by Mariah Dietz
I follow her through the door she holds open, through the mid-sized break room and out a backdoor that she props open with a brick. The alley is dark, the double light fixture over the door exposing only one of the two bulbs working. A used needle is on the ground beside the butt of a cigarette. I’m about to ask again why she works and find the least invasive way of asking her not to come out here again by herself while it’s dark when she steps farther outside.
“What’s going on with Paxton?” she asks, raising the lid of a large recycling bin.
I shove the cardboard inside, pushing the lid down to pack it before turning my attention back to Raegan. “He won’t focus,” I tell her. “We’ve got two games left, and we need him.”
“I saw it Saturday,” she admits. “There’s so much going on. It feels like trying to pin down a giant tarp in a windstorm, and I don’t know which corner to try and secure first. Is it because our mom left? Because our dad had an affair? Because he hit Paxton? Because he’s doubting everything?” She sighs. “I appreciate you coming to me and letting me know. I’ll try talking to him. Maybe I can get at least one corner nailed down.”
She removes the brick holding the door, looking at me with surprise as I move to keep it open so she can go first. “Thanks,” she says quietly, slipping past me. She stops in the middle of the breakroom, turning to face me. “We don’t have to hang out. I don’t have any expectations of you, Lincoln.”
I step closer, her eyes bouncing between mine as I digest her words. Her lack of expectations is one of the most freeing things about being around her, but it’s also something that concerns me far more than I would have ever assumed because, without expectations, it means she doesn’t believe in me—believe in us.
“Grab your coat. We’re going.”
Something sparks in her gaze, then she bites her bottom lip, and for a second, I nearly forget that I’m here to convince her I want more than to be in her pants. I lean back on my heels. “You can ride with me. I’ll bring you back by to pick up your car.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere others can’t fucking interfere.”
24
Raegan
I zip my coat up to my neck as we step outside, my co-worker’s gazes heavy on us through the large windows.
Lincoln doesn’t seem to notice, leading me to his black truck, where he opens the passenger side door for me, offering his hand.
It feels strange to accept it, but stranger not to, so I allow him to help me up and inside the cab of his truck where warmth is slowly fading into the November evening. “Do you have a plan, or are we winging this?”
“Are you nervous?”
A dry laugh hits my lips. “How did you manage to answer my question with a question?”
“Does it bother you?”
“Is this a contest?”
“You know I’d win if it were, right?”
I shake my head, not working to fight my grin. “Yes, because you’re the stubbornest person I’ve ever met.” I pause before adding. “You know that, right?”
His face lights with a smile. “Have you ever played Whirlyball?”
“I’ve never even heard of Whirlyball.”
“How do you feel about bumper cars?”
A nervous laugh tinkers through my lips. “I don’t know the last time I rode a bumper car,” I admit.
“Well, that’s about to change.”
“What’s the Whirlyball part?”
He puts his truck in gear, backing out of his parking space. “You’ll see.”
“As long as it isn’t going to give us a black eye or broken nose for your Dad’s wedding this weekend.”
He laughs. “That would make it even better.”
“You know,” I start as he pulls onto the highway. “I was thinking about the wedding a little, and with everything happening with my dad and all the news, I didn’t know if maybe you’d rather take someone else?”
His gaze cuts to me, the humor that had been there now absent. “I don’t give a single fuck if one of them has a thought or opinion about your dad. Not one.”
“But, it’s your dad’s wedding, and we told half the people at the party who my dad was. They’ll all know. My grandpa found out because it made the news.”
Lincoln’s chin goes up like an invisible force shoved him. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“She was a student,” I say on a sigh. “And two more students have come forward with the same accusation.” It feels wrong to say the word accusation, like there’s any doubt.
He looks at me, his eyes shaded by darkness. “My dad’s already had five weddings. I don’t doubt for a minute he’ll have a dozen more. I just need to know that you’re okay.”
My thoughts are still fragile. A quick ‘no, I’m not okay’ is screamed from somewhere deep in my heart where I work to shut the curtains on Lincoln, and my dad, and that my mom’s gone on the other side of the country, and Maggie’s on the other side of the world. But rather than give that scared part of me a voice, I simply nod. “I’m okay.”
Lincoln stares at me for a moment allotted by a traffic light. The roads are too busy for him to pull over or remain stalled. He takes his foot off the brake, the truck sliding back into traffic as his eyes return to the road. “When you lie, you lick your lips and fidget.”
“I’m not…” I instantly reply, my words falling away as he glances at my lap. I drop my gaze to my hands, where I’m rotating my phone like it’s a rectangular wheel across my legs. “I knew.” The admission hits my lips before I can stop it, before I can process how terrible the timing is because we’re pulling into a parking lot where Lincoln has no distractions, and I’ll have a dozen questions to face.
“Knew what?”
I swallow, but my throat is dry. “I knew about the affair. I’d caught him a few weeks ago. I don’t know if it was the same girl or not, but I knew.”
Lincoln’s stare is as penetrating as it is intense, reading my thoughts like he can see my memories. “What happened?”
“I should have told my mom.” Tears cloud in my eyes and clog my throat.
