IF | A Novel

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  “How much have you raised for children’s causes now, Emily?” Victoria asks insincerely. “Oh, who can keep track with all the parties you so skillfully throw?”

  “Oh, now, stop it.” Mom pets Victoria’s arm as if she’s ill at ease, which she isn’t.

  “Emerson, you must meet my son. He’s pre-med. I do believe you both attend the same school,” Victoria points out. “He’s at the bar with some of his fraternity brothers.”

  My eyes follow hers and I freeze when I see that the boob-ogler from the bar, Connor, is her son. When I look back at Victoria, I can’t help but notice the voluptuous size of her chest. I snicker. Now I see where Connor gets his fascination with boobs from.

  “Oh, how lovely.” Mom’s eyes sparkle. “Emerson, be sure to stop over and say hello.”

  I feign excitement. “I’d be happy to say something to Connor before I leave.”

  “Wonderful. I think you two will get along swimmingly,” Victoria winks.

  My mother ushers her friend away, giving me a pointed glare that says behave.

  Looking around the room one final time, I grab a cream puff off a silver tray and decide to give it ten more minutes before I slip out through the kitchen without being noticed.

  An hour and ten minutes later, I’m back home, changing into a pair of sweats and a tank top, brushing my teeth, and getting ready for bed. Kenz went home for the holidays, so the apartment is quiet. And as much as I hate silence, tonight, I welcome it.

  It feels good not to have to fake conversations, interest, and smiles. I head back to the living room to turn out the lights, leaving the white lights of the Christmas tree on for their warm, cozy glow, before making my way into the kitchen to grab a water.

  I am sure that my mother will call me tomorrow, disappointed and angry that I slipped out of her event early and annoyed that I’ll have to drive back for Christmas Day.

  Taking a sip of water, I shake my head. I’ll deal with her wrath tomorrow. Tonight, all I want is to watch cheesy Hallmark movies in bed and bask in some much needed alone time before I deal with round two of her holiday soirées and fake friends.

  A sudden high-pitched giggle outside my door draws my attention, followed by the deep sound of Lincoln’s voice telling the giggler to keep it down. I cap my water and put the bottle down on the counter before tip-toeing closer to the door, so I can eavesdrop.

  “I’m glad we ran into each other tonight, Lincoln,” the giggler says, slightly muffled.

  “Me too, Jessica,” Lincoln replies, and I hear his keys jingle.

  “I just—” Jessica pauses. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

  “Me neither,” Lincoln says, with nothing but sincerity in his voice.

  Envy pours through me. I realize we have a casual thing going on, but it never even crossed my mind that we’d see other people while we were doing whatever it is we are doing. Pushing up on my toes, I look through my peephole and take in the leggy redhead wearing tight leather pants and fuck-me heels. Her red nails are nestled on his arm.

  I can’t see her face, but Lincoln’s comes into view and I watch as he smiles down at her and opens his door. With a wink, he motions for her to step in. As she disappears into his apartment, my heart sinks and my breath catches with hurt. Before he follows Jessica in, he stops and looks over his shoulder at my door, staring at it for a long moment.

  I jump back like a total idiot, afraid he can see me, which he can’t. As soon as I hear his door shut, I take one more look, but they’re gone. Seeing him with another girl hurts.

  Numb, I grab my water bottle and all but run into my bedroom, climbing into bed and turning on the TV. The longer I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, the more angry and frustrated I become. I try not to imagine all the things they’re doing across the hall, but it’s almost impossible. With a growl, I scold myself for even caring. It’s not like we’re dating. Or exclusive. My mind drifts to what it would be like to actually date him. Would we go to the movies? Or dinner, like we did the other night?

  For some reason, it’s hard to picture Lincoln taking girls out on normal dates. I chastise myself. If any other guy treated me the way Lincoln does, it would be over. And yet, I find myself constantly making excuses for him, justifying his actions. Why is that?

