by Mariah Dietz
Hope blooms in my chest before I can stop it.
Maggie turns her bright gaze from me to Lincoln. “That would be perfect. You could introduce them.”
“You were bitching about finding a date. Rae could go with you. Lower the pressure,” Pax says, making my heart wince.
Lincoln’s gaze darts to mine, straying before I can even attempt to recognize his thoughts. “Yeah, we’ll see.”
It’s the most non-committal answer I could imagine—equivalent to the ‘maybe’ response Mom is infamous for that always translates to a ‘no’ once we’re out of the public eye.
“Man, I’m going to need a nap before dinner,” Pax says, rolling his shoulders. “Practice blowed this morning.”
“Mom said something about dinner with the team tonight?” Maggie asks, making my heart break into a sprint. I spent much of last night struggling to understand the game board between Lincoln and me and had hoped today would shine some clarity on the situation, but instead, everything just feels more confusing. The last thing I want to do is find myself in a room with Lincoln and Derek again.
“We can go out?” I suggest.
“No way. I want to meet Coach Evans.” Maggie waggles her eyebrows, making Pax groan. “Plus, Mom said it’s a catered event. Mexican food.”
“Catered?” I ask.
Maggie nods. “Mom and Dad are so much cooler with money.”
Having terms like catered dinners and vacations abroad are still unfamiliar. It wasn’t that long ago that we cut coupons and stopped at five different stores to pick up all the sales.
“Plus, Coach Craig wants to talk to you. I was showing him that defense you pointed out, and he wants to pick your brain.” Pax ruffles my hair, then sets off, his feet crunching against the gravel as he looks back to see if I’m chasing him.
I’m already closing the gap, making him laugh as he pivots and veers to the right, a move I read before he zagged, allowing me to close the space and grip his shoulders. Pax slows, taking my weight easily before coming to a stop and dipping so far forward I have to bite my laughter to keep from squealing with fear as I close my eyes.
He slowly rights us, releasing the hold on my legs as he squats to bring me back to Earth. “You closed your eyes. That didn’t count.”
“Don’t be a sore loser.”
His laughter elicits a smile as he wraps an arm around my shoulder, walking hip to hip with me to our cars.
“Who the hell is Coach Craig?” I ask, debating my evening plans. “And does he really want to talk football with me? I mean, I’m not even a part of the program.”
Pax shrugs. “He asked me to introduce him to you. Said he wanted to hear your thoughts on a couple of things.”
“I can’t believe you guys still do that,” Maggie says, catching up to us with Lincoln, Caleb, and Arlo at her sides.
Pax rubs his hand over my head again, knocking strands loose from my ponytail and deserving the shove from my elbow.
“We’ll smell you later,” Pax says, reaching to push me in retaliation, but I move away from him before he can, finding sanctuary in the frigidness of my car.
Maggie continues talking to them for a few minutes while I start the car and turn the heat up, the fan blowing so loud I can’t make out their words as I check my phone, finding a text from Poppy.
Poppy: Party tomorrow. Where are we going?
I think about the letters and Arlo’s invitation to go out with them, hating that I’m invested in accepting beyond the knowledge Lincoln will be there, but also because it removes the tiny threat that hangs in the recess of my thoughts like gallows—silent and intimidating.
Me: ???
Poppy: Have you heard from Derek today?
Me: Maggie actually got home last night. A complete surprise. She’s only here for a few days. We hung out with Pax this morning.
I don’t know why I don’t tell her the others were with us. Maybe because I feel guilty for not having invited her? It wasn’t intentional. I just wanted to spend some time with Maggie without trying to juggle my attention. I also fear she’ll be able to recognize my indiscretions like a bad rash.
Poppy: What? She’s home? That’s great! What are you guys doing tonight?
Me: Pax is having a team dinner. You can come over if you’re interested or we can go out.
Poppy: You really want to go out if Derek isn’t going?
The second mention of his name has me cringing as I replay last night. The text I sent him, assuring him I was home safe and apologizing again for cutting the date short, though my unspoken apology was far greater, expanding to an uncertainty of both my actions and my feelings.
‘You’re worth the wait.’ Was his almost immediate response.
Sweet?
Seemingly.
Contrived?
Possibly.
Genuine?
My uncertainty is growing, resentment darkening a part of my heart, the one reserved for the fables I’ve loved and harbored.
Poppy: You said your date went well.
Me: I lied.
Poppy: ???
Poppy: What does that mean?
Me: It was weird. Awkward. A little forced. I don’t know if he actually likes me or just pretends to because he knows it bugs Paxton.
Poppy: He likes you. It’s totally obvs.
I take a deep breath, playing out how my best friend will react to my telling her about Lincoln. The ways I tell her and how they might impact her reaction.
Poppy: Does this have something to do with Lincoln?
Poppy: Liking Derek doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to still have feelings for Lincoln.
Me: I don’t know.
The passenger door opens, startling me as my eyes jump to see Maggie slide into the seat beside me.
“Ready?” she asks.
Me: I’m driving home. I’ll call you later.
