by Mariah Dietz
“Pax would kill me if I didn’t help out,” Lincoln tells him.
My hate for Lincoln increases as I stare at him, willing him to acknowledge me though he hasn’t since he came back. I’d know because I’ve always felt his attention—it’s like he’s the moon to my tide, pushing and pulling. Right now, the only thing I need and want is space from him, and he’s trying to manipulate the situation to prevent exactly that.
“Nikki, I’ll take you home first, and then I can drop her off.” Lincoln returns to using pronouns to refer to me.
“I’ll be fine.” I take one more step back, and Lincoln jerks his head, his eyes hitting me like a force that nearly knocks me off my feet because that mask is slipping again, anger and fear making his brown eyes so dark it’s difficult to see his pupils.
Fear?
Is he afraid to lose?
“Yeah. We’re good.” Derek’s hand reconnects with my side, gently tugging me to follow him.
“I actually live over near campus. Are you heading that way?” Nikki steps forward, reading the situation and navigating it far better than I currently am. She smiles at Derek. When she smiles, she’s at least an eleven.
Derek glances at me, trying to read my face and what I want him to say. Unfortunately, we don’t know each other well enough for this. Only Poppy and I do, and Poppy would know that even if my eyes were pleading with her to do it, my heart is far too fragile to manage, and she’d take control. It’s what she does. “You’re okay with this?” he asks finally.
“Maybe we just stay. Maybe I just need some water?”
“I’ll get her home and remind her to call you,” Lincoln says. He steps closer to Nikki. I watch as the two embrace, noting his hands remain above her waist and are too limp and loose to consider the moment intimate, yet she’s holding onto him like she’s worried she’s lost a piece of him. It’s close enough to imprint the shadow of her perfect body to his.
I turn, denying myself the verification whether they kiss or not. “Thanks for tonight,” I tell Derek. “I’m really sorry it’s ending like this. I’d like to do it again. Well … not this part. But, going out.”
He smiles, his caramel eyes relaxed and kind. It’s shocking how easily I can read him and understand so many of his motives when I’ve known Lincoln for three years and feel like it’s a guessing game each time I look at him.
“I’m holding you to it,” he says. His fingers tangle with mine, and he pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I take a long breath of his cologne that reminds me of the forest—of earthiness and spice and regret for having suggested we come here tonight.
“Let’s go, Lawson,” Lincoln clips.
If I didn’t already feel childish and immature, that comment would have done it.
Vindication burns in my veins, an impulse that often leads Maggie, and one that Pax seems to have missed, leaving me somewhere in the middle. I press my hands to either side of Derek’s face and lean closer, kissing him on the mouth. His unshaven chin is rough and sharp, scratching my skin. It takes him less than a second to register I’m kissing him and even less to kiss me back, his lips closed in a polite and sweet first-date kiss that under normal circumstances would be sure to leave my mind wandering down paths wondering what kind of kisser he is.
I pull back, falling to my heels and turning to face Lincoln and Nikki, my smile as brazen as my kiss. “It was really nice meeting you, Nikki. Sorry for ruining your date.”
Her smile is kind, but I can see the reservation in her eyes, the one that’s not sure if she wants to trust me.
She shouldn’t. Even I don’t trust me.
“It was nice meeting you, too. I hope you feel better.”
Lincoln’s jaw looks like steel, clenched as he stares at me, his onyx eyes void of emotion and anything else I briefly search for. He steps forward, not addressing anyone as he places his hand at my hip, his thumb brushing my side as his fingers wrap around my back. If his grip were tight, it might seem possessive, but if I were to move too quickly or pause, I know his hand would easily fall. I test the theory after just a few seconds, slowing my steps to allow someone to pass. Lincoln’s hand falls to his side. He tilts his head, glancing at me as he passes. I follow him through the arcade and out to the parking lot, where he leads us to his black truck, stopping at the passenger door which he opens, and turns to face me.