  Eventually, I fall asleep with the TV on, watching a movie where the girl gets the guy in the end, and I dream of an ending like that with Lincoln, even though, for some reason, deep down, I feel like our story won’t ever have a happily-ever-after, fairytale ending.

  19

  Winter storm clouds line the sky this morning, threatening to dump snow. Before I head out to grab coffee, I grab my mittens and hat. I slip out of my apartment and turn to lock my door. Just before I finish and head to the elevator, Lincoln’s apartment door flies open behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I watch Jessica stumble out. Her hair is all messy and her eyeliner is smeared under her eyes and I can’t help but stare at her angrily.

  Lincoln appears behind her, pulling a shirt down over his head, covering his bare chest, and my heart sinks a little further. Pissed and jealous, I’m glued to the floor, unable to move. The moment our eyes meet, confusion flickers across his tan face.

  “Morning,” I manage.

  “Hi.” Jessica smiles warmly at me and I want to rip her face off.

  Lincoln just stares at me and suddenly I feel very small in their presence. I should go and let them have some privacy, but something in Lincoln’s expression is holding me still.

  Jessica’s gaze slides between us before she places a palm on Lincoln’s chest. “Hey,” she grabs his attention. “I’m going to go.” He looks down at her and nods. “Thanks again for last night, Linc. I really needed your company. I’ll call you later.”

  “You want me to walk you to your car?” he asks her, and I die inside.

  “I can manage.” She smiles up at him, cupping one of his cheeks with her palm.

  “Later, Jess.”

  I try not to flinch when she throws me a polite smile and skirts past me toward the elevators. We both watch in silence as the elevator doors slide shut and she disappears.

  Swallowing, I make myself look him in the eye.

  When I do, a wave of irritation passes over me.

  Lincoln’s gaze locks onto mine as soon as I look up, and I want to crawl inside my apartment and disappear. “I was just”—I clear my throat—“grabbing some coffee.”

  “Em?” he says calmly, stepping into the hallway, keeping several feet away.

  “Don’t.” The word comes out harsher than I actually meant it to.

  “I thought you were going home for Christmas?” he asks.

  That’s why he brought Jessica home—he thought I wasn’t going to be around.

  “I attended my family’s holiday auction last night. I’m driving back tomorrow.”

  He nods as if understanding that I couldn’t stomach staying over.

  “You said you were going home too.” I snap out the accusation.

  “I did. Then I came back,” he answers quietly.

  “Not alone,” I add, then immediately feel stupid for saying it.

  He never promised anything to me other than casual sex, and that is exactly what he gave me. I agreed to the terms. There are no rules about dating other people. I have no right to be hurt, or angry, but I am. I’m so pissed off and hurt. Kennison was right—I am not made for an unemotional, casual sexual relationship. Not with Lincoln, anyway.

  I try to read the expression in his eyes, but I can’t. My gaze falls and locks onto my feet. He takes another step toward me, closing the distance between us, but neither of us speaks. I can feel him assessing me, studying me, but I don’t look at him. I can’t.

  “You’re mad?” His voice is quiet, but sincere.

  “I couldn’t care less who you sleep with.” My voice is tight. “It’s none of my business.”

  “Em,” he whispers. “Jess is just—”

  My gaze snaps onto his
chest and my jaw tenses, steeling myself for whatever is about to come out of his mouth. I fear that whatever he says is about to crush me.

  “She’s just what, Lincoln?” I blow out.

  “A friend. But it’s clear from your reaction that you think it’s more. That she’s more.”

  “She stumbled out of your apartment looking like she’s more,” I point out.

  Lincoln takes another step, and I have to press my back against my closed door. He isn’t touching me, but he’s all around me, invading my space. I tense when he lifts his palms and presses them against my door on either side of my head and leans into me until our chests are touching. I’m not sure why, but suddenly I feel like bailing.

