“Rae,” I say when she doesn’t continue.
Her eyes slowly meet mine, bluer with the light blue fabric stretched across the booth behind her.
“I won’t do what your dad did.” The moment I say the words, her eyes shine with emotions I know she won’t recite, regardless of how much time I allow because that’s the fucked-up thing about the relationship we have between our parents: we want them to be gods among men, we expect that and provide the platform for them to live out that lie. We feed that image lies, excuses, and dreams, and some parents abuse that, taking advantage of the unconditional love while others strive to meet it, and some fuck it up so royally, it’s difficult to remember the moments when we saw them as anything except regrets.
The waitress arrives with our drinks, placing the orange juice, hot chocolate, and one coffee in front of me. “You ready to order?”
Rae blinks all the emotions away, then lifts her chin, her gaze clear as she looks at me for confirmation.
“Go ahead,” I tell her.
She grins. “He’ll have the crepes, extra strawberries with a side of hash browns, extra crispy. And I’ll have the eggs benedict, extra hollandaise sauce.”
The waitress turns her silent speculation to me, and I have to work to hold back my laughter as I nod. She gives a silent look of judgment, then spins around.
Rae shrugs. “Since you ordered for me, I figured I’d order for you.”
“Crepes?”
“Those are actually for me. That was just my perverse joke because I knew she’d expect them to be for me like she expected all these drinks were for you.”
I chuckle, entertained by the rationale behind her decision as I slide the hot chocolate and orange juice to her. “How’d you know I always order eggs benedict?”
“With extra hollandaise,” she tags on, straightening her silverware before her blue eyes flash to mine, playful with a touch of something that makes my heart pound in my chest, recognizing it without understanding it. “I’ve also paid attention.”
“You can stay in my room. I’ll take the couch.”
She shakes her head. “That would qualify as interrupting your routine.”
“If you want this to be the topic of our first fight, I’m cool with that.”
Her chin draws up. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this. I can stay with friends and be safe and not make our relationship go from dating to living together.”
“Your stuff is all at our place. There are four of us living there, so you’ll never be alone. I have the most comfortable bed on the planet—a fact shared by no other than one Raegan Eileen Lawson. And because I can’t fucking sleep when you’re not there,” I tick the reasons off on my fingers, staring at her, daring her to challenge any of my points.
Her lips fall closed, and she blinks once. Twice. Three times, her response missing.
“Paxton’s still staying over at Candace’s. She lives alone, so it works. You can stay in his room, the living room, or my room. Your choice, Kerosene.”
“Are you going to stop calling me that?”
I grin, tucking my menu between the condiments and the window. “No. Are you ready to admit I won our first fight?”
“That wasn’t a fight.”
“Like I said, Everest.”
“I’m going to smother you in your sleep.”
“Hopefully with those fantastic breasts. That would be a great way to die.”
She shakes her head, pressing her lips together as she fights laughter.
“By the way, that was quite literally the hottest moment. I was ready to pull you back into the bathroom after you said that.”
“I was worried you were going to hit him.”
“Why did that make you worry? He deserved it.”
“Because you would get in trouble.”
“My dad’s a lawyer.”
She scoffs. “The guy was just trying to show off in front of his friends.”
“Maybe I was trying to show off for you?”
“You should try by ordering one of these smoothies. They look really good. I’d be totally impressed.”
“Totally impressed?”
That grin of hers flashes. “Strawberry-banana or wild berry. Your choice.”
“My bed. Decision made.”
35
Raegan
I stand in Poppy’s room, her full-length mirror a reminder of my own, except hers is surrounded in a thick black frame, the only accent color in her room.
“You look beautiful,” she says, standing beside me. My dress is a deep shade of amethyst with a sweetheart neckline, so long it brushes the floor. My nails are a nude tone, my eyes heavily shaded with eyeshadow and eyeliner that made me feel bold and beautiful when Poppy had applied it and has left me second-guessing everything since.
“I look really intense.”
Poppy clutches her stomach and throws her head back, belting out a laugh.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Only you would overthink this. You look gorgeous. Lincoln’s going to want to do it with you in the bathroom and the coat closet and every other room he can sneak you into.”
“What do I say if someone asks about my dad?”
Poppy’s smile slips fractionally as the question sinks in. “If someone asks about your dad, then they’re an asshole.”
“I don’t dispute that, but I feel like I need to be ready for this question. I mean, what if someone knows him or knows her.” I sigh. “She was young. It’s possible her parents could actually be there tonight. Can you imagine?” I told Poppy about having seen the girl a few weeks ago, a secret that still felt heavy, though significantly lighter after telling Lincoln. Admitting it to Poppy made it even lighter until the idea of telling any of my family members populated my thoughts, then it felt like an anvil.
She nods. “I doubt it. She might not even be from here. For all we know, she’s from some small town in Missouri.” Brighton has been silent about who she is, and I’ve dutifully ignored the news and haven’t heard anything from my dad. Maybe he knows I’m not ready to forgive him? Maybe he’s still trying to clean up his mess? Or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore now that he doesn’t have to hide anything?
I pull in a deep breath, the dress constricting around my waist and chest. “Hopefully, no one will say anything. They’ll probably just whisper behind my back.”
