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“Don’t you dare start typing up some gossip post or online poll about the status of Caney-ship! Dammit, Matt, this is my life. This is Laney’s business. My business. Leave the damn socials alone. Give it a rest.” I’m practically panting.
“Dude, I was just going to step outside and give you two some space.” Matt holds up both palms, his phone lodged in one, and his app opens on the screen.
I shake my head and breathe out hard for my nose as he leaves the kitchen and dashes upstairs.
“He’s a liar,” Ivy says. “But it seems like the one thing he got right was leaving you two alone. So, I’m going to take this opportunity to maybe shower, or take a nap. I don’t know, but I’ve gotta go.”
Laney slams down the knife, flattening it against the cutting board.
“I’m making you lunch!”
Ivy shrugs.
“And I will love it. Put it in a bowl and leave it in the microwave.” She moves closer to the stairs.
“It’s not the same,” Laney growls, turning to the trash and sliding the newly cut veggies into the bin. She snags the pan fromthe stove and moves it to the sink, flipping on the water and passing it under the stream with a whoosh of steam.
“Oww!” She drops it then flicks the faucet off, backing up and sucking on two of her fingertips. I rush around the counter and flip the cold water back on then move the pan.
“You gotta run that under cold if it’s a burn. Come on,” I say, waving her to step close.
She glares at me but steps up and holds her hand there for a few quiet seconds.
“Lemme see,” I say, taking her wrist gently and rotating her palm until I can see the insides of her fingers. The pad of her right index finger is pink, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to blister.
“I think it will be ok. But you should maybe ask the trainer what you can put on it before the game.”
She jerks her hand away and puts the finger back in her finger, muttering “fuck.”
I flip the water back off and grab the edge of the sink, staring at the still-oily pan while my heart explodes into a thousand pieces in my chest.
“Are you trying to push me away?” I keep my back to her. It’s easier this way, but only mildly.
She doesn’t answer so I ask the question again.
“Are you? You can be honest with me, Laney. I’ve been trying to have this conversation with you, and this is not how I imagined it going, but now we’re in it.”
I turn around and lean my lower back against the sink as I meet her eyes. Her arms are crossed over her chest, closing her off and guarding her heart.
“I care about you, Laney?—”
“Don’t,” she breaks in, waving her hand at me then turning to leave the small galley space. I reach for her arm and grab near her elbow. She spins around to face me and I halt to keepthe foot of distance between us because I think that’s what she wants.
“I can’t turn that off, Laney. I care about you. I like you, a lot. No . . . you know what? I love you. I love the way you make me feel, and I love your fire. You are like nobody I have ever met, and I want to know more about you. I want to learn all of your secrets. I want to help you solve your problems. I want to climb mountains with you. I?—”
“Stop it, Cutter. You’re being . . .”
“I’m being what? Real? Yeah, I am. I am being real. And I really love you.” I shrug, and I can see the ache pooling in her eyes. There’s a piece of her that wants to choose me. There’s love in there. If I can just get her to admit it. She shakes her head, though, and my chest caves in.
“We want different things,” she says.
“So what?” I say with a quick head shake.
She laughs out a sigh and turns her back on me again, moving toward our bedroom. I trail behind her but still give her space. I don’t want her to feel trapped. I’ve learned things about her, and sometimes Laney has to find her own way into expressing things. It takes her time. I’ll give her room.
“What happens when I get drafted by the pro league?” she asks, picking up her gear bag and stuffing her warmup sweatshirt inside then scanning the floor of our room for her court shoes. They’re by me, near the door, so I pick them up and hand them to her. I hold on tight for a beat, pulling against her as she tries to take them away, and our eyes meet.
“So what?” I repeat my response from before, which earns me the famous Laney eye-roll.
