by Mariah Dietz
Pax drops his face into one palm. It’s the weakest I’ve ever seen him. It’s also the strongest, as he continues to list his feelings without hesitation or regret before burying his face into the crook of Rae’s neck. She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, the other going around his shoulders.
There are dozens of moments I’ve been jealous of Paxton, watching him interact with his family—they stuck by him, going above and beyond so many times, and his relationship with both Maggie and Rae has always been solid—but watching them together now has me recognizing exactly how strong their bond is. It evokes a splintering pain of jealousy and fear as I realize she will always choose him, and for his benefit, I’m grateful to know that, yet the hollow feeling in my chest where the thought continues to echo leaves me feeling empty.
28
Raegan
I’m supposed to be at Poppy’s in fifteen minutes. Guilt beats in my chest, knowing I should be there to call her and explain what happened because, like Paxton, I owe Poppy the truth after her endless support and friendship. If I leave now, I can make it, but Pax asks if I’ll watch tape with him, and my priorities realign without a second thought.
I quickly send an apology to Poppy, asking to reschedule, and because she’s her, I already know she’ll forgive me too easily.
“Arizona’s going to be gunning for you,” Pax tells Lincoln. “That guy hates you,” he continues as Lincoln pulls back into the driveway that is now nearly empty.
I switch my gaze to Lincoln, who shrugs with a dismissive tip of his lips. We head inside where their robotic vacuum that Mom and Dad bought Pax as a Christmas gift is humming along, chased after by Caleb, who makes quick work of lifting a few cords that he tucks into the TV stand.
“Hey, man. You getting ready to play?” Pax asks.
Caleb shakes his head. “No. I should be doing homework.” He sighs, a mutual feeling we’re all starting to feel toward school as Thanksgiving break approaches.
“You mind if we put on some football?”
“I thought you were meeting Poppy?” Caleb asks, turning his attention to me, which has both Pax and Lincoln looking at me.
“I rescheduled. But, I’m wondering if I can pick your brain later. I know you took Statistics as a freshman, and I’m hoping you can explain it all to me because when my professor talks, it sounds like Latin.”
Paxton chuckles and ambles to the TV, where he rifles through a stack of DVD cases.
Caleb shakes his head. “You know math isn’t my strong suit, either. You should hit Linc up. He took that class. He’s got, like, a computer brain where that shit makes sense to him.”
As though Lincoln needed extra points toward being a superhuman. Lincoln’s grin hints at something that makes my cheeks flush. “I think I’ve even got my textbook, still. I’ll tutor you.” His gaze flashes down the length of me, blatantly taking his time to scour my body.
Pax claps two of the cases together to a silent beat as he waits for the disc to load, making me jump. Lincoln remains unabashed, his lips pulling into a smile that makes my belly clench.
As Pax turns back around, I clear my throat. “Mom texted me this morning.”
“Yeah? She texted me, too.”
I try to smile, but even to me it doesn’t feel complete. “Did she tell you she’s coming home this weekend?”
Pax nods. “To stay with Gramps?”
I nod. “I didn’t know whether to offer to help her move stuff or if that would upset her.”
“I think she’ll have to move her stuff. I don’t know if he’ll keep the house. I mean, since he’s lost his job, I don’t know if he can afford it long-term.”
I pull in a deep breath through my nose, considering another massive loss, one that seems so inconsequential considering I’ve lost sixty percent of my family unit in a matter of weeks, and the house is mere brick and mortar, but even as I try to tell myself this, it feels like a lie. My childhood is in those walls. Indoor Easter egg hunts on years we had late springs, lazy Sunday mornings where Mom made us huckleberry pancakes, and the driveway where Dad taught me how to ride a bike. The millions of laughs, tears, and secrets those walls have shared and witnessed make it feel like it’s as much a part of our family as a living person. “What’s he going to do?”
Pax shakes his head, his cheeks expanding as he blows out a long breath, the game temporarily forgotten. “I have no idea. He won’t be able to teach again.”
