Page 95 of The Hearts We Fumble
Zane exhales, tension unwinding from his posture, though his expression remains guarded. If I’d just told him the truth sooner, maybe we wouldn’t be standing here like this.
Without another word, he reaches for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “We’re heading out.”
Myla swings her feet up onto the coffee table, grinning. “Where are you two lovebirds sneaking off to?”
“He’s taking me on a date, but he won’t tell me where,” I say, shooting Zane a glance. He shakes his head, clearly uninterested in fueling Myla’s teasing any further.
“See ya later, Myla. Thanks for always being a pain in my ass,” he tosses over his shoulder, already steering me toward the door.
Myla calls out her goodbye, and I wave before we step outside.
The moment we’re alone in the car, Zane flexes his fingers against the steering wheel. His voice is quieter this time, rougher around the edges. “Why didn’t you tell me you never… hooked up with Luca?”
I angle toward him, studying the hard line of his jaw. “Why didn’t you ask me?”
His grip tightens. “I thought you did. And I guess I just didn’t want to know for sure.” He swallows hard, his next words coming out hoarse. “The thought of you with him…” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to.
Something in my chest aches at the way he says it.
I shift closer, sliding across the seat until I’m in the middle, my hand resting on his thigh. “You’re right. I let you believe there was something more there, but it wasn’t what it looked like. I promise.” My voice softens, coaxing him to look at me. “He let me borrow his shirt to sleep in because I stayed over. I crashed on the floor in Robbie’s room once he and Claudia passed out. That’s all.”
Zane flicks his gaze to me, his expression softening. His fingers find mine, lifting my hand to his mouth and pressing a slow kiss to my palm.
Everything else—the past, the uncertainty—it doesn’t matter. I’m not going back to Alpha Nu.
He doesn’t say much for the rest of the drive, and every attempt I make to get a hint about our destination is met with nothing but a smirk and a shake of his head. But as the miles pass, the puzzle pieces start falling into place.
Lancaster.
It makes sense. There’s only so much to do in Braysen, and we’ve done it all a hundred times over. A small-town routine we both know too well.
When he pulls into the parking lot of the mall, I briefly wonder if we’re going shopping—or maybe catching a movie at the theater nearby—until he parks near the ice skating rink.
I lean forward, taking in the familiar entrance. “Are we going ice-skating?”
A rush of childhood memories floods my mind. The crisp air, the echo of laughter, the way my dad would lace up my skates and pretend not to let go of my hands, even when I knew he already had. Growing up with a father who played both football and hockey, he took any excuse to get us on the ice.
Even though coordination was never my strong suit, I always loved skating.
Those moments feel so far away now, but the warmth of them lingers, curling around my heart.
A smile tugs at my lips as I glance over at Zane. He’s watching me, studying my face as if trying to commit this moment to memory.
“Come on,” he says, pushing open his door.
I wait for him to round the car, knowing he’ll insist on opening mine, and sure enough, he does.
It’s a good thing I changed into something warmer. The chunky sweater, jeans, and booties were a solid choice. Zane, on the other hand, looks criminally good in dark jeans, a fitted gray flannel shirt, and a leather jacket.
It’s not lost on me how women stop to look at him when we pass, their eyes lingering a little too long. It used to make me crazy—the idea of one of them catching his attention. But now, with his fingers tangled in mine, I realize I’m not worried at all.
Because of the way he looks at me.
He lifts our joined hands to his mouth, pressing a slow kiss to my knuckles, and my heart damn near melts.
Inside, an older man works the counter, taking our shoe sizes and handing us our skates. Zane carries both pairs to the seating area near the lockers.
I bend to unlace my boots, but before I can, Zane kneels in front of me, his large hands already working on the strings.
