Page 80 of What We Knew Then
Oliver gets back in the car, this time on the passenger side, and I don’t even look at him when I say, “I was driving. I was the one who caused the accident. Do you hear me?”
“Lane, no—”
“Oliver. Yes. I was driving. No one saw us leaving the party. And we’ll never tell a soul. No matter what. Got it?”
I watch him sit back, buckle himself in, and nod. “Got it.”
“Where’d you go?” Cora’s voice brings me to the present.
I sigh out a breath and break my own rule. “That night? I wasn’t driving. Oliver was. But I took the fall for him and blew up the only life I’ve ever been afraid to lose.”
Chapter 48
CORA
Forasecond,Idon’t react. I’m too busy watching him.
Lane doesn’t look at me when he speaks. His jaw locks so tight I can see the muscle ticking beneath his skin. His shoulders—usually squared and steady—cave in like he’s bracing for impact. Like he’s waiting for me to pull my hand away.
That’s when I realize how hard he’s gripping it. Like he needs anything to hold onto. His fingers are wrapped around mine so tight it almost hurts.
I swallow past the tears threatening to fall. The way he talked about his family, the Knights taking him in—I had no idea. It makes me want to kiss that scar on his lip until he’s absolutely sick of me. Hearing him talk about being a kid, what happened to him—my heart hurts.
There’s something in his voice I’ve never heard before. Not even when he’s softened for me. This is raw. Stripped down. It sounds like shame and loyalty and regret all twisted together.
It sounds like grief.
The thing that gets me? He doesn’t say Oliver’s name with anger. There’s no bitterness there. Just… responsibility. Like he’d do it again. Like losing everything was easier than watching his best friend lose it.
My chest aches.
Because I can see it now. The weight he’s been carrying. The reason his smile never quite reaches his eyes. He took the fall for something he didn’t do and had no intention of ever coming clean.
He finally looks at me. I swear, I can see the moment he regrets telling me.
But all I feel is an overwhelming rush of protectiveness. Of sadness. Of anger for his biological parents who let him down.
Because the bravest, most self-sacrificing thing I’ve ever heard just came out of his mouth like a confession. And he’s looking at me like I’m about to decide if he’s worth saving.
“Lane…” My voice drifts off as I turn and wrap my arms around him. I pull us as close together as I can.
I feel the moment he melts into me. His head rests on my shoulder and I'm practically holding him up. He’s probably needed this for so long, even before the night of the car accident.
I don’t know where to start. “I’m sorry. For all of it. Your parents. That night.” It’s just fragments and pieces as I squeeze him. I have a list of questions that continues to grow as my mind tries to understand what he’s told me, but I’m guessing that isn’t what he wants. Or needs.
My lips find his cheek and Lane sits with me for another second before pulling away.
“When everything happened with the team, when I got kicked off, Oliver tried to come clean. He wanted to tell his dad. Our coach.” His face pinches like it hurts to even think about. “I told him no. The damage had been done and no one took another look at Oliver. Exactly what I knew would happen.”
“But you weren’t even drinking, right?” I can’t help but ask.
Lane shakes his head. “No. But, it didn’t matter. I was covered in beer. The cops came, and when they saw Oliver’s name on his license, they just called the school—because of course they knew the athletic director. And then they called Coach.”
This doesn’t surprise me. Some places treat athletes like they’re too valuable to punish.
“I do think my coach tried to keep me. But the public opinion was so horrible that I don’t know if I would’ve ever gotten a fair shot for my final season.”
Fuck, that’s even more true with the pedestal athletes are on. News like this spreads like wildfire; it doesn’t even matter what’s true. Once you have a chance to explain yourself, the damage is already done.