“He probably can,” Lincoln says. “Hell, he might even have grounds to sue Brighton.”
His words pave a path of fear and doubt, and then hope. “What?”
“Most colleges only ban teacher-student relationships. Unless the policy states all faculty and undergrad students, he can’t actually be in trouble.”
My stomach feels sour. “That’s so wrong.”
Lincoln’s smile is grim. “I know.”
The future he mentioned his father wanting for him plays in my mind like a carousel, a future that could conceivably include defending people like my father, like those who abuse the ocean and the marine animals. It makes me feel selfish not to have spoken to him at greater lengths about his future and the multiple options that will be readily available to him.
“I’m going to grab a beer,” Pax says. “You guys want anything?”
Lincoln shakes his head as I vocalize a ‘no.’ As Pax turns toward the kitchen, Lincoln takes a seat next to me, his hand running over my thigh. “This afternoon wasn’t at all what you think it was. Arlo invited someone over, and she kept inviting friends. I went up to my room because I had no interest—none at all. I had come downstairs to grab some food literally minutes before you got home.”
Home.
The word elicits contradicting emotions of both warmth and ice.
“I don’t want to be this jealous and insecure part of your life. I don’t want you to waste time trying to assure me when you have so much of your future to focus on right now.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t want to be a detriment to you.”
“You’re the only thing that makes me feel like I’m on solid ground.” He shakes his head. “You’re not a detriment, and this conversation isn’t concluded. Before we start statistics, we’re laying all this shit out. All of it.”
He turns before I can respond, swiping the remote from the coffee table as Paxton reappears with a bottle of beer, Caleb at his side, opening a giant bag of chips.
“What team is this?” Caleb asks, sitting in the chair, leaving the last seat on the couch to Pax.
“Utah,” Lincoln says.
“Are they good?” Caleb asks.
“Not as good as Texas,” Pax says, kicking his feet up as he starts the game.
It feels like I’m expending all of my effort and energy into not moving, my focus on the game nonexistent with Lincoln’s leg a breath from mine, his cologne a dare that is becoming impossible to resist now that I know the taste of it upon his skin.
“They have a strong defensive lineup,” Pax says while Lincoln rewinds the same play for the third time though I haven’t paid attention to a second of it.
“Rae, what do you think of fifty-two?”
I have to stare at the players for too long to even find fifty-two in the lineup. “Are you worried about him?”
“I don’t know. He goes from explosive to nearly nothing. Do you think he’s baiting them, or is he out of shape?” As Pax explains his thoughts, fifty-two clips the offensive lineman, slapping his helmet.
I shake my head, trying to recall the games I’ve watched with Grandpa this year, ones with Utah. “He’s never been on my radar that I can remember,” I tell him. “But, that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss him.” I glance at Pax, making sure he doesn’t misinterpret my original words as a false assurance. “I’ll pay attention to him.”
Paxton’s phone buzzes and he nearly knocks his emptied bottle to the ground as he reaches for it. He scans the screen, entering a quick reply be
fore he turns his attention to me. “What’s your schedule tomorrow?” Pax asks.
I blink several times, trying to recall what day of the week it is. With everything going on, time has both sped up and come to a screeching halt, much like it had after my accident. “I only have three classes tomorrow. All of them in the afternoon. But I don’t work tomorrow. Why? Do you have more of their games?”
He nods. “Yeah, I was going to lift weights in the morning, and then I can get some more from Craig. If you’re up for it, we can watch it tomorrow night. I only have one class in the afternoon.”
“I can be here around six.”
Pax nods. “Okay. Let’s do that. I’ve got to get going. Candace is waiting for me.”
“I didn’t realize you guys were hanging out again?” I try to keep my tone light, free of accusation, but Pax knows my question without even hearing it.
“She’s not that bad.”
“I’m not saying she is. I just didn’t realize you guys were back together.”
