“Close, but not close enough,” Cooper says, cocky smirk and cocky face and cocky hair and cocky words, and I look up at Lane, see her hugging Lachlan and pointing to the screen showing my times, and I look at Cooper and realization smacks me in the face. This is it for him. His life is defined by what he does on this track. And me? My life is sitting in the stands, watching me, cheering me on.

I face Cooper, return his smirk.

One second.

Two.

“It was never about you, dude. Not with me.” I motion to Lane sitting in the stands with my family. “And definitely not with her.”

He shoves my chest, and I fall back a step, laugh at him. “That record’s mine.” It’s a promise. A declaration. An oath.

I win the final, but I don’t break Cooper’s record. Not today. But I have three more races, and will, determination and anger are on my side. And like Cameron told me, emotion always wins.

I collect my trophies, give them to Lachlan like I always do, and then spend the next hour in the craft store following Laney around like Garray did with me earlier—like a sick puppy and holy shit, there are a lot of analogies to do with dogs.

When we’re done, Laney and I meet up with my family at the same diner we went to the first time we came here together. Lane orders the same two desserts, and I order almost everything on the menu because I’m fucking starving and the hour walking around aimlessly at the store nearly killed me, not that I’d tell her that.

Halfway through the meal, Laney grabs my arm, her eyes wide. “We forgot to give Cooper the money!”

“What money?” Dad asks.

I explain about the car situation, leave out the part about lending her some cash.

“Just give me the cash and I’ll write a check,” he says. “I’ll send it to Lucy and she can give it to him. Unless…” He looks at Lane. “Did you want to hand it to him in person?”

Lane’s quick to shake her head. “Not at all.”

I take out my phone. Message Lucy.

Luke: Favor?

Lucy: Name it.

Luke: Dad’s going to send you a check. Can you find Cooper on campus and give it to him?

Lucy: I’ll have Cam do it. I can’t even look at that guy without wanting to throw a brick at his face.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

LUCAS

It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a party that didn’t include cakes, cars and clowns (Lachlan’s friends’ birthdays), and so I feel a little out of place with the drinking and the shouting and the dry humping in dark corners. Garray said it was going to be small, mellow, chill. It’s the opposite of all those things, and it takes me forever to find him sitting in his hot tub with a bunch of girls from the track team. “The man of the hour!” he shouts, and I have no idea who the people are that cheer for me, but I thank them anyway.

“I thought you said it was going to be small? Just the team.”

“It was,” he yells over the music. “I invited the team. They invited everyone else. Who fucking cares, bruh.” He throws his arms out. “Enjoy it!”

I try to enjoy it. Honestly, I do. But sometime between last summer and now, this scene became no longer my scene, and I’d rather be sitting with Lane in the ticket booth not being paid to serve customers. I grab a beer from the cooler next to the hot tub and spend the next forty-three minutes wandering around, making awkward small talk. Then I find my way back out to Garray, still in the hot tub, making out with a girl I’ve never seen before. Or maybe I have, I don’t know, I stopped paying attention a long time ago. I wait for him to take a break so I can tell him I’m leaving. He doesn’t. I grab another beer, and I’ll wait another ten minutes before I leave, with or without Garray’s knowledge. I turn swiftly, bump my chin on the top of someone’s head. “Oomph,” she huffs.

“Sorry,” I say, but all I can smell is coconuts and lime, and I look down at a sea of dark hair and “Laney?”

She looks up, adjusts her glasses. “I was going to do that whole arms-around-you-cover-your-eyes-guess-who thing, and it was supposed to be cute.” She rubs her head, looks up at me with her nose scrunched, and she doesn’t realize that without even trying, she’s the fucking cutest girl here with her tight black jeans, torn at the front, her tight gray top and leather jacket, and I want to fold her up, put her in my pocket and keep her for myself.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I got someone to cover my shift. I wanted to celebrate with you.” She looks around. “I thought this was supposed to be small.”

I hook my finger in her belt loop and pull until she stumbles forward, her eyes wide. I love her like this—her body pressed into mine and her breaths shallow. I dip my head, speak into her ear. “It can be small… it can just be you and me and a bottle of whatever you want. This house has five rooms, and those rooms have locks.”

She steps back, bites her bottom lip, and fuck, I want to do the same. She says, “Anything but vodka.” And I’m taking her hand, taking a bottle of whiskey from the cooler and taking her upstairs and into the first available room. It reeks of beer and sex and it’s not at all romantic, but this isn’t a date, and really, it’s a Dumb Name party so it’s to be expected. Still, I open a window, strip the bed, and sit in the middle. After a moment, Laney follows my lead. I uncap the bottle, hand it to her. “You trying to get me wasted, Preston?”

Yes. “No.”

She takes a sip, passes it back. I decline.

“You not drinking with me?” she asks. Another sip.

“Someone needs to be sober to hold your hair when you puke.”

She spits out the drink, liquid leaking out of her mouth, and I laugh, wipe it away with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “You’re a hot mess already.”

Garray walks into the room—I forgot to lock the door—like he owns the place (whatever), and as soon as he sees Laney, he picks her up in a bear hug, giving zero fucks that he’s dripping wet, and she’s bone dry (for now), and she offers the world that sound. That reality-shifting, heart-stopping sound. She reaches for me, and I pull them apart, and now I’m wet because she’s holding onto me.

Garray looks between us, finishes on Lane. “Who’s the better kisser? Me or him?”

“Fuck off,” I snap.

Now Grace is here with two of her friends, and the room is way too fucking small for this. “What’s up, homewrecker?” she says to Lane. Then throws her drink in Lane’s face.

I move Laney behind me, get in Grace’s face. “What the fuck?”

“You need to leave,” Garray tells her. “Now!”

Grace doesn’t move, so Garray takes her by the shoulders, spins her around, forces her out of the room. “She’ll be out of the house in two minutes,” he assures.

I turn to Lane, her lips pursed, cheeks red. I say, “Sorry.”

She uses my sweatshirt to wipe her face. “What the hell, Luke?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t spoken to her since we broke up.”

“And what exactly did you tell her when you broke up with her?” she asks, her breaths heavy, her anger spiking.