“He should have told your mom. Jesus. When did this happen?”
“Shortly after Maggie left.”
“That night I took you home, after the engagement party when your dad was leaving…?”
I nod. “I think so.”
“Son of a bitch.” He shakes his head, taking in a harsh breath.
“This year has been so eye-opening,” I admit, leaning back in the seat, so it supports my neck and shoulders completely. “In a matter of weeks, I’ve learned I’m not invincible, and love is like one of those really bad sheet cakes you get from the grocery store, pretty to look at but packed with regret and imitation.” Memories of my dad are like bubbles, popping as they surface into a new reality. “I told you I was going to be shitty company,” I say, turning to look at him.
He shakes his head. “You’re more bulletproof than you think.”
I don’t want to debate this, not when I faced an entire firing range because of my feelings for him. “Are you going to show me what this Whirly-gig is?”
He smiles—it’s weak and uneven, but it touches his eyes. “Whirlyball,” He nods. “Let’s go.”
The rain is light but constant drizzle that has me rushing to the front of Lincoln’s truck, where he’s waiting for me. Without a word, he grabs my hand, pulling me in the direction of the door. He pulls it open with his free hand, and when I try to break our connection, he holds on tighter. I glance at his knuckles looped around mine, and then at him, but his focus is on the crowded counter he’s pulling me toward.
“Beckett. What’s up, man.” A stocky guy with auburn hair steps forward. “Glad you could make it.” He reaches us, his gaze traveling between Lincoln and me, his eyebrows hitching a bit higher with each pass.
Lincoln nods. “What’s up, Chris.” His body is angled toward me, his feet spread like he could break into a sprint or tak
e a hit. At the engagement party, he had positioned himself like this nearly each time someone engaged us in conversation, keeping distance, so I never felt trapped, but it also had me feeling included, though I rarely had anything to add to the conversation, similar to now. “This is my friend, Raegan. Rae, Chris,” he says. “We went to high school together.”
Chris grins. “You want to know anything about him, I’m your guy. I know all his dirty little secrets.”
Lincoln scoffs, triggering laughter from Chris, and it grows as two other guys converge on us. “This is Petey and Juan,” Lincoln says, pointing at each of them. “Guys, this is Raegan.”
“Did I hear you say we’re sharing Lincoln’s embarrassing stories?” Juan asks, a broad smile that looks easy and as common as breathing for him. “We should start easy with her. Wait. Wait. How long have you known him?”
Lincoln chuckles. “Do your worst.”
This is the side of Lincoln that makes me feel like jelly. Like my heart and feet are both levitating. Like this bond between us might be genuine and as authentic as my fears. It’s the strength he exudes, how relaxed and at ease he is even when he’s the target. It does something weird to my thoughts and emotions and has me believing that even in the worst situation, he’d be able to protect me from the cruelest parts of this world. In the past month, he’s opened the shades, allowing me to see through windows that reveal his past, and this feels like a highway.
“My favorite story is still the grilled cheese sandwich,” Petey says, shaking his head and chuckling like he’s already told the punchline.
I glance at Lincoln. “Grilled cheese sandwich?”
Petey laughs harder, his cheeks growing red. “Freshman year, we raided my dad’s liquor cabinet, and your boy here,” he pauses to laugh again.
“Oh, I remember this,” Chris says, pointing at Lincoln. “Don’t try and pretend like you don’t.”
Lincoln shakes his head, his fraction of a smile making me grin. “I don’t remember.”
“You’d smoked, and were struggling with a severe case of the munchies, and you went to make a grilled cheese.” Petey places an arm across his gut, as though it will prevent him from laughing. “And you were bragging to everyone about knowing the tricks to make a fast grilled cheese, so you toasted your bread and then melted the sandwich in the microwave.”
Lincoln’s smile grows. “It’s still genius.”
Petey laughs outright. “But, you used your fucking phone as one of the slices of bread and didn’t realize it till you pulled it out of the microwave.”
Lincoln laughs. “I think I broke the damn microwave, too.”
They share in a chorus of laughter, Lincoln’s eyes on me.
“What about that time he was trying to clean the pool?” Juan starts, buckling at the waist.
“Oh, God. No.” Petey shakes his head. “We’re not reliving that story.”
Lincoln shakes his head. “We really shouldn’t.”
“Oh, you can’t stop there. That’s the equivalency of telling someone you made dessert and then not sharing,” Chris says.
Juan’s grin spreads. “Oh, trust me, I’m happy to share this dessert.” He points at Lincoln. “So, Lincoln was supposed to be cleaning his pool, and Petey ran up behind him, trying to scare him, and so Lincoln turned around, gripping the vacuum-like it was a fucking sword, and it connected with Petey’s…” he pauses, his chest vibrating with laughter. “Let’s just call it his manhood region.”
Laughter bubbles out of me.
“To this day, I question if I’ll be able to have kids,” Petey admits. “I thought that damn thing was going to castrate me.”
My cheeks ache from laughing when Lincoln’s grip on my fingers constricts.
“Let’s go!” Someone yells from a few feet in front of us. He’s older, mostly bald, wearing a black T-shirt with the name of a country band.