Poppy frowns. “Honestly, that sounds more likely to me, and in those cases, just ignore them. Focus on Lincoln and meeting Dr. Swanson.”
I nod, working to prepare myself for this public appearance that I’m selfishly making all about myself, when likely few will be paying attention to me. “You’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right. And, if anyone asks about your dad, just ignore them and find another glass of champagne.”
I laugh off her suggestion. “Do you have a handbag I can borrow? Black maybe? That’s something I didn’t even consider packing.”
Poppy nods, opening her closet, which is meticulously organized, going to the area where her handbags and purses are all neatly aligned. She returns a second later, a small black clutch with a leather bow on the front in her hand.
“Thank you.” I take it to her bed, where I open my purse to transfer the few items I’m going to need for the night.
“What is this?” Poppy grips a folded crane hooked on my wallet. “Rae?” Her eyes are wide with a silent accusation because, in Poppy’s eyes, omissions are lies, and this is another in the long line of my omissions from this fall.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” I tell her lamely.
“Does Lincoln know?”
I know better than to reach for the offending letter, knowing it will only make her react. “It was on my car Friday after class.”
“Raegan, whoever this is, he’s following you. He knows your schedule.”
“But he doesn’t call. He doesn’t try talking to me. He doesn’t even write threatening words. This one had
song lyrics on it—bad song lyrics at that.”
Her green eyes flash to mine, cutting past the bullshit. “Why are you joking about this?”
“I don’t want everyone to make this into a big deal and worry about it. What if I’m right and it’s just a joke? I mean, it makes sense that it’s a joke because they stopped after my accident and then when they started up again, they took a sharp right and just became goofy and random. Maybe it’s someone I know who’s just trying to make light of things?”
“What about your tires?”
I cringe. “We’re not sure that was the same person. What if that was just some random jerk?”
“Or maybe it’s someone who’s freaking stalking you. Do you understand the potential threat here? You’re so smart, and yet you’re being so dumb about this. I want to shake you.”
“I’ve spent hours upon hours reading about stalkers. None of these behaviors fit into any of the profiles. But I’ve stopped social media altogether. I never post where I’m at. I went from living with my parents to staying with friends or a house with four guys, and I’m rarely alone. I’ve received no gifts, no calls, no nothing. I feel like me blowing this up would just exacerbate everything and make it into something it isn’t.”
Poppy ignores my reasoning and proceeds to read the letter. Her eyes scan over the text twice before she looks at me. “Are you reading these?”
“I’ve read all the others.”
“Raegan,” she says my name like she’s exhausted by my ignorance. One I know is deserved, yet still struggle to accept.
“Can we just deal with it next week?”
“How many have you received recently?”
“Define recently.”
“Raegan,” she groans.
“Ten? A dozen, maybe?”
“A dozen! He’s telling you he watches you. This is scary. I’m worried. You need to tell people. You need to tell Paxton and your parents and the police.”
“I will.”
“Like you told everyone about your dad’s affair?”
It’s a low blow, one that leaves a gash in my sanity and conscience. Every day the line between right and wrong seems to thin and blur.
“I’m sorry,” she says, reaching for me. “That wasn’t fair. I get it. I get that too much is going on, and it’s hard to know where to focus your time and energy.”
“School alone is drowning me,” I tell her. “And then I have the aquarium and the coffee shop, and my parents, and Pax is struggling, and…”
“And you want to enjoy this time with Lincoln while everything is new and fun and sexy. I get it. But, you’re selling yourself short. You’ve got this, Rae. You only have a couple of weeks before finals, and you can afford to take less shifts at the coffee shop, and once you guys tell Paxton, you won’t feel like you have to sneak around to see each other. But you can’t ignore this,” she holds up the unfolded crane. “This needs to be at the top of your priorities right now.”
“Can I have one more night off before facing the music?”
“One,” she says. “Tomorrow, we rip off the Band-Aid.”
I pull in another deep breath, already dreading the moment.
The doorbell rings, breaking into the dread I’m imagining that will come with dissecting these letters and my next step. Poppy’s eyes meet mine. “Stop thinking this is all temporary. He likes you. You guys will figure all of this out. And I’ll be here for you, every step of the way.” I thread my fingers with hers, feeling the same weight, the same warmth, the same comfort I’ve always found in my best friend.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
She shakes off my apology. “I’m sorry I’ve been so focused on moving on. I know I’ve been distracted this year.”
My throat grows tight as tears slip down her cheeks, proof that she’s still trying to recover from her heartbreak. “Don’t apologize. You’ve always been here for me. Sometimes I just feel bad for depending so heavily on you.”
Poppy laughs, but it’s garbled. “You spent every day of our summer coming over and trying to cheer me up. Every. Single. Day. You’re the reason I was able to finally get out of bed and go to class and laugh this fall.”
“I just helped. That was all you.”
She shakes her head again. “It was you. This is what friendship is—we help each other, rely on each other to help us through the bad times, and celebrate the great times. I’m here for you, and I won’t let this crap pull you down. I swear. We’ll get past your dad, and this creep of a loser, and Pax, and all of it. I promise. Go enjoy your night and celebrate looking like a freaking princess with your prince charming.”
