That Girl

by H. J. Bellus

  “Thank God he didn’t see that,” Jewels says, pointing toward Monica.

  I agree. “Yes, because we know he tends to overreact when it comes to that bitch.”

  We both laugh at several memories of Lincoln overreacting to Monica-related incidents. It’s not funny, and we shouldn’t be laughing, but sometimes it’s the only thing you can do in ugly situations.

  “What happens if they lo…” Jewels tries to get out.

  I’m not about to let her finish that sentence. “They’re not. This is our game and our house.”

  “Jesus, you need to get a job as a motivational speaker,” Jewels jokes.

  “I just have faith in them.”

  The crowd settles down as we are forced to take a T.V. timeout before the game starts.

  Sitting down, Jewels asks, “Have you told Lincoln?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I tear off a wad of cotton candy. “I didn’t want him worrying about it before the big game.”

  “Oakley, it’s not a worry. You think he’ll be mad, don’t you?”

  I simply shrug, not knowing how to answer her.

  “He’ll be mad if you take care of it. I can’t believe you’ve even thought about it,” she says, trying to catch my gaze.

  “Jewels, I never said I was going to. I just said I’m undecided.”

  The announcer riles the crowd up, saving me from any further interrogation from Jewels – and from my own thoughts. There are camera crews everywhere. Actual cameras are swinging from a skyline. Yes, everything is hyped up at this game.

  Four quarters later, fifty-four to seven, and Lincoln is a conference champ and named the MVP of the game. Unlike other games, loved ones and parents rush the field to get to their players after the trophy presentation. I watch as Monica is right by Lincoln’s mom’s side as they search the field for him. He’s just leaving the platform with his MVP trophy, putting on his new conference champ hat, and scanning the crowd.

  “Let’s go,” Jewels says, pulling my hand.

  I follow her lead, walking down to the gate, only to be stopped by a security guard.

  “Only family.”

  “We are,” Jewel immediately pipes up, stroking a hand over her now visible baby bump for emphasis.

  “Let me see your tickets. They are marked.”

  Looking up, I see Lincoln’s dad and Levi shaking his hand, and his dad gives him a hug. The smile covering his face is priceless, and I only wish I could be there to hold his hand. I guarantee his dad didn’t exchange a word, but that hug and being at his game is worth a million dollars to Lincoln.

  His mom and Monica finally make it to them. A camera crew engulfs the small crowd, and a microphone is shoved in Lincoln’s face.

  “Oh my God, Jewels, ESPN is interviewing Lincoln. Look!” I scream.

  The joy coursing my veins is immediately iced down when his family pushes in on the interview, and his mom nudges Monica to stand by his side. Lincoln doesn’t notice her, as his attention is solely focused on the interview. I can’t hear a word, but can only imagine how hard his heart is pumping.

  It’s your time, Lincoln, shine, baby, shine.

  The interview cuts and the crew is on to the next player. The crowd mixes together, and I lose sight of Lincoln. I spend several minutes scanning the chaos to only see Monica at his side while his coaches hug and congratulate him.

  “This fucking blows,” Jewels declares.

  “Beyond words,” I agree, sitting down in a stadium seat.

  Everything inside is swirling in a sea of emotions. I’m beyond elated for Lincoln, the win, the hug, and the interview, but an ugly green-eyed monster is also churning inside me. I want to rip Monica’s eyeballs out of her fucking head.

  Minutes pass, and I give up hope, burying my face in my lap.

  “Oakley.”

  Again, “Oakley.”

  Looking up, I see Lincoln running toward me and waving.

  “What are you doing?” he shouts over the crowd noise.

  I throw my hands up in the air and shake my head. Lincoln makes it ten feet from me and is grabbed by one of his coaches.

  “Locker room, now.”

  “Give me ten seconds.” Lincoln turns back to the stands. “What are you doing?”

  “They wouldn’t let me down there, and your mom took Monica,” I say as tears stream down my face, and I get as close to the barrier as I can.

  Lincoln turns around and jogs back toward the bench and I let the real tears flow. I watch as all the assistant coaches try to herd the team into the locker room.

  “Oh my God, look, Lincoln,” Jewels yells.

  Looking at the bench again, I see Lincoln, Tiny, and several other teammates toting a bench toward us. They reach the fence and throw the bench down, looking right at me.

  “Fuck this.” I climb to the very top of the barrier and steady myself to jump over, while Lincoln stands on top of the bench to catch me. Sliding into his sweaty arms, I cry even harder.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  Feeling embarrassed for being so selfish, I bury my face in his neck.

  “I was so close to you, but so far away. It scared me.”

  “I was coming for you. Trust me, baby, I’ve imagined packing you out on this field after winning the championship game every night since I met you. This is us.”

  Sliding down from his hold, I grab his hand and say, “This is us.”