“Can we not do this tonight?” He rolls his neck like the subject alone elicits a mass of stress.
I nod. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
Pax extends his hand to Caleb, doing a quick handshake the two have been doing for over a decade, and then he salutes Lincoln.
I sigh, watching as he clears the door. “He’s not going to make this easy.”
“He didn’t smoke a joint,” Caleb says. “Progress.”
“Unless he smokes with her,” I offer.
Lincoln shakes his head. “He doesn’t smoke with her because she always falls asleep.”
I block out the reasons that follow that decision as I watch the beginning of the game again. But then Lincoln stands, taking my full attention.
“Ready to learn statistics?” he asks.
“I should forewarn you that my understanding and knowledge for this subject could literally fit on a notecard.”
He flashes a grin, his eyes expressive for the first time that I can remember. “Then, we should probably get started.”
I stand, passing the remote to Caleb before following Lincoln, already knowing this is a mistake because the confines of his room will only guarantee distractions, not to mention what Caleb is going to be thinking. It doesn’t stop me or even slow me down, though.
Lincoln closes the door behind me, his arm extended, revealing each defined muscle in his forearm that makes blood rush through my body, anticipation building, making me hyperaware of his gaze on me, the heat radiating from his body. He leans closer, my breath catching in my throat. “Before we get to statistics, we need to chat about today.” He moves his hand that’s still loose at his side to my waist, my sweater a painful obstacle as I wish to feel him against me. “One thing I’ve never been proficient at is bullshit. I’m trying to let you in, and if there’s anything you’ve learned with all the shit I’ve put you through, it’s that I’m not good at it. But, understand this. I’m not fucking with you when I tell you I want to be the guy who’s good enough. I want to be the guy you want, and I’m not going to try to fuck that up. But, this house crawls with girls at times. You know Arlo. You know Candace, and I can promise you this, I will try my absolute damndest to not fuck things up. I’ll be honest with you, and I sure as shit won’t cheat on you.”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated. Like you have to come pick up the pieces because we have this … thing between us.”
He grins, closing more of the gap. “Kerosene, you’re not very proficient at bullshit, either. Your vulnerability is sexy. Don’t hide it from me.”
“Vulnerability is one thing. I’m worried I’m going to sound like an insecure and jealous maniac because that’s how I feel with you. I know how many girls watch you—how many girls want you. If someone like my dad had girls who were willing to sleep with him, and you’re going to have to fend them off with a stick, it just … it scares me.”
He shakes his head. “When are you going to realize that you’re the only one I see?”
His words seem too big, too heavy—too much. I drop my gaze to the beige carpet of his room, but nearly as quickly, he moves his hand from my waist to my jaw, tipping my face up, waiting until I lift my eyes to his. “I’m in this. I’m all in, and I know if I’d just told you how I felt after your accident, this would be easier, but I’ll do this. I’ll pull your weight and mine until you’re ready.”
I reach for him then, wrapping both arms around the back of his neck and pulling him the last breaths to me until our chests and lips crash. It’s a hungry, greedy clash of our mouths and teeth and tongues, claiming and fighting our independent wills with the realization of our shared feelings. A kiss that cancels all the ones that haven’t included Lincoln, making me forget about previously bruised egos and feelings until our breaths level and our kisses become softer in the form of hopes and promises.
Lips trail over my shoulder, up my neck, and along my jaw. His hand slides over my hip and dips into my underwear. My heart runs headfirst into pleasure, the combination making me feel nearly weightless. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, taking my ear between his teeth, and then swiping over it with his hot tongue. My love for sleeping-in ends as his fingers trail along my most sensitive parts, willing to wake before the sun every single day if it begins like this. “I need to be inside of you.”
He dips a finger inside of me, humming as he ravages my mouth with his. “You’re so wet.” His voice is gravelly with sleep and desire, yet it coats over my skin like silk, leaving me to chase his lips because I want to make pledges and admit to him how badly I want him.