She blurs as tears build in my eyes.
“No. No. No. I was giving a happy speech. Girls rule, and we’ll persevere, rah, rah, rah!” She pumps a fist into the air, her hand still holding mine clutching tighter.
“This feels like a terrible idea. Every time I’m with him, I feel more—so much it feels impossible and too big and too great, and it just feels like I’m setting myself up for heartbreak.”
Poppy’s lips slide into a smile that teeters into a frown as she fights back her own tears. “You can’t look at it like that. If you expect every relationship to fail before it even starts, you’re not even trying.”
“But this isn’t just some relationship…”
She nods. “I know. I get it. It’s Lincoln.” She purses her lips. “You have to fight for it. Let all those feelings you’ve had for three years out, and let him in. Trust me, he’s not going to go anywhere. You guys have something. I see it—hell, I feel it. There’s an energy between you guys that is palpable. It makes me excited and so damn happy for you and hopeful and jealous because I want that. I want someone who looks at me like he’d part the sea and knock down mountains if he had to—the way Lincoln looks at you.”
I work to silence the fears and doubts that conflict with her assurance, the fact we’ve barely begun and how lust can be so misleading, but I focus on her words and the feeling that is so much deeper than just in my heart where the butterflies swarm whenever I see him or hear his name or think about him.
Poppy keeps my gaze, waiting for me to take another deep breath before she nods. “Everything’s going to be okay. We’ve got this.” She hugs me, her grip tight like she’s trying to keep my thoughts and confidence together. “My mom is likely grilling Lincoln. We should save him.” She studies my makeup, brushing a single finger below my left eye. “You look perfect.”
We find Lincoln in the living room, Poppy’s mom across from him. “You know, Rae’s like a daughter to me.”
It’s hard to believe her words, considering Poppy’s mom has always been so stern and cold, but the realization she’s like that even with Poppy has several walls of assumptions falling.
Lincoln nods. “I have no doubt. It’s hard not to care for her.” His attention cuts to the stairs, hearing our shoes, and his jaw falls, his gaze following each of my movements.
“Be sure to drive safely. No drinking. Make sure she’s home safe,” she continues.
Poppy giggles quietly at my side. “Can we modify my list to include a guy who falls speechless at the sight of me?”
We clear the last few stairs, and Poppy’s mom smiles at me. Lincoln slowly approaches, his dark eyes dancing across my face, the hint of a smile warming each of his handsome features before he leans forward and kisses my cheek. “You’re stunning.”
“You guys have fun,” Poppy says. “I’ll call you in the morning. We’ll do lunch or something. Get together…” I know what her trailed off sentence implies—discussing the cranes with everyone.
I nod, knowing it’s another part of the picture I have to acknowledge.
Poppy’s smile grows as Lincoln holds the door open, offering his hand to me.
We walk to the passenger side of his truck, where he opens the door. “Think they’re watching us?”
“Poppy, definitely.”
His smile flashes. “So, I need to
make this kiss PG?”
I grin, the unsteadiness I’d felt upstairs disappearing as I breathe him in and absorb the strength that translates through his touch. “Only for now.” He leans forward, that pirate smile stealing my heart as his lips brush against mine before he steps back and helps me into his truck before going around to the driver’s side.
“I went out again today,” I tell him. “Onto the ocean.”
His grin steals my breath. “How was it?”
“Easier. Blue was there, too.”
His grip steals my inhibitions. “Did he show off for you?”
“Is it crazy to think he knows who I am?”
“You’re the one who keeps telling us how brilliant they are.”
“I know he’s brilliant, it just seems kind of selfish to think I matter to a creature as brilliant as Blue.”
His gaze steals my thoughts and fears. “Do you realize how many people’s lives stopped the day you got hurt? You’re the furthest thing from insignificant. You matter to Blue because you matter, you matter to all of us.”
“Are you saying all of this because of the dress? Because you’re getting a little sappy.”
He chuckles. “Just wait until I’m taking the dress off of you. I won’t be able to censor my words then.”
Thankfully, I don’t have to think of anything witty or sexy to say in response because Lincoln’s pulling into the valet of the hotel where the wedding is being held. An attendant opens my door, his smile instant as he takes in our attire. “Welcome, are you guests?”
“We’re here for the Beckett wedding,” Lincoln says, accepting the ticket and passing a bill to him. He offers his arm to me, and I slide my arm through, wishing I’d worn a dress with long sleeves that covered my scar that looks nearly purple against my skin without the shawl I had to help camouflage it at the engagement party
“Why are you frowning?” Lincoln asks as we pass through the doors, the sweet scent of eucalyptus greeting us.
“I should have worn a jacket with long sleeves. As I get pastier, my scar seems to be getting darker.”
Lincoln smiles, rotating my arm to look at the jagged line. He raises my elbow, kissing the spot where my skin puckers and is the ugliest. “Eventually, I’m going to convince you when I tell you to fuck the rules and expectations. Besides, no one’s going to be looking at your scar. Trust me.”
Breaking the Rules: The Dating Playbook, Book: 2 Page 28