I think too hard about each of my movements, feeling like a newborn giraffe as I climb into the cold cab of the truck. Lincoln closes the door and walks around the hood, getting into the driver’s side. Unease intensifies the cold seeping from the leather seats through my jeans and thin shirt.
Lincoln slams his driver’s side door and starts the engine. He glances in his mirror and turns to look behind him before backing up. I’ve never been in his truck, never rode anywhere with him. My time alone with Lincoln has been minimal. But if this makes him uncomfortable, he doesn’t say, and it certainly doesn’t show as he keeps his right hand firmly on the steering wheel, his gaze on the windshield.
I try to pretend this is easy. A simple ride from a friend—my brother’s friend, and that this isn’t strange. That I didn’t stick my tongue down his throat and feel his hard on. That I didn’t just widen my chances of going to hell by cheating on my date and his.
We slow at a red light, and I think he’s going to say something or maybe reach forward and turn on the radio—something to fill this silence that is eating at me and making me replay this evening and my mistakes on a constant loop. I wish he’d turn on the heat at the very least. It would provide only a small reprieve of sound, and more importantly, some warmth. It’s so cold, my muscles are beginning to ache, yet I can’t ask him if I can turn it on. I can’t form words, though my thoughts are drowning with millions of words—questions and accusations.
Silence spreads.
My annoyance builds. I don’t know why I kissed him. Why I paused, and why I reacted to him.
Finally, the light turns green, and my turmoil of thoughts slow as Lincoln slams his foot against the gas pedal.
We go three blocks, and then he jerks the wheel, turning down a side street, where he puts the truck into park and turns to face me, a scowl etched across his face. “You’re infuriating.”
I pull my head back with the extra shot of confusion he’s just poured down my throat.
“I’m infuriating?”
“You’re not going to make me jealous,” he warns.
“I wasn’t trying to.” I wasn’t. I was trying to tell him our kiss was a mistake and prove immunity toward him—something I’ve been trying to convince myself of for three years.
“Bullshit.” He spits the word, his head snapping forward. There’s so much intensity as he calls my bluff.
My heart rattles so loud in my chest that my ribs begin to ache. There are days and moments where my barometer of truth and fantasy become so blurred it’s difficult to decipher the lies. “It was a mistake,” I tell him. “I’m not this girl. I don’t do this.”
“It was a kiss. It’s not like you were giving me head.”
I cringe at his harsh crudeness. His views of sex and other intimate acts are so callous—detached.
“And you would have been fine if your date had been making out with Derek?”
“Why should I care?”
I nearly choke, my scoff and bitter laughter tripping as they race to get out first. “Because she was your date. There’s an implied sense of commitment when one agrees to go out with another.”
“Then what’s your excuse?”
The rattling in my chest becomes a banging as three years of desire are met with the reality of tonight and the consequences that come with my actions.
“Stop it,” he grinds out the words, his voice low and quiet.
My gaze flits up to meet his, the cab of the truck so dark with shadows, it’s difficult to see if his mask is in place.
“You’re filtering yourself,” he says. “Stop it. Just be real with
me.”
“I don’t know how to.” My admission seems to float through the air, echoing in the small space so long I regret the words more than kissing him, and even more, I regret putting myself in this position again. I could have insisted I ride with Derek—I’m positive we’re both aware of this fact, however, the realization that I’m here speaks louder.
Lincoln’s shoulders rise, and he shifts, resuming to sit forward. He pulls out with a swift jerk that makes the tires screech with protest, leaving several shards of my heart freshly stained on the asphalt.
22
When Lincoln pulls up to the house, my relief dies a quick and painful death at the sight of Paxton’s car in the driveway.
“Shit,” I mutter, reaching for the door handle. The cold air instantly seeps through my tee, and as my feet meet the driveway, losing the small bit of warmth Lincoln’s truck offered—after twenty minutes of painfully recalling each moment of the past hour—I realize that I left my car at the coffee and wine bar. I blame my idiocy on that kiss that clearly stole more than just my pride.