“Yeah.”
Our drive home is spent with Maggie sharing stories about her two roommates who I feel like I know through the numerous times I’ve heard about them layered into her life abroad. It makes that small nagging part in the back of my thoughts take shape as I listen closely to the details and missing words that make up my sister’s life. The one that doesn’t include us and won’t for another year at least.
“I’m beat,” Maggie says as I pull into the driveway. “Do you know what time the team is supposed to show up?”
“Five, I’m guessing.”
“I think I’m going to go soak in the tub and take a nap. Enjoy my last few days of indoor plumbing.” She unlatches her seat belt and reaches across the console, catching my hand as I turn off the engine. “Thanks for taking us out today. That was beyond awesome.”
I smile, though it feels fragile as I stare at Maggie, memorizing her here and now, engraving each new detail of her to the front pages of my memory so I don’t have to work as hard to recall my sister’s laugh or smile, the way her blue eyes are edged by green and how she tips her chin back when she laughs. “I’m really glad you’re home.”
Her smile turns brittle. “Me too.” Neither of us acknowledges the tremble of her voice or gloss of tears that she blinks away. We don’t have time to, and while it doesn’t feel like we have time to nap either, I follow her inside and upstairs where I trade my jeans and shirt for a pair of sweats and a thermal top. I consider the piles of homework and laundry I need to do, how I need to call Poppy and face several truths, but then a knock on my door has me turning, and I see Maggie in a pair of flannel pajamas, an eye mask around her forehead.
“Indoor plumbing’s kind of overrated.” She crosses to my bed, flipping the blankets down. She pats the bed beside her, and though it’s on the opposite side of where I normally sleep, I don’t say anything as I cross the space, climbing in next to her and absorbing Maggie’s warmth and new scent as tears make silent tracks down my cheeks, knowing I’m going to forget too much of this day, regardless of how hard I try to hold onto the seconds.
It feels
like I’ve only just closed my eyes when the bedroom lights start flickering off and on in quick succession. Then, Mom starts belting Heart of Glass by Blondie, but she sounds more like Steven Tyler after sucking on a helium balloon. Dad’s at the doorway, providing the terrible light effects.
“I thought you loved us?” Maggie cries, pulling the comforter over her face.
Mom climbs on the end of the bed, her hand raised as a pretend microphone as she continues her song.
“We’re up,” I tell them, clapping a hand over my eyes.
The lights stop flashing, remaining in the on position, but Mom continues butchering the lyrics, missing every other word and adding several made up ones.
“This is brutal,” Maggie grumbles, reaching for a pillow.
“Pax should be here shortly,” Dad says. “We just wanted to make sure you guys didn’t miss the party.”
“So thoughtful,” I murmur.
“Sorry, was that you asking for an encore?” Dad asks.
“No. No. We’re good. We’re up.” Maggie shoves the blankets off and sits up. “I need a shower. You want to go out tonight?” She looks at me, my heart leaping at the possibility of not only spending time with Maggie but avoiding the football team.
I nod. “Yes.”
Her smile is automatic. “Let’s get ready. We’ll eat and then we’ll go out while the team finishes their football whatever.”
Dad’s phone beeps in quick succession with multiple messages. He glances at the screen, his head tilting back several notches in attempt to read his phone. He started to need reading glasses a decade ago, and only recently started to rebel. “Since my job is done here, I’m going to go deal with this. School issue.”
“Don’t forget. Dinner. Forty-five minutes!” Mom calls after him.
Maggie starts singing Heart of Glass lyrics on point as she sashays out my room and down the hall.
Mom climbs into bed beside me, taking Maggie’s spot. “It’s nice having her home, isn’t it?”
I roll toward her, placing my head on her shoulder. “It’s going to be hard to see her leave again,” I whisper the words, knowing I won’t be able to say them without my voice breaking.
Mom pulls me closer, her hand twining around my waist. “I know.” She kisses my head. “I know,” she repeats, running her free hand over my hair.
A throat clears from the doorway, and the unwelcome sight of Lincoln makes my heart stutter, caught in a compromising position that exposes too many of my vulnerabilities and familiar undertones of my adolescence. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice a deep velvet, soothing the storm starting to wreak havoc in my thoughts. “Pax asked me to find you. The restaurant is here, and he didn’t know where to direct them.”
Mom presses another kiss to the top of my head, then slides out from under me and sits up. “Don’t be sorry. I appreciate you coming up here. They’re early.” She rotates her wrist, looking at her watch to verify the fact. “I hope it stays warm. Thanks, Lincoln.” She disappears, but he remains at my opened door, his brown eyes seeing too much.
I sit up, the blankets near my feet, and my hair windblown and messy down my back. “What?” I ask, my voice bordering on abrupt.
He swallows, then slowly takes two steps into my room, stopping several feet from my bed. “What’s wrong? Why are you upset?”
I want to laugh. Ask him why he cares. Remind him he’s a contributor to this massive imbalance in my life.
I want to cry because he doesn’t even realize this.
I shake my head instead. “I just woke up.”