  “Jessica is Sean’s girlfriend.” He winces as if in pain. “We ran into each other when I was home last night. We both”—he drops his gaze to mine—“needed to talk. To cry. To remember. That’s it. She spent the night because neither of us wanted to be alone.”

  The explanation makes me want to wrap my arms around him and hold him.

  I don’t. I clench my teeth, pushing away the desire.

  “I wanted to be there for her, as a friend,” he adds. “That’s it. Nothing happened.”

  All I can do is stand motionless under his gaze. I’m not sure what to say. I’m mad at myself for jumping to conclusions. I’m mortified that I’m feeling jealousy and anger.

  I can’t get a solid hold on my feelings for him.

  Just the fact that I have feelings is bad.

  “It doesn’t matter. We aren’t dating; I have no right . . .” I trail off.

  Lincoln inhales. “You’re right. We aren’t dating.”

  “It’s my own fault, really,” I ramble.

  “Em—” he tries, but I shake my head, stopping him.

  “I knew you would ruin me.” It just slips out.

  Stormy gray eyes search mine and understanding crosses behind his gaze. He sighs, as if my words cause him physical pain. “I’m sorry,” he says again, but this time, it feels like he’s saying sorry for everything. “You don’t deserve to feel this way.”

  I quickly look away. “No. I don’t.”

  After this, things aren’t ever going to be the same between us. I can feel it shifting.

  “This thing we’re doing,” he says. “I wanted it to be uncomplicated. I didn’t want— I mean, I never meant for either one of us to get hurt. If we keep doing this . . .”

  “Do you want to stop?” I interrupt him.

  “If we don’t, it’ll just get worse the more time passes.”

  I nod, feeling like he’s saying we’re done in more ways than one.

  “We should call it off, then. Before either one of us gets in too much deeper.”

  Holding my breath, I wait for his answer. I don’t want to call it off. I’m already in too deep with him. I want to immerse myself in his life. Find out more. Become more to him.

  Lincoln narrows his eyes at me, then grabs my face, forcing me to look up at him.

  “Problem is, I don’t know how to stop wanting you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

  “Then don’t.”

  Our lips touch and our breaths collide, but there isn’t a kiss as he presses me back against the door, staring down into my eyes. We’re panting, staring at each other without kissing, because what’s happening between us is so much more than a simple kiss could encompass. It’s raw and vulnerable. A confrontation. A dare for the other to end this.

  Lincoln stares down at me, pressing his body into mine in an intimate way, and a strange feeling washes through me. It’s as if something permanently ties me to him.

  Something about the feel of his body against mine and the intensity of his gaze snaps my brain off. All thoughts dissolve, leaving this intense, burning need to be Lincoln’s.

  All his.

  20

  Lincoln sifts his fingers through my hair as we lie in my bed, staring at each other. I never got my coffee this morning. And we didn’t end things. Instead, I pulled him into my apartment, and then into my bedroom, and kept him there until we both became too sore and too tired to do much more than curl into each other and pass out.

  Now we’re lying face to face as he twists a strand of my hair around his finger and his eyes hold mine with an intense look. I asked him about his past, and he’s trying to tell me.

  I want to know everything there is to know about him.

  “Once you know the truth about me, it will haunt you, the way it does me,” he says.

  I lift my fingers and drag them down one side of his face. “Tell me.”

  “I didn’t have the same upbringing as you. The same affluence and status.”

  “I was raised by a nanny,” I sigh. “My upbringing was empty, hollow.”

  “At least you had a nanny who loved and protected you,” he exhales.

  “It’s not the same as the love of a parent,” I counter.

  “Maybe not,” he shrugs. “But you had someone who loved you, Em.”

  “Someone who eventually left,” I argue. “I grew up in a world where nothing was authentic. It’s about status, not friendship, or love. How I grew up, nothing was real.”

  He untwirls the strand of hair and twists it again. “Sean and I both learned quickly that life was too real. Hard. So we had to be harder in order to survive.”

