I cringe. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

I make my way down to her room while she follows behind. I take off my jacket, throw it on her couch. Habit.

"Pukas!" Lachlan shouts. "Are you here for one minute?

"You know you're not allowed to jump on beds," I tell him.

He continues jumping. "Lane said I could."

I face Lane.

"I said he could do it once," she defends.

I grab Lachlan by the waist and effortlessly slam him down to the bed. He finds this hilarious. Using my sternest voice, I say, "Time to sleep."

"Yes, sir," he giggles, saluting me.

I slip off my shoes, get under the covers with him.

"I'll be back," Lane says, taking her phone from the nightstand and going upstairs.

"I like Lane's bed," Lachlan whispers through a yawn. "It's constable."

"Comfortable."

"Have you slept in Lane's bed?" he asks.

I really wish I wasn't in bed with my six-year-old brother while he forces the images and memories of the last time I was here into my mind.

"Luke? Have you?"

I nod.

He giggles. "Did you s.e.x?"

My eyes widen. "What is with you and s.e.x? Go. To. Sleep!"

"I can't," he whispers.

"Why not?"

He shrugs. "Can you sing the Prestons in the Bed song for me like Mommy used to do for you guys?"

I rear back, look him in the eyes. "How do you know about that song?"

"Laney told me. We talked about Mommy all day."

"Oh yeah?"

"Laney said Mommy was pretty."

"She was," I tell him, the slight ache in my chest building the longer I watch him.

He smiles wide. "As pretty as Laney?"

"No one is as pretty as Laney."

"Yeah," he says. "So can you sing it for me? Like she did for you?"

I clear my throat, ready my voice. I force a smile and whisper the song to him. "There were seven Prestons in the bed and the little one"-I point to him- "said, roll over, roll over, so they all rolled over and Lucy fell down."

He laughs under his breath, his eyes drifting shut.

"There were six Prestons in the bed and the little one said, roll over, roll over, so they all rolled over and Lucas fell down."

Even though he's fast asleep by the time I get to Logan, I finish the song until it's done. Then I get out of bed, listen to Lane upstairs on the phone, probably talking to Cooper. For the first time ever, I feel out of place. Being here doesn't feel like it used to. I don't know if I should leave or if I should stay to let her know I'm going to leave. I exhale loudly, try to calm my nerves. I start to pace, back and forth, round and round. Meanwhile, she's upstairs, laughing at whatever Cooper's saying to her. I freeze when I get to her desk, a desk full of memories I have to try to forget somehow. There's a familiar picture of us on there. Once upon a time it was in a frame and sat in the center of her bookshelf like a proud possession. The picture was taken by my mom the day we met, me in my dirty Superman shirt, her in her slogan tee. Her hair was shorter then, not as wavy as it is now. We both wore gla.s.ses, and my pathetically wide grin showed the giant gap between my two front teeth. Our arms are around each other as if we'd been friends for years, or maybe we just knew that we'd be friends for years to come.

I move papers out of the way so I can pick it up, but my fingers graze on a piece of cloth-one that she uses for her cross-st.i.tches. I pick it up, and my eyes widen, my breath catches, my knees weaken. It's a replica of the picture of us, but it's incomplete, certain parts of us missing. Her smile is there, though, and my chest aches when I skim my thumb over it. And even though I can hear her footsteps on the stairs making her way down to me, I don't put it down. I don't move. I can't.

She's next to me now. Coconuts, lime, and Laney.

"I was working on it to give to you for your birthday but..." She doesn't finish her sentence. She doesn't need to.

"I should go," I whisper.

"Wait," she says, and I swallow my pride and face her. "Can we talk, maybe?"

I nod, though I'm terrified of what she has to say.

She points to the couch in her room-my old bed when I was strong enough to stay out of hers.

We sit.

"So..." I say.

"So..." she says back.

"Um..." I push back the puke. "How are you and Cooper?"

"Fine," she says quickly. "But I don't want to talk about him."

Good. Neither do I.

"I wanted to apologize to you."

"Me?" I ask. "For what?"

She looks away. First at one wall. Then another. Then she clenches and unclenches her fists, a sign of nerves. Her hands always need to be doing something, that's why she finds knitting so therapeutic.

