Page 59 of The Embers That Remain

Lane took a step forward. “Cali—”

“No.” I shook my head hard, holding a hand up. “Don’t.” He stopped as if I’d physically pushed him.

“You said I didn’t mean anything,” I continued. “You said I was just someone to pass the time with.” I let out a shaky breath. “After I gave you everything.”

His face crumpled in a way I had never seen before. “No,” he said, his voice breaking. “No, that’s not—”

“That’s exactly what you said.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he rushed out. “I swear to you, I didn’t mean a single word of that.”

“It didn’t sound like you were struggling to say it.”

“I was trying to survive him.” Lane rushed, then immediately softened. “Cali . . . you don’t understand what he was like. If I pushed back, if I—” He dragged both hands through his hair, pacing like he couldn’t stand still. “He would have made your life a living hell like he made mine. I thought if I shut it down, if I made it seem like you didn’t matter, he would leave you alone.”

I stared at him, trying to process what he’d said. I knew he didn’t always see eye to eye with his dad, but there was a panic to his voice I hadn’t heard before.

“You thought saying I meant nothing would help me?” I asked.

“Yes. I thought if he believed that, he wouldn’t come after you. He wouldn’t drag you into it.” His voice cracked. “I wanted to make him stop seeing you as a threat.”

A hollow sound wheezed from my chest. “So you just . . . what? Sacrificed me?”

“No.” He stepped closer again, slower this time, like approaching something fragile. “I wanted to protect you.”

“Well, you weren’t,” I said, my voice cracking despite my best effort. “You broke me.”

He physically flinched at the sting of the words.

“I waited,” I went on, the words spilling now that they’d started. “I stood there thinking . . . maybe he’ll fix it. Maybe he’ll say it was a mistake. Maybe he’ll say he was wrong.” My vision blurred, but I didn’t look away. “You didn’t, Lane. You agreed with him.”

“I didn’t agree,” he said, shaking his head. “I just—”

“You said it,” I cut in. “And then you let him say ‘good’ like it was a good thing that I meant nothing to you.”

His shoulders collapsed, like something inside him had finally given out.

“I was seventeen,” he breathed. “I was scared. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Scared?

“I was seventeen too,” I said. “And I drove out of town that night because I believed the only person I had ever trusted thought I was just someone to pass the time with.”

His eyes snapped back to mine. “You left because of that?”

“Yes.” The word hung there. Raw. Final.

He let out a breath that sounded like it hurt. “I looked for you,” he said. “I drove every road between here and your grandparents’ place. You were just . . . gone. No note. No explanation. I thought you stopped loving me and you’d left like she did.”

His mom.

I shook my head slowly. “I never stopped loving you. That was the problem.” The admission sat between us, fragile and dangerous. Lane’s eyes softened, something hopeful flickering there, but I shut it down before it could take root.

“That doesn’t mean anything now,” I said sharply. It was like watching a door slam in real time.

“Cali . . .” he whispered.

“No,” I said again, firmer this time. “You don’t get to take that and turn it into something it’s not.”