by Mariah Dietz
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.”
“My fantastic boobs will distract them?” I ask, eyeing the massive lobby. I’ve never been in this hotel, and while my family has definitely moved up in what we can afford, we’ve never stayed at a hotel with indoor water features and elaborate bouquets on every table.
“I was going to lie and say it was your winning personality, but…” Lincoln stops, his eyes dropping to my chest as I laugh. “Seriously. Don’t worry about your scar or your dad or anything else. We’re going to have fun, dance, you’re going to wow this marine biologist, and then I’m taking you home where I’m going to worship every”—he kisses my lips, and then my neck—“square inch”—he kisses my ear, and my exposed shoulder—“of your body.”
The desire to find a restroom or other closed-off space to hide and live out these promises has my stomach clenching, and each of my cells hyper-aware of every breath and touch.
He leans closer, his lips grazing my ear. “Hold those thoughts. We need ninety minutes for this wedding to wrap and to find Dr. Swanson.” He kisses me, his lips a tease between pleasure and desire. Then, as I’m ready to differentiate the notes, his lips fall away, and he weaves his fingers with mine, leading me across the elegant lobby.
36
Lincoln
She smells like summer and Christmas morning and fresh blueberry pie—all my favorite things in one, though it’s something floral and sweet rather than piney or fruity or woodsy.
She releases a quiet gasp as we walk down the aisle, the white runner leading to a large arch where a podium has been placed. “I think that’s him.” Her gaze is lasered in on a man with white hair, wearing a gray suit that would make my soon-to-be stepmother cringe—Dr. Swanson.
“Want to sit by him?” I ask.
She quickly shakes her head. “No. I need to think about what I’m going to say.”
“That you’re a badass.”
Her laughter is too quiet to gain attention, but her smile is so fucking bright, I swear half the room notices her. “I should sit in the back. This means a lot to the others who are here. I’m just here for you.”
I continue down the aisle, stopping where Dr. Swanson is seated alone. She looks at me, her eyes wide with silent objections. “Dr. Swanson, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Raegan Lawson. I think you guys will have lots to talk about. She’s actually studying to be a cetologist.”
His brows raise with an obvious appraisal. “You don’t say?” He stands, extending his hand to her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Raegan.”
She smiles, and just like everyone else on the receiving end of her smile, he grins.
“You know, you look familiar,” he says, scrunching his forehead as he stares at her. “I saw you in some articles. You jumped into the Sound to cut a fishing net.”
“To save a dolphin,” I interject.
Dr. Swanson looks at me and then her again. “At the price of her own life. Tell me, do you regret your decision?”
Raegan blinks, that highway of thoughts surprisingly calm as she maintains his stare then shakes her head. “I regret hurting people who I care about, and I regret not having packed a dry suit, but I don’t regret my decision. I think humanity loses itself and its value when we think our lives are more significant than the lives of other species.”
He stares at her, assessing the words that make so many things seem suddenly trivial in life. The wins, the losses, my impending future, and the choices that I’ve resented for so long. It doesn’t matter because while I love the game, the adrenaline, and the rush I get each time I step out onto the field, it still pales in comparison to what I feel for her. I would live in a one-bedroom shack as long as she was there with me.
Dr. Swanson grins. “Please, sit. I’d like to hear about your future ambitions.”
She looks at me, her blue eyes clear from the doubt she’d had earlier as she smiles. “Thank you,” she says. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Badass,” I whisper into her ear before kissing her cheek.
I head back down the aisle, smiling when someone waves at me before ducking into the room where my dad’s preparing to say ‘I do’ for the sixth time. He’s wearing the same suit as me, but his tie is a lighter shade of blue—chosen by Carol.
He clears his throat, tightening his tie.
“Looking for a getaway car?” I ask. “My truck’s valeted, but I’ve got the ticket.” I start to reach for his ticket, smiling as I do it.
He grins, reaching for a tumbler filled with amber liquid.
“I’m only kind of joking,” I tell him.
Dad straightens, swallowing the alcohol as he stares at me—possibly trying to find his words or trying to decipher if I’m joking. “I thought we discussed this.”
“Discussed what?”
“Her dad is in every newspaper in town because of the scandal.”
“A scandal she played no part in.”
“Do you think anyone cares if she played a part in it? It’s her dad. It’s going to reflect on her.”
I shake my head. “Well, that’s too bad for them because if someone wants to stir up shit, they’re going to be dealing with me.”
“Think about this, Lincoln. Think about your future. My associates aren’t going to want to see you dating a girl whose father had a public affair with a student.”
“And in a few months, the news of your sixth divorce will be plastered across the front pages.”
“Lincoln,” he quips, brows creasing with a frown that barely touches his lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve watched you date, marry, and divorce five women in ten years. Rather than marry her, maybe you want to stop and figure out what is going to actually make you happy because she’s not coming back.”