  Tiny passes us as he climbs up the bench to get Jewels, but before he does, he and Lincoln embrace each other. Lincoln never lets go of my hand while he and Heath have their moment together.

  We walk out to the center of the field where all the streamers have fallen.

  “Get your phone out,” he says.

  I hand Lincoln my phone, and we pose in front of the conference trophy. Then he hands me his MVP one to hold.

  “No, this is yours,” I say.

  “I only have two hands. One to take the pic, and one to hold my real trophy, you.”

  I bounce up on my toes and kiss him in front of the crowd on the fifty-yard line. The sound of the phone snapping pictures is the first thing I hear, and then cheers from the fans follow.

  “Let me help you out, son,” Lincoln’s dad says.

  He takes the phone from Lincoln’s hands, steps back, and takes several pictures of us. Lincoln scoops me up in his arms and cradles me like a baby, tilts his head back, and screams a victory cry.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Lincoln says, setting me down.

  “Get one with me and Monica,” Elaine demands as she runs up to the group, breathing heavily.

  Before Lincoln has a chance to speak, his dad does. “Cut the shit now, Elaine.”

  I’m guessing Elaine is never put in her place by the look on her face. I stare Monica down, and she floats away and is gone in a matter of seconds. Elaine tries to open her mouth and is immediately stopped by Lincoln’s dad and Levi. She finally marches off the field.

  “You kids want to come over for pizza?” his dad asks.

  Lincoln looks at me for approval, and I nod. His mom isn’t the most pleasant thing ever, but I know deep down Lincoln needs to keep feeling the approval from his father any way he can get it.

  “Yeah, that’d be great,” he answers.

  “Your mom just has a hard time letting go of things, son. She had this pizza party get-together planned, but I didn’t want her making a big deal about it until after the win.”

  Levi finally speaks up, “Go invite your boys, and let’s fucking eat.”

  “Do you need a ride, Oakley?” his dad asks.

  “No. I’ll wait for Lincoln. Thanks, though.”

  An assistant coach makes one final sweep of the field for players, and Lincoln jogs in with him. I make my way to his truck and expect a longer wait than usual since they did just win the championship. This is my favorite part; I people watch while waiting. I see several familiar season ticket holders walk to their designated parking spot.
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  A black SUV pulls up next to Elaine. She’s been standing by her car, pacing back and forth while chatting on the phone. Her facial expression surprises me. She’s shockingly happy after being told off by her husband. The window rolls down, and she reaches in to shake hands with someone. If she looked happy before, she’s ecstatic now after making contact. I watch as she passes a check to the hand she just shook. Odd, very odd. My spidey senses go on high alert, and I wrack my mind trying to discover what in the hell just went down.

  Flipping through my phone, I smile at the pictures Lincoln’s dad took. Admittedly, my favorite one is the picture where he’s holding me and roaring his victory cry to the heavens. The picture is so powerful and holds so many messages hidden from the naked eye. Lincoln holding his trophy, and me being held by my victor, it’s simply us being us.

  Pounding draws my attention, and I spot Lincoln thumping on the hood of truck, smiling like a fool.

  “Ready, baby?” he asks.

  I hesitate. “No.”

  “What?”

  Instead of ruining the moment and telling him what I just saw with his mom and how I despise her, I go for his lips. “I need this first.”

  “I can handle that,” he says without breaking the kiss.

  Before I know it, Lincoln’s covering my body, and clothes start to fly.

  “Stop,” I say, pushing away.

  “I know. We can’t do anything here. I was waiting for you to stop us. You know I never can,” he replies.

  “My place, now. Victory sex and then your parents?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

  We both sit up and adjust our clothing. Lincoln puts on his new hat and plops old reliable on my head.

  “Step on it,” I say.

  He chuckles. “Let me get my boner down.”

  Lincoln’s phone goes off, he answers it, and I sit and listen.

  Some of the teammates his mom invited need a ride to her house. He looks at me, and I nod my approval. We both know this means no visit to my place.

  “Victory sex after the party,” he says.

  “It’s a date,” I reply, quickly shrugging off my disappointment. “Where are they?”

  “Right there,” he says, pointing off to the left.

  I recognize the two players running our way.

  “Hey, does this mean you can stay the night tonight since football is over?”

  “It means I can stay every night until next July.”

  My heart melts with his words. My skin prickles, and I realize our love is the type that leaves scars. Imprints memories all over your skin. Unforgettable ones. The scars you’re proud to wear. The scars that make you who you are.

  “I love you, Lincoln Wilks.”

  “Pizza,” he replies.

  “Yes, it’s all just pizza.”

  As we drive over to his parents’ house, the scene with Elaine in the parking lot replays over and over in my mind. Any way I slice it, I just can’t figure out what the hell it was all about.

  “Hey, what’s your dad’s name?”

  Lincoln looks momentarily confused. “Larry, why?”

