Page 71 of What We Knew Then
Wes asks Cora about the research, which she’s happy to get into. She doesn’t leave out a single detail as she explains her hypothesis, where she’s at, and what’s next. Wes must also be a numbers guy because while Cora talks about things I can barely grasp, he asks solid follow up questions.
My girl is fucking smart.
“Wes, did you know that Lane is her test subject?” Brinn slurs the last part as she pats my shoulder.
He turns and replies, “Damn. That’s pretty cool. Excited to see where you end up when you get to the end of it.”
Cora nods and I can feel the joy rolling off her when she gets to talk about something she’s passionate about.
“Well, isn’t this cozy.” A voice cuts through the moment like a skate blade on fresh ice.
Freddy.
Chapter 44
CORA
TheproblemisthatI let myself relax. Which, in hindsight, was a mistake. Because Freddy has always had impeccable timing when it comes to ruining my peace. Almost like he has some sort of radar that alerts him when I’m having a good time.
I hadn’t even seen him tonight except in passing. He acted like I didn’t exist, giving me a taste of what it’d be like if I got what I wanted, only to come over and interject himself like this now.
With his pointed eyes flicking from Lane to me and back again—to the space between us—it feels like something tightens around my chest.
Brinn’s posture shifts instantly beside me. Protective, like she can feel the temperature drop before anyone else does. I straighten, just slightly—not shrinking. Just preparing.
I take a risk and look at Lane. His jaw ticks. A small flex of muscle near his ear, like he’s grinding his teeth and forcing himself not to react. His expression is otherwise neutral, almost bored, but I know him well enough now to see the restraint underneath it.
Freddy hooks his thumbs into his jeans and rocks back on his heels like this is casual, like he didn’t just step into the kitchen with a purpose.
“Did you know I was supposed to be the test subject for that research?” he asks, glancing at Wes before his gaze lands on me and stays there.
“No, I didn’t,” Wes answers.
“Wasn’t talking to you,” Freddy snaps before he looks to Lane.
Before anyone else can say anything, Brinn scoffs. “Don’t be mean. We like Wes.” The way she emphasizes Wes fills in the rest of the sentence:we don’t like you.
Poor Wes shrinks next to Freddy—struggling with the pivot from our fun chat to one of his older teammates being a problem.
He waves his hand and rushes to say, “Don’t worry about it. Good seeing you guys,” and then Wes leaves.
“Did Lane know that?” Freddy sneers. “That the research wasouridea?”
Rage starts to bubble under my skin. Freddy is lying about something I thought of to try and get back at Lane? What did I ever see in this guy? For a moment, the logical part of my brain reminds me that he wasn’t always like this. He used to be kind. Sweet. Thoughtful.
Freddy lets the silence stretch as if he’s waiting for someone to flinch.
Lane doesn’t. Instead, he shifts his weight and questions, “Did you stretch before reaching like that?”
It’s not loud. It’s not aggressive. But it lands clean.
Some people around us, clearly eavesdropping, let out a collective, “Oooh,” like when there’s a big hit during a game.
I press my lips together to keep from laughing.
Freddy’s smile tightens. “Careful,” he sneers, his voice dropping half a note. “Don’t forget where you are.”
“Oh, I’m very much aware.” Lane pulls up the sleeves of his shirt, a smile forming on his lips. The tension weighs on my shoulders.
