• • •

Wes didn't like repeating himself.

It wasn't something he said out loud— people usually caught on the first time. That was kind of his thing. Clear. Direct. Efficient.

So when Laken stepped out wearing the bracelet, the conversation they'd had three weeks ago came rushing back.

"You found it."

Laken looked down, "I never lost it. It was in my jewelry box."

What a time to bring it out.

He continued to look over what she was wearing, pausing again at the necklace she wore, "Is that new?"

"No. You've seen me wear it before."

Wes thought that over as she sat on the chaise to slip on her shoes.

His eyes moved back to the bracelet.

Then the necklace.

The matching metal. The matching stones.

"Did he buy both?"

Laken sighed, low, "Yes."

Wes turned back to the mirror. Adjusted his collar. Took his time with it.

"I just think it's interesting," he said, "that out of all the jewelry you have, that's what you landed on."

"I liked how it looked with the dress."

"Convenient."

He didn't look at her when he said it, reaching for his cologne.

Behind him, Laken was quiet.

Wes waited.

Right on cue—

"Are we doing this before we go?" she asked.

"No." He glanced at her in the mirror briefly. "I'm just saying what I noticed."

She held his gaze for a second. Then looked away.

They moved through the apartment without speaking. He held the elevator door. She stepped in without acknowledging it.

The doors closed and he watched the numbers descend and didn't say anything else about the bracelet.

He wouldn't bring it up again tonight.

He didn't need to.

• • •

The venue was on the thirty-second floor.

Laken had been here before. Different occasion, same view — the city spread out in every direction like it was showing off.

She stepped off the elevator and let the room settle around her, taking stock the way she always did. Music, florals, the right people in the right outfits. A bar along the far wall.

She noted where the bar was.

Wes's hand came to her lower back as they moved through the entrance. She didn't pull away. She just didn't lean into it either.

Convenient.

She touched the bracelet once, briefly, with her other hand. Then stopped.

Danielle was in full party-planner mode, ushering everyone to their spots to surprise Grace.

"Is it a surprise if she already knows?" Cam mumbled to Laken, "I've never seen somebody make a guest list for a party they didn't know they were having."

Laken laughed, "Who told her?"

"My dad, probably."

She looked across at the man who looked like he stole Girl Scout cookies, "I doubt it."

"Don't." Cam grabbed a drink off a passing tray. "He told me what I was getting for Christmas in October."

Laken laughed again while Cam continued, "His whole thing is 'don't ask questions you don't want the answers to'."

The elevator chimed.

Several conversations cut off at once.

Once Grace stepped off, the room resounded with a chorus of happy birthdays. Laken hung back with the family, waiting for Grace to find them.

Laken was surprised when Grace hugged her first, "You came."

"Of course." She hugged her back, "Happy birthday, pretty girl."

"Thank you! Come meet my friends."

For a while, it was fine. More than fine. Grace's friends were easy — loud in that overlapping, finishing-each-other's-sentences way of people who'd survived something together, freshman year or a terrible roommate or both.

Laken slipped in without effort. She was good at this, always had been. She picked up a glass from a passing tray without really thinking about it, something sparkling, barely tasted it.

But the bracelet was still sitting with her.

Not heavy. Just there.

She wasn't angry. Wes had done what he always did. Made an observation. Left it sitting between them.

Now she was the one carrying it around.

• • •

Laken found Cameron at the bar, already leaning against the counter.

He and Wes could be twins. Same face, same eyes— all of it assembled just slightly looser.

"Two more hours." Cam greeted her, "You want one?"

She looked at what he was drinking, "What is it?"

"Picky. Yes or no?"

Laken almost smiled, "Sure."

That was how it started. And it was nothing — that was the thing she'd try to explain later and know it would come out wrong. They weren't talking about anything that mattered, which was exactly why it felt like relief.

Cam made fun of the DJ. She defended him. Cam put in a request that made things measurably worse and she told him so, loudly, and he laughed like that was the correct response.

They traded college stories, an impromptu competition about who had the better experience.