“Raegan!” My name is screamed from the front door where light spills out onto the darkened front yard, followed closely by a scream of excitement that has me forgetting my car and the mistakes I’ve made as I sprint toward the person I’ve missed the most over the past two years: Maggie.
We collide in a tangle of limbs and giggles. She’s hopping up and down. Like me, sometimes her emotions are so elevated she can’t keep them in—foot stomping and bouncing are two of the multiple ways it finds a release.
Her hair smells different, earthier and less sweet, and it’s longer. She’s also thinner, and as I pull back to look at her, I realize she’s added a stud to her nose and upper lip, and a collage of tattoos to her right arm. Tears cloud my vision as I pull her close, hugging her again, regretting that I wasn’t there for each of these moments and memories and that she hasn’t been here for mine.
When we separate again, it’s her pulling away, her eyes scanning over me several times, silently taking an inventory of the changes the past two years have brought me. She shakes her head slowly, releasing me only to wipe her wet eyes before hugging me again. “I’ve missed you so damn much,” she says, stroking the back of my head. “So damn much.”
“I didn’t know you were coming home.”
“Neither did I,” she says, laughing. “They asked me to take a new assignment and allowed me to come home for the week.”
“The week?” It’s impossible to hide my disappointment. Though I wasn’t expecting to see her for another year, the idea of her leaving in a matter of days feels more painful than waiting the expected duration.
“Mags, you remember Lincoln?” Pax asks from behind me.
Maggie wraps an arm securely around my waist, tethering me to her as we shift to face him. Lincoln’s truck is parked, and he’s standing next to Pax, his gaze a contradiction to his smile. “Hey,” Maggie’s voice sounds more like mom than I’d remembered as her arm slips from me and moves forward to hug him.
“You okay?” Pax asks, taking a step closer to me, toeing a loose piece of gravel on the driveway.
“Yeah.” I cross my arms over my chest as a gust of wind delivers a chilling blast. “Today was just so busy. I didn’t get a chance to eat. I started to feel kind of light-headed.”
“Well, then you’re going to be glad to hear that Dad made fried chicken.”
“Tell me there’s mashed potatoes.”
Pax grins. “I think he gave up on trying alternative sides after you boycotted dinner last time.”
“He served French fries and beans with fried chicken!”
Pax laughs. “And mom made the gravy.”
“Sold!”
“You wanna stick around?” Pax turns back to Lincoln, who’s invested in a conversation of surface topics with Maggie.
“Yes. You want to stay for this,” Maggie tells him. “If it’s meatloaf or any seafood dish, you always say no, but fried chicken is a definite yes.”
Lincoln’s eyes land on me, his reluctance clear even in the darkness.
“Come on,” Pax says, hitting him with an elbow before moving toward the house. “I’m freezing my nuts off out here.”
Lincoln’s gait is steady and smooth, any uncertainty gone as he walks beside Maggie, both of them pausing when they near me. Maggie hooks her arm around my neck. “I want to hear everything. God, you look so old. It seems like I just left, and you were sixteen. You look like a woman now. A freaking hot ass woman.” Her arm constricts, tugging me closer. “How are the whales?”
We hit the living room, and a shiver runs down my spine as the heat slowly runs over me. “It’s been a tough year,” I tell her. “The pods are barely coming into the Sound. We haven’t seen them in several weeks.”
“What’s happening?” she asks.
“Pollution, over-fishing, tourism … same stuff, new day.”
Maggie frowns. “I’m sorry.” Sincerity coats her voice, knowing how far my love for the animals stretches.
“Me too.”
“Is there anything that can be done?”
“We’re trying. You know how hard it is to enforce laws that get little attention. And when so few feel the impact or what’s happening, it’s hard for people to care or even consider how it’s impacting a species they know little about.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” she says.