  Lincoln releases my hair and rolls onto his back, placing his right arm under his head as he stares up at the ceiling. I curl into his side, gently placing my cheek over his heart, listening to it softly beat. The fingers on his left hand spread over the back of my head.

  “Sean started popping pills as a way to escape the darkness that seemed to always find us. Then he moved on to the harder stuff and started dealing. He introduced me to marijuana—that’s all I ever did—but it became a habit. I hid it better than he did, because I had to take random drug tests in order to play baseball. I dunno,” he exhales. “We were young and both lost, searching for something to save us from the reality of our lives. That’s not an excuse, just a symptomatic reason for the bad choices we both made.”

  I remain silent, taking in his words.

  “Feeling alone when you’re a kid is a shitty place to be in, but to actually be abandoned is worse. Especially when you feel like no one cares about you.” He exhales.

  Sitting up, I look down into his eyes. “Sounds like you both cared for each other.”

  “Like brothers. I stopped using senior year. My coach caught me smoking a joint after practice and threatened to pull the scout meetings he had set up for me. Those meetings were my ticket out. My freedom. And nothing was going to stop me from being free.”

  “Sean didn’t want freedom too?”

  “He kept dealing and using.”

  “Is that how he ended up in prison?”

  “Yeah. I was in the car with him, heading to a graduation party, when we got pulled over. Sean had over four ounces of cocaine in the car. I learned later that he was planning to sell it at the party. Even though I had a clean record, I was still arrested and charged with possession and intent to distribute. Somehow, by the grace of god, the coach here, the prosecutor, and the judge agreed to let me off with no time served. I was placed on a five-year, zero-tolerance probation. Meaning if I so much as jaywalk, I can be arrested. Sean got fifteen years in federal prison. After serving three years, he killed himself.”

  With my index finger, I trace the curve of his jawline. “You only have a year left?”

  He nods. “I have to meet with a parole officer every so often. Sometimes at the drop of a hat for random drug testing. That’s why I tend to disappear occasionally.”

  My brows pull together and realization dawns on me. “That night in the laundry room, freshman year, you got a text and said you had to meet someone. Was that him?”

  He dips his chin.

  “Why didn’t you tell me all this before, Lincoln?”

  “I didn’t want to drag you into my mess. My reality. You’re too good for all t
hat.”

  “Stop saying that. I’m not. Not really . . .” I trail off. “Anyway, you’re lucky you got off with a slap on the wrist. You could have done some hard time.”

  “I know. One more year, and everything falls off my record. It all goes away as if it never happened. Except Sean’s death. That will always be a dark stain on my soul.”

  I run my finger over his bottom lip. “Sean’s death is on him. Not you.”

  “It’s partly my fault,” he mutters.

  “No. It’s not. The only thing you did wrong was get into a car with someone you knew was using and dealing drugs. You lost someone you cared about. And have spent the last four years making up for it. You made a poor choice, but that isn’t a lifetime sentence.”

  “You make it sound so cut and dried.”

  “It is. You made a mistake, and you’re paying the price.”

  “I never wanted to unload my secret on you, Em.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  He blinks up at me and exhales a long, hard breath. “Even though I’m a different person than I was in high school—a better person—my past, it will always haunt me.”

  “Only if you let it.” Our eyes lock for a few seconds.

  “Tell me a secret,” he whispers.

  “For the first time in my life, I feel like I have something real. Something that no one can take away. Or control. Especially my parents.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You. Us. This.” I motion between us. “Whatever it is, it’s my decision, my choice.”

  With a slight frown, he brushes the tips of his fingers over my neck before trailing them up my jaw and then my cheek. I straddle him, my hair falling into his face. His hands begin to slide up my back, around my hips and then my waist as he pulls me closer, pressing his forehead against mine.

  “I should never have kissed you,” he sighs.

  “I should never have let you.”

  “I’m serious. I don’t deserve you.”

  “You do.”

  “I have demons.”