Cam didn't blink when she mentioned something ridiculous she'd done at nineteen— just immediately launched into a story that was somehow worse.

"That's not even bad." Cam said, flagging the bartender, "I had to leave school my junior year to go to rehab."

Laken accepted defeat, "Yeah, you got it."

"The craziest part is, that was my first time doing the shit. Fuckin' Grace asked my dad why was I putting sugar in my nose."

"Booger sugar."

Cam laughed as he placed another tip in the jar, sliding a shot glass towards her, "How has it been two years since I met you, and I'm just now finding out that you're funny?"

"You don't talk to me."

"You don't talk, period. To anybody."

Laken frowned, "That's not true."

"It is."

"Honestly? It's your dad."

"What?"

She lifted her glass, "The nigga is scary as fuck."

That made him laugh again. Louder.

Drawing attention their way that neither of them cared to acknowledge.

Laken wasn't drunk. She knew herself well enough to know the line, and she wasn't close to it. She was just loose — easy in her laugh, not carrying anything.

"One more for the road?" Laken suggested, "Your two hours is almost up."

"Hell yeah."

"You're not driving, right? I don't want you back in rehab."

"I actually had fun in there, too. Remind me to tell you the story."

"It always seems like it would be fun. I'm too shy to go."

Cam snorted, "Imagine me sitting there 'cause I did two lines, and it's people who were snorting the shit in their sleep."

"Did you tell them why you were there?"

"No." He sighed, "I was lying in group like I was one of them."

Laken laughed, "What'd you say?"

The bartender sat two fresh glasses in front of them.

A hand reached past her.

Pushed one back across the bar.

"She's good."

Wes wasn't looking at Laken. He was looking at the bartender, easy, unbothered. The bartender nodded once and pulled the glass back without a word.

The bar wasn't loud enough. The attention she wasn't acknowledging earlier, it forced its way in.

She felt the shift in the air immediately, heat creeping up her neck— slow, then all at once.

Embarrassed.

Cam looked at Laken, then turned back to the bar, finishing his glass, "Goodnight."

"Is this a joke?" Her question was low enough for only Wes to hear her.

"You don't need it."

"That's not what I asked."

Wes looked at her then, his smile tight, "Let's go find my mom."

"I want to go home."

Something moved behind his eyes that didn't make it to his face.

"Okay."

No argument. No negotiation. Just — okay.

Which somehow made it worse.

Laken felt pressure in her head, the urge to yell at him— it wouldn't get a response anyway. He thought people who yelled were poor communicators.

It was all the same. Dialing back emotions, because even in your worst moments.

You should have control.

There were no goodbyes given as she walked ahead of Wesley to the elevator. She felt eyes on her, didn't care.

Thirty-two floors of silence. Laken stared at the numbers above the door and waited.

The car was waiting where he'd left it.

As soon as they were both in, Laken turned to him, "I would never in a million fucking years embarrass you like that."

Wes glanced at her briefly, starting the car, "What did I do that was embarrassing?"

"I'm not a child, Wesley."

"You're not." He agreed, "But I know how Cam orders drinks and you'd been over there a while."

"If you had a problem, you could've pulled me aside, anything but let people know you're the fuckin' liquor police."

"You either didn't see or care how people were watching you." Wes turned out of the venue, "I did."

"And I don't give a fuck about them!"

"So why do you feel embarrassed?"

"I know my limits. I know how much I can drink before-"

"Before you can't walk out of a party? Before you pass out on the couch? In the bathroom throwing up the next morning?"

"I had two drinks and one shot. Do you think that's enough to not be able to walk out?"

"You tell me, Laken. I'm finding out different shit about you everyday."

Laken inhaled deeply, "What have you found out about me recently? Share it with the class."

He laughed. It wasn't funny.

"I found out that you like Clase more than wine."

She didn't respond, Wes continued,

"I found out you don't tell me things if you don't think I'll like the answer."

Laken scoffed, shaking her head.

"And I found out every boundary I ask for gets negotiated."

"Boundaries? Or control?"

