Between The Lines

Chapter 113: Past Curfew

Third Person:

Lane's car rolled to a gentle stop in front of Rebecca's house. The soft hum of the engine ceased, and an eerie silence fell between them as they sat in the stillness. He turned toward her, his hand sliding to rest gently around her waist, pulling her just a little closer.

"I had fun tonight," she said softly, trying to hold onto the lightness of the evening for just a bit longer.

"So did I." His eyes were warm, but there was something else there too, something more serious. "You sure you're okay going in?"

Rebecca nodded, but her heart was already sinking. She knew what waited behind that door. The tension at home was always thick, and after the magic of the night with Lane, she wasn't ready to face it.

He seemed to sense her hesitation, his thumb brushing lightly over her waist. "I can wait with you a little longer if you want."

She shook her head with a small smile. "No, I'll be okay."

They both stepped out of the car, Lane gently pulling her closer as they walked up the path toward her front door, his arm still securely around her waist. The cool night air felt different now—heavier, like reality was slowly sinking back in.

Rebecca sighed softly, her fingers lingering on the front of his jacket. "Thanks for tonight," she whispered, looking up at him with a smile, trying to savour every last second of their time together.

Lane dipped his head down, brushing a soft kiss against her temple. "Anytime."

She knew she had to go inside, but she didn't want to leave his side. Her body felt warm, safe in his presence, like none of the chaos that waited beyond the door could touch her as long as he was there. But the moment was fading, and she knew it couldn't last.

Reluctantly, she pulled away from him, her hand trailing down his arm until their fingers barely touched. She gave him one last smile before turning toward the door, taking a deep breath to steel herself for whatever awaited inside.

But before she could even twist the handle, she saw the dim glow of a lamp shining through the window, and her heart sank. Her father's voice—low and tense—cut through the silence.

"Rebecca?"

She froze.

The door swung open, and there he stood, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, flicking between her and Lane with a cold understanding.

Her stomach dropped. He had seen them.

The warmth and safety she had felt just moments ago evaporated, replaced by a sickening pit of dread.

"Who is that?" her father asked, his voice deceptively calm but laced with an edge that made Rebecca's skin prickle.

Lane straightened behind her, his hand slowly dropping from her waist. "Mr. Taylor—"

"Inside, Rebecca," her father cut him off, his gaze not leaving Lane.

She glanced back at Lane, her heart pounding in her chest. His jaw was tight, and though his expression was calm, there was an unmistakable tension in the air.

"Go on," Lane said softly, his voice steady but his eyes filled with concern.

Rebecca swallowed hard, gave him one last look, and then, with a quiet nod, turned and stepped inside, the warmth of the house suddenly feeling stifling. As the door closed behind her, she heard her father's quiet sigh, and the silence that followed felt like a storm waiting to break.