He takes another drink, draining half the glass. “This is my wedding,” he snaps, his jaw tensing. He doesn’t move toward me, his anger a completely different beat than Raegan’s father’s. Although he’s lacked at parenting in many regards, I don’t have a single doubt my dad loves me, and he’s a man of respect, and for him, that means you never strike another person—not with your fist at least.
“Why couldn’t you just try harder? Why’d you miss every dinner, every anniversary, every birthday?”
He slams the glass onto the table, the alcohol sloshing across the surface. “Dammit, Lincoln. What’s wrong with you? Why in the hell are you dragging this all up today—now?”
“Because we should have talked about this shit years ago. Because I’ve nearly walked away from the girl I know makes me a better person because I’m so fucking afraid I’m going to turn out like you.”
He pulls his head back, feeling my words and the anger and resentment filling them. “You should want to be like me. I was able to provide you with the best education money can buy. Tutors, coaches, trainers, vacations on private islands, every toy and game you could ever imagine—I gave it all to you.”
“I know, Dad. And I know you did it because you loved me, but what I needed was my parents, not to be shipped across country because you didn’t know what to do with me.”
“She’s who left,” he yells.
I nod. “But you let her. Every time you missed a weekend, a vacation, a dinner—you opened that door for her, she just decided to walk out.”
“What am I supposed to do? I can’t change what happened. I can’t go back in time. I did the best I could.”
I think of the stories Pax and his siblings have shared. The family history they share and the way it’s now shattered just like mine had all those years ago. “I know, but, Dad, Mom and I never cared about the gifts or the fancy vacations—we just needed you, your time.”
He runs a hand over his ha
ir, his shoulders falling as my words seem to register to him a decade too late. “I always wanted to give you what I didn’t have.”
I nod. “I know. But you’ve missed so much, and it scares the hell out of me to be honest with you because you don’t hear what I tell you. She’s the only person who actually sees me for something more than a football player or a life of privilege. She sees me. She gets me.”
“I get you, son.”
“Then, you’d stop trying to force me into a future I don’t want.”
Dad pauses, releasing a long sigh. “I’ve built it for you.”
“Dad, I love football. I love history. If I can’t make it to the NFL, I want to do something that allows me to do something I’m passionate about—something I give a shit about. And I need something that allows me to spend as much time as I can with her rather than something that will always be pulling me away from her.”
“If you get drafted next year…”
I nod, both of us knowing what he’s saying. “I know. But that’s a couple of years, not a lifetime.”
“You can’t change your life for her. You have to both follow your passions or you’ll resent each other.”
“I’ve never wanted to be a lawyer, not even when I was a kid. And to be honest, the only thing I feel passionate about right now is her. She makes me feel alive. She makes me feel whole.”
His lips pull into a grim line, a silent threat of the pain he’s endured because he tried following his heart, and it led him to a life filled with empty relationships and promises. “She must be pretty special.”
I shake my head. “I love her.”
Dad pats my shoulder. “Maybe after everything settles down, we could discuss this some more.” He lifts both palms. “I’m not saying you have to, but we could even consider adding a new specialty at the firm, something with history.”
I lift my chin, ready to refuse even the idea, but he shakes his head.
“Let’s just talk,” he says. “Man-to-man. Maybe I can even give you a few tips on your game.”
I tap my fist against his bicep, making him chuckle. “Come on, your old man’s got some game.”
“Yeah. Luckily you write a really good prenup, too.”
“I like her.”
“I know. I’d feel better about this if you loved her.”
He swallows. “It’s hard to find someone who’s willing to love a broken man.”
I place my hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you just need to find the person who makes you feel less broken.”
“Maybe that will be wife seven?” He winks, and for a second, I consider going out and calling the wedding off on his behalf because he clearly needs some intervention. “She’s a good woman. I have a good feeling about this,” he says. “She learns about my job, takes an interest in what I do. I’ve even stopped working on Saturdays.”
I rotate my wrist, glancing at my watch. “Well, if you’re ready, this is your final chance. You can take my truck or give this a shot.”
He grins. “If someone gives Raegan shit, let Torrie know. She’ll escort them out.”
“Does that include you?”
His grin spreads into a smile. “If she makes you happy, she makes me happy. But her dad seems like a real tool.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “I didn’t see it coming. I thought he was a good guy.”
“He might be. We all make mistakes, and sometimes those lead to even worse mistakes. Or, he might just be an asshole.”
“Jury’s still out.”
Dad laughs. “You’re a natural.”
“Let’s go get you hitched, old man.”
Guests have been seated, and a harpist sits off to the right side, playing a song that sounds nothing like my dad’s taste in music. But I don’t focus on that for long because my attention is focused on Rae. She’s mid-conversation with Dr. Swanson, her hands moving around animatedly like she does when she gets excited about something.
“He doesn’t like anybody,” Dad says, following my gaze.
“I’m fairly positive it’s impossible not to fall for Raegan. Plus, she’s studying marine biology. Cetology, to be exact.”
“Cetology?”