"Have I ever tried to control you?" Wes asked, his eyes leaving the road completely, "Name once— one fucking time I ever tried to do that."

"Tonight."

Wes was quiet for a moment. His eyes went back to the road.

"Forgive me, for not wanting to deal with the aftermath of that shit. I'm sorry for not wanting you to get drunk as fuck in front of my dad."

"Goodnight." Laken faced her entire body toward the window, "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

The low hum of the engine filled the car the rest of the drive.

• • •

Laken lay in the guest bedroom.

Wes had only asked once if she was sleeping in there, and closed the door when he got no response.

Meanwhile, she hovered over the keyboard on her phone. No internal conflict, she sent the message.

are you up?

Noah: yeah. you good?

She navigated to his contact, pressing FaceTime. It rang once before connecting.

"What's up? You need some?"

Laken ignored that, "What did you do today?"

She heard shuffling as his face disappeared from the screen. A second later he came back into the frame, closing the door behind him.

"Damn near tore some shit in my leg tryna' keep up with them young niggas. They told me not to come back til mandatory practice."

Laken hummed, "Football players age in dog years."

"I mean, it worked out. I'll probably be home later this week."

She was quiet for a second. "Good."

Noah tilted his head. "That all I get?"

"You want a parade?"

"At least a balloon."

"I'll have my people call your people."

Noah smiled, "You got people?"

"Don't know if you forgot, but my family does own the biggest—"

"Here we go." Noah sighed, making her laugh, "You're a teacher, bro. Darren and Jared's people don't count."

"I hate flexing, but you're baiting me."

"Little bit." He adjusted the phone, getting comfortable wherever he'd walked to, "Why you up?"

"Can't sleep. Why are you?"

Noah's eyes flicked away from the screen for a second, coming back, "I got company."

"Oh."

It came out... more sarcastic than she intended.

Laken rolled to her back, staring at the ceiling, "You didn't have to answer if you have somebody there."

"I'm knowing you ain't call for no reason at..." Noah looked at the time, "12 AM."

"I wanted to hear about your day."

Noah started talking.

It wasn't anything important.

A trainer and a nutritionist almost fought.

His publicist threatened to quit for the fifth time this week.

Noah was looking for furniture for his apartment, finally.

Laken listened, occasionally adding something, laughing— mostly listening.

At some point she stopped looking at the ceiling and turned on her side instead, phone propped against the pillow.

"What kind of furniture?" she asked.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Destiny sent me some shit, and I'm kinda fucking with it, but it just seem like too much for an apartment."

"You spend majority of your time there." Laken easily skipped over the part about her, "It should feel like home."

"I have a home."

She smiled at that without meaning to, "I'm tryna' get like you."

He laughed, low, and she heard him moving again. A door, a voice in the background — Destiny, probably, asking something she couldn't make out. Noah said something back, too quiet to catch, and then there was a brief silence before he came back to the phone.

"She said goodnight."

Laken blinked. "She knows you're talking to me?"

"I don't do secrets."

It landed without him meaning it to. Or maybe he meant it. With Noah she could never fully tell.

So she asked, "Do I?"

"Not with me."

Laken was quiet.

She didn't know if he could even see her in the darkness, see the confirmation on her face.

Neither of them spoke, and Laken knew him enough to know that he wouldn't fill the silence until she did.

"I'm not calling my ex to complain about my current relationship."

"Engagement." Noah corrected.

"Even worse. I called to be distracted."

"I thought I was doing a good job."

"You were, up until—"

Laken stopped talking, her eyes going to the bedroom door as it opened.

"I can't sleep."

Wes stood in the doorway, turning the light on.

"I'm sorry I embarrassed you. Can you come to bed?"

She blinked, forcing herself not to look down at the phone.

"Yeah." She said, "Give me a second."

Wes nodded once and stepped back, leaving the door open. His footsteps padded back down the hall.

Laken slowly looked back at the phone.

Noah's expression was unreadable, "Goodnight, Lake."

No teasing. No well then. No making it into anything. Just — goodnight.

"Goodnight."

• • •