Page 47

47

LANE

W hile walking past Brumehill Brews on my way home after class, I spot something through the glass windows of the café that stops me in my tracks.

Scarlett’s sitting at a table, across from a guy, with an expression of distress and unhappiness on her face that instantly has protectiveness lacing through my blood.

My gaze whips to the guy sitting across from her—and my heart skips a beat, because I recognize him.

It’s a glimmer of recognition, dredged from deep inside my memories.

When I mentally fit the pieces together, it’s like a bolt of lightning strikes at the base of my neck.

I saw that face in Chicago.

I remember seeing it a couple times, thinking it strange that I spotted him maybe half a dozen times over the last couple days I was spending with Scarlett.

It was usually at a distance that I glimpsed him, and never for more than a couple seconds, so I always dismissed it as one of those notable but minor coincidences. It was easy to never even think of it again once I left the city.

Now I realize it’s him. Her ex. Caleb.

He was stalking us while in Chicago, before he broke into her house and stole her phone, then sent those messages that robbed me and Scarlett of a year and a half together.

Anger is already simmering in my blood—but when Scarlett gets up from her seat and walks past him, and he reaches out and dares to wrap his grubby hand around her wrist, my rage passes the boiling point.

My eyes are narrow, hostile slits and my jaw is set hard as steel as I fling the door of the café open and march to their table.

I clamp my grip around his wrist, so hard that he sucks in a sharp breath of pain and immediately lets go of Scarlett.

My eyes burn on him when I twist my grip and lift him up from his seat. I could break his wrist, but I don’t give a shit. Let him call the police, file whatever fucking charges he wants. Right now, all I care about is sending a message.

I twist his wrist in a way to make him angle his body so our eyes are locked.

“If you ever even contact my girlfriend again,” I grit out, my voice tight and sharp, “I’ll detach this arm from your body.” I give it another twist, causing him to gasp in pain again. “And if you touch her again …” I shake my head, eyes burning like red coals in my skull, “you’ll fucking wish that a missing arm was the only thing you had to worry about. Now, since I don’t want my girlfriend to even have to hear your voice again, nod if you understand me.”

He wastes no time wagging his head up and down.

“Good.” With one last wrench, I release my grip. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

After he scurries out of the café, I wrap my arm around Scarlett’s shoulders and pull her close. Glancing around the room, I find every pair of eyes on the café trained on us.

“Alright, show’s over, everyone,” I announce. Most have the decency to turn away.

“Are you okay?” I ask Scarlett once we’re outside.

She nods. She’s a little taken aback, but I can read in her eyes she’s okay. I’m not surprised. I know how strong she is.

“Yeah, I’m fine. He found me on campus after my last class. I figured I’d give him one last chance to get whatever he had to say off his chest, and then I told him if he ever contacted me again, I’m going to the police over what he did.”

“Good,” I answer. Really, he deserves for that to happen anyway. But if letting him get away with what he did in Chicago is the price to pay to be rid of him forever, fine. “You sure you’re alright?”

She smiles that confident, strong smile that makes my heart twirl. “Totally fine. Let’s go home.”

Home. I’ve been living in that house for four years now, but it’s never felt so much like a home as it does now, thanks to her.

A couple days later, when I come home after the day’s classes, I see Scarlett’s shoes by the door.

Realizing that the rest of the house is empty, I close the door behind me as quietly as I can and slip my feet out of my shoes, trying not to make a sound. I want to silently climb the stairs and surprise her in her room.

Seems like it would be a good prelude to an afternoon quickie. Since the other guys are out, I figure we should take advantage of the occasion to make as much noise as we want.

It’s only when I’m at the second to last step leading to the second floor landing that I realize Scarlett isn’t alone in her room.

My lips tilt in disappointment when I hear the voice of her friend Harper as they’re chatting in there. But when I pick up on what they’re talking about, my heart clenches.

“People make long-distance relationships work all the time,” I hear Harper say. “And it’s not like Lane won’t have the money to fly out to see you all the time. And, like, I don’t know anything about pro hockey, but I imagine he’ll be playing in the Northeast a lot.”

I don’t want to eavesdrop, but there’s no way I can stop myself from listening.

“But two years , Harper,” Scarlett answers. “I mean, at least two years. After I graduate, I still have law school. Maybe if I went to Stanford, it would be easier, but come on, I can’t bet on that.”

“I’ve seen Lane around you, and I’ve heard your story. He carried a torch for you for a year and a half, all the while thinking you broke his heart but never falling out of love with you. You think he’d lose interest just because of distance during the season?”

“Is he really in love with me though?” Scarlett asks, a note of uncertainty in her voice. “He hasn’t said it.”

It feels like my chest splits in two.

She’s right, and instantly I’m so mad at myself I could ball up my fist and break my own nose right on this stairway.

I love Scarlett, with every single fucking fiber of my being. But I haven’t vocalized that yet.

I’ve been in love with Scarlett since Chicago. It feels so … default. Like the natural state of things. I take it for granted that I’m in love with her.

But without using my words, without expressing myself, how can I expect her to understand how I feel?

If there’s a single ounce of doubt in Scarlett’s mind that I love her, then I’m to blame.

“And I’m just …” Scarlett pauses, as if she’s searching for the right words. “Tired of things never feeling settled in my life. Even if everything goes right, it’s at least two years of doubt, of insecurity, of worry. I’ll always wonder how Lane really feels, if he’s not having second thoughts while he’s all the way on the west coast.”

That’s never going to happen. If I haven’t made that fact clear to Scarlett through my words and actions, I’m the one at fault.

But I know how to fix that.

Instead of bursting into Scarlett’s room and telling her she doesn’t need to be worried about any of what she’s talking about, I have a way to show her.

Just as quietly as I snuck up, I sneak back down. Put my shoes on. Grab my phone, and go outside to make the most important phone call of my life.