I say, "You don't owe me anything, Lane."

"I do," she says, her voice quiet. She inhales loudly, exhales the same way. "I've always put you on a pedestal, Luke. I always thought you were a G.o.d amongst men, and I think, deep down, I expected you to act that way. And that wasn't fair to you. At all." Her lips tremble, and I inch closer, wanting to save her from her own thoughts. She sniffs once, tries to keep it together. "I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you, and as we got older I started seeing you differently and I don't know, I guess I just had this picture in mind of what it would be like to be with you in that way." She wipes at her eyes before her tears can be released, but I don't need to see them to know they exist, I can hear it in the shakiness of her voice, feel it in the breaking of my heart. I hate seeing her sad. I hate it even more when I cause it.

I let her speak, not interrupting, because I know it's important to her that she says what she needs to say and have me hear it. "In my mind, and in here,"-she covers her heart with her hand- "it's always been you, Lucas."

It's always been you, too, Laney.

"And in the end, I got what I wanted. And my expectations of you have nothing to do with who you are as a person or as a friend. That's all on me."

"Laney." I shake my head, my vision blurred by my own tears, my own thoughts. I hate that you feel this, Laney.

"And I'm sorry that I've been shutting you out the way I have, because it's not your fault." She looks over at Lachlan, sleeping peacefully in what was once our bed. "I should've been there for him." She sniffs again, wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "Besides, it was just s.e.x, right?"

I drop my gaze, the ache in my chest intensified. Laney's never been an "it was just s.e.x" kind of person. I was, and now I made her the same way. Either me or... "So you and Cooper?" I hate asking the question as much as I hate seeing the answer in her eyes. I lift the cross-st.i.tch I'm still holding onto. "Can I have this?" I ask.

She offers me a half-hearted smile. "But I'm not done with us," she says.

I look into her eyes, memorize them. "Yeah, Lane. I think you are."

Chapter Sixteen.

LOIS.

The texts started at 5:30 this morning.

Single-letter messages.

The first was an H.

Then an A.

Followed by a P P.

Y.

I was almost back to sleep when the next set came.

B.

I.

R.

You get the rest.

All from Cooper.

This year, my birthday landed on Wednesday, which is also Cooper's busiest day on campus. He couldn't be with me physically, but he sure let me know he was here in spirit.

I sit in my first cla.s.s, half asleep because of the thoughtful (and relentless) texts all morning. Dumb Name walks toward me, a piece of paper in his hand. "From Luke's brother," he says, dropping it on my desk.

"Which one?"

"I don't know all their names," he huffs out. "The annoying one."

I unfold the note, smile when I see the stick-figure drawing of a girl holding balloons next to a cake the same size as the girl.

Dear Lamey, Lunch.

Cafeteria.

Be there or be a f.u.c.king idiot.

I like your b.o.o.bs, - Logan.

There's a knock on the door and Mrs. Miles sighs, annoyed by the distraction, and opens the door. A man waits on the other side behind a giant bouquet of flowers. "Is there a Lois Sanders in here?" he asks.

I sink lower in my seat, listening to the oohs and aahs coming from my cla.s.smates. Mrs. Miles points me out, and the delivery man brings the flowers to me. "Lucky girl," he tells me. I've never really been a flowers kind of girl, so I can't say what they are. They smell good, though, and they're so big I have to stand to look for the card, even though I know who they're from.

"Thank you, young man." Mrs. Miles shoos him away.

"I'm not done," the man says. "Our customer wanted to make sure the other girls didn't feel left out." He then proceeds to hand a single red rose to all the girls in the cla.s.s, including my teacher, while the cla.s.s breaks out in whispers, Cooper's name on everyone's tongue. My cheeks burn with embarra.s.sment, hating the attention.

"High school relationships aren't what they used to be," Mrs. Miles mumbles, trying to regain the attention of the cla.s.s.

I find the card, read it.

Happy 18th Birthday to the most beautiful girl in the world.

I love you.

- Cooper.

"How are you even going to fit that in your locker?" Dumb Name asks. "Coop didn't think this one out, huh?"