“No.” He pulls back, laughing as he does. “No regrets, Sanders.”

Swear, “No regrets” is Cooper Kennedy’s mission statement for his life.

After emotionally breaking down in his car the day after I was (as he puts it) “smashed and dashed” upon, he finally drove me home. We stayed in his car, sitting idle in my driveway, while I waited for the pain to fade. I didn’t want to go in the house, in my room, where memories of Lucas would for sure invade me. So I sat, staring out the windshield until he broke the silence. “It might hurt less if you get it off your chest, you know?”

I didn’t want to. Not with him. So he said, “Want to punch something?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Is her name Grace?”

I shook my head. “It’s not her fault.”

“So… I’m guessing that technically, she’s the woman scorned.” He paused a beat. “So why are you so mad?”

I faced him, eyes thinned to slits. “I could punch you,” I told him.

He smirked. “You could try.”

I did try. His arm was nothing but muscle. And so he laughed, put his car in gear, and reversed out the driveway. For the second time that day, I thought he was taking me somewhere to kill me, and as dramatic as it sounds, I didn’t have it in me to argue.

He took me to his house, past the guard at the gate, through the pristine, quiet streets of his neighborhood until his car was parked safely in his garage. He got out, opened my door, and said, “Let’s go.”

So off we went, through his enormous house, past the large kitchen, through the giant sliding doors, walked through the backyard, and into another building that housed his own personal gym.

“Take off your sweater,” he said.

I scoffed.

He smirked. “We’re about to get hot and sweaty.”

“You’re such a dick.”

I started to leave but he grasped my arm, and when I turned to face him, he was holding a pair of boxing gloves. He pointed to the punching bag hanging in the corner of the room, strapped the gloves to my hands and said, “Better out than in.”

I don’t know how long he watched me hit a stupid bag, release my stupid tears, yell out stupid things, but when he stopped me, his arms around my entire body, I felt weak. Weak and stupid. I collapsed on the floor and looked up at him. He held my face in his hands, his thumbs wiping my cheeks, removing the sweat mixed with tears. He seemed sad, sorry for the pathetic girl he didn’t know. His eyes searched mine as he said, “I’m sorry he hurt you, but hurting yourself isn’t going to change that. You can’t control what people do or how they treat you. You can only control how you react to it.” He squatted in front of me, his fist out ready to bump. “No regrets, Sanders.”

I inhaled deeply, let his words sink just as far, then I bumped his fist. “No regrets.”

Chapter Twelve

LUCAS

Today, we skipped Sunday breakfast. Because today, Brian’s coming over so we can meet his new girlfriend. I’m sure Brian would have told Lane, asked her to join them and she will because she does everything her dad asks of her.

There’s a knock on my apartment door and for a moment, I think it’s Lane. But Lane doesn’t knock. She just walks in, comments on the state of my apartment and then starts washing dishes.

The knock sounds again.

“Yeah?” I call out.

“It’s Leo.”

I get up, open the door, sit back on the couch and stare at the blank television like I’d been doing all morning.

He plops down next to me, his scrawny frame a contrast to mine. “I love this episode,” he jokes, but I don’t find it funny. After a sigh, he says, “I owe you an apology for what I said last week.”

“It’s fine,” I murmur.

Silence passes. He breaks it. “She misses you, Luke.”

I face him, my heart in my throat. “She tell you that?”

He shakes his head, his eyes as sorry as I feel. “She didn’t need to. We go to the same school, I see her around, talk to her sometimes. She’s not the same. She never is when you guys fight like this.”

“We’re not fighting.” I look back at the screen. “She hates me.”

“How bad did you screw up?” he asks, and I can hear the frustration in his voice.

Outside, a car pulls up, doors slam, and Lachlan shouts, “Laney’s here!”

Lachlan seems happy, sitting at the picnic table out in the yard next to his godmother while she plates up his food. The sun’s out, shining brightly on both our families, but my mood is dark, my conscience darker.

She said, “Hey, Luke,” when she got here. Hasn’t said a word since, at least not to me.

I sit opposite her, watch her smile, watch her laugh, watch her be a part of my family.

Dad says, “So Lane, how did you do with that piece you entered into that… that uh…”

“The clothing design contest?” Misty finishes.

I didn’t know she’d started making clothes, but it’s not surprising. She’d been saving for a sewing machine for a while. My ears perk, waiting for Laney’s response. She smiles at Dad and pours ketchup on Lachlan’s plate. “I got second prize.”

I smile, I can’t help it. She sees my reaction but doesn’t have one of her own.

“That’s great,” Dad says.

“So, Luke,” Brian jumps in. “First track meet next week. You ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’m sure Lois will be there. She hasn’t missed a single one,” he says, his gaze on his daughter. “Right, Lo?”

Swear, if looks could kill, Laney just aimed a gun at Brian and pulled the damn trigger. And I hate this. I hate that it’s up to our dads to fill the conversation about parts of our lives we know nothing about.

A phone rings, and everyone but Lachlan and the twins searches their pockets, their purses. “It’s me,” Laney says, raising her phone.

The ringing continues and Misty coos, “Say hi to Cooper.”

Jealousy courses through me, spiking through every vein, every cell in my body. Not because it’s Cooper on the phone but because Cooper should be me. It should be my name on the end of Misty’s sentence, my name making my best friend’s dad’s girlfriend coo and bat her eyelids. It should be me she knows, not a guy who’s only been in Lane’s life for a few weeks.

Laney says, “He’s picking up his car, so he’s probably having trouble finding the keys. I’ll only be a second.”

I hate that she’s smiling as she brings the phone to her ear, hate the way she says, “Hey Coop” like they’ve been friends since they were kids.

They haven’t.

We have.

And I hate, most of all, that I was the one who ruined it.

Logan says, “Why don’t you ask your boyfriend to join us?”

I hate Logan.

Laney looks up, first at Logan, then at Leo. Leo shrugs. Since when did Leo make the decisions for her?

“It’s behind the frog statue by the front door,” Laney says into the phone. “Yes, it is, just double check.” … “There is so a frog there.” … “A turtle?” … “Oh yeah. Maybe it is a turtle.”