When he came upstairs and realized that Lane was still sitting with Benny, Freeman felt the jealousy burn like bile in his throat. He tried to swallow it and when he couldn't, he dug past it for the resentment, grabbed on, and held tight.
Guess the Reverend Kelly won't mind his daughter getting close to a bartender now since the guy owns the bar. Or several, as it was in his, Benny, and Harry's case.
Freeman was sucking his teeth and congratulating himself for dodging the bullet that was Lane and her sanctimonious daddy when he heard Benny laugh. It wasn't as rowdy as it had been before...everything. But Benny laughed. Unable to resist, Freeman walked to the door of the den and leaned around the jamb.
Lane's eyes were wet. She fanned her face and fought back a giggling snort as Benny dropped his head into his hands and laughed some more.
Freeman wished he could say that relief at his cousin's merriment fixed him to his spot, but as he stood there it all rushed back; Lane rushed back. How she would laugh until she teared up and her brown cheeks turned ruddy; the time he had found her in the children's section of Burke's crying into Summer of My German Soldier like she hadn't read the book 20 times in half that many years. Her eyes full as she told him to leave.
He stood in the doorway and remembered how the tears had tasted mixed with his own as he held her face and kissed her, begged her to forget everyone else. Salt, shea butter, and the skin of her neck when he'd sucked and bruised her high under her chin and tried to make her forget. Freeman wished mightily that the mark were still there so that Benny would wipe that fucking smile off his face and-
"Stop," he said aloud to himself, and everything did. Lane looked to the door and Benny turned.
"Hey, Freck, come on in here. I was looking for you after dinner." Benny was still smiling, but Lane's face was guarded now. Not unkind, but so careful. The other day, he'd taken pride in her apparent unease. Now he stood bleeding memories, every feeling that she'd ever incited in him roaring in his head, and he knew that if there were a sorrier man than him in the universe, the nigga must be on Mars.
Lane's thoughts immediately turned to how she might get out of the door without looking at or being looked at by Freeman. She briefly wished she could pull a Dumbledore, and, rolling her eyes at herself, stood up.
"Be easy, Ben. I'm going to sleep. You need to, too, if y'all are hunting tomorrow."
"Look at you," Ben scoffed. "'If y'all gon' hunt tomorrow,' like you didn't just try to upend my moral code with that crazy ass story!"
Lane smiled, all innocence as she said, "I was just trying to help you, brother. But I guess some folks can't be helped." She made her way to the door. Partly to keep from looking at Freeman, she turned back to Ben.
"Don't forget those comics I told you about. They're dope."
While Ben assured her he wouldn't forget, Lane continued to the door and trained her eyes on the darkness outlining Freeman's tall frame. He stepped into the room to make way and she walked into the dark hall. When the door closed behind her, she stopped and let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
Lane couldn't dwell on having been caught off guard by Freeman again. It was dangerous, and she was already pretty raw from spending so much of the evening with Ben, who, despite his efforts not to burden his company, was hurt so deeply by his loss that that anyone with half a heart hurt for him.
Yoga, she thought. Yep. Yoga.
She pulled a hairband from her pocket and started working her big, spongy mane into a high puff in anticipation of the late-night workout.
"Why take it down just to pull it back up?"
Lane didn't scream, but it was close. She whirled, bumped into Freeman, and came close to a scramble as she backed away. Later when she thought about how close, her pride would take a hit.
Moonlight spilled through the window and cut across Freeman's face so that all Lane could see of his face in the dark was his freckled mouth and chin. Why wasn't he in the room? The door had shut only once and not opened again. And why is he so damn close?
Oddly, Lane heard her father's voice. I don't trust no red niggas. Too slick. What a Black man need with freckles and red hair?
"Your hair was up at dinner. You take it down for Benny?"
Freeman stepped in to Lane again and she saw his lip curl a little. At his nastiness, Lane felt less off-balance. She knew this game and wouldn't play it with him. Not with anybody, but certainly not with him.
"You surprised me. Excuse me," she said evenly, and headed toward her sister's room.
Great, she thought, and felt close to tears. Their first interaction since he'd practically thrown her into the cab at the Hayter's party, the first one in which they'd spoken directly to each other, and there it was. Not just cold, but nasty. Inside Maxi's room, she leaned on the door and sucked in some air. The cry was coming.
She ran to the bed and smacked Maxi on the butt.
"What the HELL, Lane?!"
"Fuck tears. Yoga. Now."
Maxi turned on the bedside lamp, still cursing. When she got a load of Lane, she heaved a sigh and flipped back the covers.
"Yoga, then. But don't say shit about my pajama bottoms."