“Don’t worry,” Juan says. “We’ve got plenty more stories.” He flashes his smile. “How long have you guys been a thing?”
I shake my head, dismissing what our tied fingers misrepresent. “We’re friends.”
Juan flicks his gaze to Lincoln as though to verify this fact.
“Can you believe it took me over a month to convince her?” he asks, his tone light, easy, teasing.
“I like her already,” Juan says.
Lincoln chuckles as we pass through the second door that leads to a room that smells like floor polish and a lack of fresh air. “Come on. We’re on this side,” Lincoln says, interrupting my review of the room that reminds me of a large gymnasium, except this room has walls the same shade of yellow as the original mustard that Poppy puts on her hot dogs every home football game. It reminds me of a skating rink, a large open space in the middle, with benches partitioned by a half wall.
“How competitive is this?” I ask.
“Worried?”
“I’m trying to decide.”
He grins. “I’m still debating if this was the best idea or the worst,” he admits.
I laugh. “That’s not very assuring.”
His grin turns into a smile. “You’ll do fine. You’re going to kick these guys’ asses.” His gaze sweeps over the group, and it’s then I realize I’m the only girl here.
“Have you played Whirlyball before?” Petey asks, carrying a bucket filled with what look like lacrosse sticks but without the actual stick, just a short handle.
“I’ve never even heard of it.”
He grins. “Have you played lacrosse?”
“Does PE count?”
Lincoln’s hand slides from mine, the contact a noticeable absence as I keep my hands still, each of my fingers still separated by the width of his for several seconds. “It counts. You’re an athlete. You’ll catch on no problem.” His brown eyes connect with mine, furthering his assurance. My confidence is a dozen paces behind his as he arms me with a shortened lacrosse stick.
“What exactly are we doing?” I ask, watching as several start flooding the floor, getting into bumper cars.
“This game is like basketball meets lacrosse and has an uncle who likes hockey,” Juan says. “These aren’t normal bumper cars. They’re faster, and you can turn quicker.” He points to the far wall where a blackboard is hung with a circle in the middle. “There’s a goal on each side. That’s where you’re trying to score.”
“While riding in a bumper car?” I ask.
“A Whirlybug. And you can bump into people just not from the back. In fact, I recommend you ram people because they’re going to be afraid to hit a girl. And this is your scoop.” Petey says, pointing to the contraption I’m holding.
“All right, Kerosene. Give it your all.” Lincoln winks—an expression as new as this experience—and my toe catches the bucket Petey had carried over to us, making me stumble just enough to draw attention to myself.
“You good?” Lincoln asks, his smile turned devious.
My cheeks grow warm with embarrassment as his knowing gaze settles on me. “Yup.” I stride past him, heading for one of the red Whirlybugs.
My confidence is still trying to balance on the small iceberg in this ocean of newness when Lincoln stops at my little car and places one foot in my car as he leans forward, invading my space and air and thoughts as his hands brush my side. He grabs the seatbelt and fastens it around my waist. “Safety first.” He flashes his trademark smile, the one I’ve seen grace newspapers and highlight reels. He’s toying with me.
25
Lincoln
Raegan’s laughing.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her laugh in weeks, and the sight and sound are so distracting, one of the players from the opposing team nearly manages to block me into the corner I was stopped in to take in the view.
The buzzer sounds, ending the game, but not the smile still spread across her face.
Several are talking, sharing highlights of the game as well as the blunders as Rae frees her seatbelt and looks across the space at me.
&n
bsp; “You guys want to grab something to eat? We could hit up Shari’s?” Juan says.
I shake my head. “Maybe next time.”
He grins. “Because you guys are going to practice your friendship skills?”
One of the players from our team is talking to Raegan. It’s benign and friendly, her posture expressing ease. Juan follows my gaze and then turns back to me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you give googly eyes to some chick.”
“She’s different, and she’s definitely not some chick.”
Juan shakes his head. “No, I can see she’s not. So why are you guys labeling it as friendship?”
“I’ve done one hell of a job fucking things up. I guess we could call this my redemption period.”
“By getting yourself friend-zoned?” He cocks a brow. “You know what you need to do, right?”
“Not listen to your shitty advice?”
Juan shakes his head. “Make her a nice meal—girls eat that shit up. Get her some flowers, find some shitty playlist, and then tell her you wanked off your first three years of high school because you wanted someone as special as her, but never thought she could possibly exist.”
“What wizarding school of assholery are you enrolled at, dick face?”
He laughs. “I like her. She seems chill.”
I nod, thinking of some of the slightly neurotic things she’s said and done, then the more passionate ones, realizing that Rae continually keeps me on my toes, guessing how she’s going to react to a situation.
Juan clasps my bicep. “Easy on the ‘roids. She won’t like you when your equipment shrinks.”
Laughter hits my lips as Juan salutes me and takes several steps toward the exit. “I’ll see you, Beckett.”
When I turn my attention to Raegan, her eyes are already on me. “Did you have fun?” I ask, closing the distance between us.
“I’m pretty sure I’m deserving of the least valuable player award.” She laughs.
“I don’t know if you missed it, but nearly everyone sucks.”