Two more paces and he’s close enough I could likely touch him if I were to reach out. “Having something you want on borrowed time is almost more painful than not having it at all.”
The multiple interpretations of his words cross and tangle, wondering if he’s talking about Maggie or a personal confession. If I’m the borrowed time or he is.
“I’d hate whoever you dated. Whether it was Derek or some other asshat,” he tells me like it’s a confession, his gaze holding mine.
I swallow, waiting for his expression to give away his thoughts that are carefully concealed behind his flat eyes and stoic countenance.
“Why?” I finally ask.
He shakes his head once. “You know why.”
“Why won’t you just say the words? Why can’t you tell me you like me?”
Lincoln’s jaw flexes, and he looks away. “What would that do? Would it change anything?”
“Change what?”
He moves, pacing three steps forward and then back, running a hand over his dark hair, making it stand in perfect disarray. “I don’t do this bullshit. I don’t get involved because I know where it leads. I can’t make promises and pretend to be something that I’m not. I’ve seen the outcome of that situation.”
My heart stalls, wondering who he allowed in.
“Trust me, I don’t want to like you either.”
His right brow rises with surprise or maybe a question. “Because of Paxton.” I can’t tell if his words are a clarification or a question because he continues looking at me as though he’s waiting for a response, but there’s no inflection.
“Because I don’t want to be someone’s conquest.”
His gaze drops. Shame or maybe guilt allowing me a brief reprieve from his trail of inquisition before he’s staring at me again, his eyes nearly black, an abyss that seems both endless and daunting. He nods. “That’s all it would be.”
I swallow back the emotions and words that want to refute his admission, a fraction of my heart knows he’s lying. Knows that the words he carefully omits are proof he has feelings for me. However, he’s vocalized the opposition on more than one account, making that proof feel like a bandage that’s falling off, losing all semblance of protection.
“Glad we’re on the same page.” I stand, coldness shooting up from the light hardwoods through my bare feet, nearly as unwelcoming as his clarity. We stand nearly toe to toe, his jaw ticking as his eyes graze over my face.
My pride wars with uncertainty, wanting to prove he watches me too closely—and desperate to get away from his prying eyes that likely sense the fresh wound he just plowed into my heart without the slightest spec of regret or remorse. I’m in so far over my head the world seems black and impossible to navigate.
I step around him, reaching my closet where I grab a clean pair of jeans and a top I’d bought with Poppy before school started. I yank open my dresser drawer, trying to ignore the knowledge Lincoln is behind me, possibly watching me as I fish for a clean pair of underwear.
When I turn around, Lincoln’s back is to the door as he faces me. “Don’t hate me. It’s better this way.”
“Because caring for someone other than yourself would be so difficult?”
“Because every day it gets harder to keep my distance. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have gone this morning. I shouldn’t have turned my car into the parking lot when I saw you with Derek…” He remains rooted in place as my thoughts spin endlessly.
“You don’t know what you want,” I accuse him. “You push and then you pull, and neither result makes you happy.” I grip the clothes tight against my chest. “And I can’t catch my breath. Getting involved with you would drown me.”
Lincoln runs a hand through his dark hair, his eyes sweeping over me, exposing a hint of pain and something that looks like desire or maybe hope. He crosses the room, stopping when he’s only a breath away from me.
29
“I’m not a villain. I just know where this would lead: a long road to a longer recovery.” Lincoln’s breath coats my skin.
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’d rather take everything I can from the borrowed time than never get the chance. Saying good-bye to Maggie is going to be impossible, but I’d take that pain a thousand times over not seeing her.”
“But, you’ll still be able to get up in the morning.”
“And so would you.” There’s conviction in my word
s, knowing how quickly I’d be replaced by a thousand other women who’d be willing to morph into the perfect reality for him. “That’s why I’m the one drowning, and you’re still debating the conditions.”
I stride past him, knowing I’ve said too much—revealed he impacts me far more than a physical level and that he has the upper hand.
He doesn’t move to stop me or silent the confirmation. His silence echoes across the space with each passing second.
I don’t breathe until the bathroom door is locked, my back against the white paneled wood, keeping me up as my knees and shoulders sag. His words play in my head like a soundtrack on repeat, drilling doubt and questions into my convictions and sanity.
Once showered, I stretch my time alone, curling my hair into long waves and applying my makeup, adding thick lines across my lash lines and shadowing my lids before swiping a gloss across my lips. It feels like my own version of a mask, a middle finger directed toward Lincoln to prove I not only will escape his tides, but I’ll come out on the other side.
Black ankle boots complete my outfit before I head downstairs, steeling myself with each step as I focus on surviving the next hour before Maggie and I leave.
Mom’s at the bottom of the stairs, and she does a double take before smiling at me. “You look nice.”
“Mags and I are going out.”
Her smile wanes, that edge of sadness reappearing.
“Raegan,” Pax says. “Coach Craig, this is my sister, Raegan.” He turns his attention to me. “He wants to go over the tape of Texas with you. See if you can catch anything we’re missing.”
