracted?”

Lane shifted, sitting up straighter. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t.” Bryant cut him off with a flick of his hand. “Don’t lie to me.”

I pressed my lips together, my fingers curling into the edge of the wall.

“He swung first,” Lane said quietly.

Bryant let out a short laugh. “And you couldn’t walk away.”

“He had a kid—”

“I don’t care what he had,” Bryant snapped, his voice dropping again but somehow getting sharper. “You think that matters?”

“Or was it her?” Bryant asked as if he were spitting a bad taste out of his mouth. Everything in me went still because Lane didn’t answer right away, but he didn’t have to. Bryant nodded as if he’d just confirmed something. “Of course it was.”

My stomach twisted.

“She didn’t do anything,” Lane said, quieter.

“Oh, please,” Bryant replied. “Girls like that always do something.” Girls like that.

“You don’t know anything about her,” Lane said.

“I know enough,” Bryant shot back. “I know where she comes from.”

My breath caught. Heat flooded my face before cold chased it away.

“And I know her type,” he went on. “Mother runs through men like water, and the daughter—what, you think she’s different?” Each word left a bruise.

Lane stood up so fast the chair scraped loudly. “Don’t talk about her like that.” For a second—only a second—something like hope flickered in my chest.

Bryant didn’t back down. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

Lane’s shoulders were tense, his hands clenched. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I can say whatever the hell I want,” Bryant said. Then, colder, quieter, “She’s just some white trash trailer park slut.”

Lane didn’t say anything, but his hand flexed. My throat closed.

“You’re throwing everything away over a girl whose mother is a whore and whose future looks the same. Maybe I should pay a visit to that little patch of dirt they call a farm.” The word echoed in my head, loud and ugly. Whore. I flinched like he’d said it right to my face.

Lane didn’t speak, and the silence stretched just long enough it was painful.

“She’s not—” he started, and my heart jumped. I held my breath.

“This isn’t about her,” Lane said finally.

“The hell it is,” Bryant said.

“It’s not,” Lane snapped, then lowered his voice, like he was forcing it under control. “She doesn’t mean anything. You’re right. She’s just someone to pass the time with. She doesn’t mean anything.”

My fingers went numb against the wall. Everything inside me went still, as though the world itself had forgotten how to breathe.

“She’s just some slut from school,” he added. “That’s it.”