He kisses me, and I lose time, and disappointments, and expectations—I lose myself in the kiss that invades every part of me—a wave that clears every imperfection and past experience clear from my thoughts.
I cup his face with my hands, his five o’clock shadow sharp on my palms, his skin impossibly warm. “Lincoln.” My voice is breathy and desperate as I move my hands to his back, tracing stacks of muscles and hot flesh.
I feel his grin on my lips as he lifts off me, reaching for his nightstand. He places the condom between his teeth, hooking my underwear on either hip and ridding them with a quick pull. His gaze settles between my legs, and though I think I should feel embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze, I don’t. I feel bold, sexy, empowered. Then his fingers slide over me in a commanding and dizzying pattern that has me clutching him, riding out the ecstasy his touch produces. Before I can recover from my orgasm, he presses into me, his dark eyes skipping between my face and where he’s sliding inside of me, his jaw hard as he maintains the control I desperately want him to lose. I angle my hips up, and he swears. “You can’t do that. You feel too good.”
I do it again, moving our bodies closer. He drops his head, a groan vibrating through his chest. “Stop being gentle with me,” I warn.
Lincoln’s dark gaze cuts to mine. “Trust me. That will come, but not yet. I want you to feel good, not pain.”
I consider his words, paying attention to my body. The heat of him, the pressure of him, the high of him all feel good, but there is still the whisper of soreness I can’t deny. Lincoln seems to read my thoughts, recognizing my own admission. His lips curve with a grin, and then he leans more of his weight on me, kissing me until I forget to be nervous or self-conscious about the exchange. He resumes his controlled rhythm, his gaze tracing over my body and my face, kissing me with a tenderness I wish I could translate into words. Then, Lincoln sits up, propping my knees open, as he changes the speed and rhythm, placing his fingers exactly where I need them until I’m moaning his name, and he’s saying mine like a plea.
Lincoln wraps the blankets around himself like a cape, inviting me into the throws. He holds me flush against his chest, his strong arms bound around my arms and waist. “Your first class is at one?” His lips graze along my neck, disappearing into my hair. My entire body feels relaxed, humming with the energy of his touch, and for the first time in a long time, my entire
body feels warm.
I close my eyes, ready to sleep until lunch. “Yeah.”
“Good. Go take a shower and get dressed. We have somewhere to go.”
My eyes remain shut. “Where?”
Lincoln shift, his heat falling away from me. “You get a ten-minute power nap while I shower. But then, you have to get up.” He trails a line of kisses down my shoulder blade.
“You don’t want to get up,” I protest, reaching for him as he settles the blankets over me.
He leans over me, his lips scoring my skin. “Ten minutes,” he repeats.
29
Lincoln
“Are you going to give me any hints?” Raegan turns, clipping her seatbelt in the passenger seat of my truck.
“Not yet.”
“Ominous. I feel like you’re encouraging me to create a bell curve for how often you come out and tell me what you think versus the times you hint at something.”
I grin. “Just helping you with your statistics class.”
She pulls in a deep breath, leaning back as I drive forward. “How are you feeling about the game tomorrow?”
“This season has gone by so fast. It’s weird because I hate the idea of football being over, but at the same time, we’re so close to going undefeated, that I just want it to be over, so we don’t continue to have this hanging over us—the doubters talking about how we’ll lose, the fans holding unrealistic expectations.”
“I’m sure that gets to be a lot,” she says, finishing my thoughts.
“Not justly. The game is beautiful. The field is where I feel the freest. I dread the idea I’ll only have one more year to play.”
“You won’t,” her response is automatic, and so sure, it’s difficult not to believe her.
I turn, and Rae’s gaze checks the sign and then me, accusation so heavy in her unspoken words that I can feel it on my skin. “Where are we going, Lincoln?”
“You don’t have to go any farther than the parking lot,” I promise her. “Not unless you want to.”