“Speaking of which, I need to call Greta and see if she can get one of the other volunteers to go out. I’m scheduled to go out in the morning.”
“You are?” Maggie’s eyes shine with anticipation. “Do you think there’s any chance I could come?”
I blink back my surprise. “Would you want to?”
“Hell yes. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed the ocean. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to be landlocked. I would love to get out and see the ocean.”
“It’s going to be cold,” I warn her.
She grins. “I could use a little of that, too.”
“You’re taking her whale watching?” Pax asks.
“Be jealous,” Maggie teases.
“How come you never offer me to go out?”
“Well, you know, because it’s my job, not a tourist attraction, and also the fact you pretty much live at the gym.”
“What if we all went out? We can go after you get off. Rent a boat or something?” Pax suggests.
“Did you win the lottery while I was gone?” Maggie asks.
Pax ignores her, looking at me. He’s listened just enough to watch the noose dangle in front of me. “Technically, I can probably swing it, but if I ask, you guys have to be committed. I don’t want to ask for this favor, and then you guys don’t show up.”
Pax draws a large ‘X’ over his chest. “Swear.”
“You guys are going to be so bored,” I warn them as Mom comes in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“I thought I heard you guys.” Her eyes stay on Maggie. I can’t imagine how she’s feeling right now. I was worried she was going to have a nervous breakdown in the weeks following Maggie leaving. The idea of going through that again makes my stomach churn.
“I invited Lincoln to join us,” Pax says.
Mom finally shifts her gaze, taking in the rest of us, a permanent smile on her face. “Good. Good,” she says, closing the gap between us and placing a hand in Maggie’s. Come to the kitchen, guys. I’ll pour some wine.”
“I’m serious about the boat,” he says to my back as I follow close behind Mom, wishing I could hide in the folds of her skirt like I would as a kid. “We have an early practice tomorrow. I can be ready by ten.” He looks at Lincoln. “You should come, man.”
My heart thumps, rattling the cage that works to keep it in place. The scents of thyme and fried chicken distract me from my thoughts for several seconds, my mouth watering, and my coldness a distant memory.
“Where are you going?” Mom asks.
“Rae’s
taking us out on a boat tomorrow,” Maggie tells her. “Did you know she could do that?”
Dad flips a piece of chicken, grease popping like a firecracker that has him taking a step back. “She had to get her license to drive the boats,” he says. “It’s a nice perk since she volunteers so many hours there.”
“But, it’s about to all pay off,” Mom practically sings the words.
“What? Are they going to hire you?” Maggie’s eyes land on me, bright with enthusiasm.
“Hopefully in January,” I tell her.
“That’s awesome! You’ll have your degree and the experience. You’re going to be able to transfer anywhere,” she says.
Pride spreads from one ear to the other as Mom smiles at me. “You should go.” She looks at Lincoln. “Rae knows the Sound better than any guide.”
I don’t look at him. Doing so might be misconstrued that I care about his decision, and I don’t care, unless his current decision includes leaving, breaking whatever is going on with Nikki off, and plans to steal a microphone and belt the lyrics to Frankie Valli’s ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ Heath Ledger style.
“Where have you been? I thought you had today off work?” Dad asks as I round the island and grab a glass to fill from the tap.
“I did.” I take a drink, feeling the weight of Lincoln’s gaze on my shoulders. He’s listening. I know he is, and I hate him a little more for it. “I went and played miniature golf with Derek.”
Paxton’s attention snaps to me. “What?”
Maggie pulls her head back, a slow smile climbing as she grabs a filled glass of wine and takes a front row seat.
“You can’t date my teammates,” Pax says.
“It’s not your decision,” I tell him.
“Dad, tell her she can’t date a football player.” Paxton turns his attention to Dad, looking for a comrade.
“I have to side with Paxton on this one,” Dad says.
“Why would you?” Mom asks.
“That’s incredibly sexist of you, Dad,” Maggie adds.