“Dolphins and whales.”
“Smart girl.”
I nod.
Raegan turns in her seat, our gazes tangling. Her smile hits me like a sucker punch, my admission to my father ringing in my ears as I realize how much love I have for her.
We walk toward the officiant and take our places, and I see her eyes following me, a smile staining her lips and my memories.
The music changes and the guests stand, turning to face the back where Carol appears in a white gown. Her sister is her only bridesmaid, and like Dad and me, they walk together. I still don’t know if she’ll be in our lives for long, but for the first time that I can recall, I feel hopeful for my dad that she is.
As the ceremony ends, Dad and Carol walk past a line of applause and cheers, their hands clasped. I turn my attention to Raegan. She’s clapping and laughing at something Dr. Swanson tells her before her eyes turn to find me, then her smile grows. I cross the distance, extending my arm for her to take.
She threads her arm through mine, stepping beside me. “I’ll see you at the reception?” Raegan asks him.
He grins. “I’m hoping to see your resume this summer for my summer program. Maybe I’ll have to come pick it up so I can meet your dolphin. Blue?”
Her blue eyes grow round, and she nods. “You’re welcome anytime.”
Dr. Swanson nods, turning his attention to me. “Hold on to this one. She’s a special young lady.” With the tip of his head, he follows the crowd toward the reception hall.
She watches him disappear around the corner, and then her attention shifts to me, her eyes still bright and round as she smiles at me. It’s blinding and perfect and endless. I want to say a thousand words, all directed toward promises and declarations, but they all tangle together into three simple words that seem nearly too big. Instead, I pull her flush against me and kiss her. She places her hands on either side of my face, drawing me closer as she kisses me without abandon, her high translated into the kiss that has me wishing to leave here and now. She pulls away slowly, her smile still intact, calling for a reciprocation.
“I’m sorry I missed the conversation,” I tell her honestly.
She shakes her head. “I don’t feel like I said any of the right things.”
I kiss her again, a chaste brush of our lips that I can tell she regrets as her eyes open slowly like she was waiting for more.
“We should go in there,” she says.
“We can leave.”
“We can’t leave. It’s your dad’s wedding. Plus, there’s cake. I have rules about cake.”
Laughter hits my lips. “I thought you preferred ice cream.”
She shakes her head. “My grandpa prefers ice cream, but I’ve never discriminated when it comes to sugar.” She slides her hand down my arm, joining our hands. “Plus, I’ve never danced with you, and I’ve heard you can tell a lot about a guy by how he dances.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Her tone is a challenge, but her eyes are bright with laughter. “Plus, this dress deserves to be worn for more than an hour.”
“My floor would love to wear it.”
She tries to hide her laugh as she shakes her head. “Poppy is way better at compliments.”
I tug her back against my chest, her eyes dancing between mine. “You look beautiful in the dress, but Raegan Lawson, you could wear my jersey, sweatpants, or nothing at all and still be just as sexy.” Her cheeks color as she grins, leaving another stain on my thoughts.
37
Raegan
I take a seat at the assigned table, Lincoln at my side. He’s talking to the other three couples at our table, answering questions about Brighton’s win last night. My lips are tipped into a smile I can’t seem to fight, my shoulders relaxed with his hand on my thigh—and even with the sl
ight chill in the air, I feel comfortable, my breaths easier.
As the table breaks into a gentle laughter as Lincoln makes a joke about the weather, I lean close to him. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll come with you.”
I grin. “No. They’re loving your attention. Practice your interview skills. I’m just going to run to the ladies’ room and see if Mom’s texted.”
He stands, helping me up. “Don’t leave me for too long. You’re not the only one who isn’t cut out for small talk.”
I press a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Maybe we can find a restroom together on our way out.” I reach for my small clutch, smiling at the table as I excuse myself. Lincoln’s eyes are on me, heavy and intent with lust and desire—the concoction that always spikes my bloodstream and makes me feel beautiful and bold.
I make my way through the maze of tables, the intricate and colorful topiaries constructed of greenery and flowers set in the middle of each table has my gaze skipping across each candle and person and ribbon, still shocked by the utter elegance and grandiose of it all. The bathrooms are even fancy, the doors going all the way to the floor and don’t have gapes at each side, a real handle that locks on the door.
I wash my hands, memorizing the fancy details that I plan to tell Poppy about tomorrow like the neatly folded hand towels in place of an air dryer and the multiple bottles of soaps, hair spray, even perfumes that are neatly set on the counter beside an attendant who smiles at me.
“What a small world. You’re Lincoln’s friend’s sister, right?” I look up, catching the familiar sight of Nikki in the mirror.
I toss my used towel into the hole of the counter and turn to face her, guilt swimming in a tall glass of inferiority as I take in her perfect figure, flawless skin, shiny hair, and movie-star smile. I nod. “Or you can just call me Raegan,” I say, trying to laugh. “It’s a little shorter.”
She smiles. “You really like him, don’t you?”