  “It dawned on me while I was waiting for you that I have no clue what his name is. You always call him Dad.”

  The men continue talking, and I drift off into my happy place of football, sitting next to Lincoln, and thoughts of cotton candy.

  Driving up the lane, I see several cars and even more people littering the lawn. Instantly, I spot the black SUV.

  “Lincoln, whose car is that?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  I try to sound nonchalant. “Just curious.”

  The other men climb out, and I hold Lincoln’s hand, tugging on it for him to stay in the truck with me a bit longer.

  “Lincoln, I realized today that I’ve finally become the person I was always meant to be. It’s been an ugly, brutal process, but I’m here. I love you, and I’m so proud of you.”

  “I love you, too, baby. Is something else bothering you?”

  “I need to tell you something, but I’ve been too scared…”

  Lincoln’s door is ripped open, and a group of his teammates grab him and pack him out of the truck. They have him hoisted above their heads, singing their college fight song. Clearly, the timing isn’t right, and I’ll try again in the morning.

  I follow the group of men carrying Lincoln. I refuse to get separated from him one more time today. I watch as they toss him into the heated swimming pool off the back patio. Lincoln is a ruthless fighter and takes one of them in with him. Everyone in the backyard goes wild. I notice Elaine standing on the patio with a very smug smile and a glass of wine raised in my direction as if she’s silently toasting me.

  “Thank God for iCloud,” Lincoln announces as he jumps out of the pool and raises his phone. He finds me in the crowd and immediately makes his way to me.

  “I can’t believe they threw you in.”

  “They’re assholes. What were you going to tell me?” He snatches a towel someone thrusts at him.

  “Nah, nothing. It can wait until morning.”

  He begins mopping water from his face. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Let’s go find some dry clothes,” he says.

  I follow Lincoln, and we get stopped repeatedly for cheers and congratulations. By now, I’m shivering from the cold weather. For December, it was a beautiful day, but now the sun is going down, and the air is freezing. Most of the people are in the heated, glass-enclosed patio. I nudge Lincoln’s back to go there. Making our way in, I’m shocked by the sheer amount of people in the tiny space.

  “I’m going to go grab some dry clothes from Levi’s room. I’ll be right back.”

  Before I have the chance to respond, he’s off, and I’m standing in a room full of strangers. I recognize some of the team, but most look like friends of Lincoln’s parents. I keep scanning the patio looking for Jewels. No sign of her. My gut churns when Monica walks out the same door Lincoln just went in.

  I find the corner furthest away from where Elaine and Monica stand. The two of them look like a pair of guard dogs positioned there. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what their plans are. They have their claws out and ready to grab Lincoln. Monica has the name, looks, and perfect pedigree for Elaine’s boy, and she is hell bent on making it happen. Luckily, I’m surrounded by a few familiar faces from the team in the corner, which makes waiting a bit easier.

  “Can I get everyone’s attention, please?”

  Lincoln is standing at the tallest point on the deck with a little black package in his hands.

  “I just want to thank everyone for coming here tonight. This has been the best season of my life. I have the best teammates and coaches a guy could ask for.” He gestures to where the team has gathered and waits for the resulting applause to die down. “It means the world to me to have my dad here to celebrate this occasion. I also want to take this time to thank my girlfriend.”

  I instantly wish this corner was about five more miles back, because all eyes turn to me when Lincoln points in my direction.

  “Since the day I met her, I haven’t been able to keep her far from my thoughts. Oakley Ann…”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Elaine chimes in, “Not so fast. I have a surprise of my own for you two.” She pushes toward the platform where Lincoln is standing. “When Lincoln brought Oakley home, Larry and I both fell in love with her and wanted to know more. Oakley was very quiet about her family and past. So, surprise, sweetie.”

  With her last words, one more couple walks out the door and stands next to Elaine.

  My mom and Duane.

  I’m immediately crazed with panic. Old familiar smells fill the patio, burning flesh tears at my hand, cuts begin to rip open down my neck, blood flows from every ragged wound as they both stare back at me.

  “It seems our Oakley is a runaway, and these here are her parents.”

  “Actually, her name isn’t Oakley. It’s…”


  Everything happened in slow motion until Duane opened his mouth, and like a sledgehammer everything was brought back into full swinging action. His voice, my name, and the memory of him moaning it as he took everything from me punch me in the gut.

  I see him. Instantly the smell invades all my senses before my feet can steady themselves. His touch tears at my flesh. She’s there standing and smiling by him like a perfect mother. The perfect impostor. They are a matter of feet in front of me. Elaine is announcing their presence to everyone, branding them to me for life. Their ruthless way of living being tattooed upon my skin in front of everyone.

  The look on Lincoln’s face pulls the hardest on my weakened heart. He knows. He knows Duane was the man to take me first, invade everything and leave me bleeding on my mattress. The memory of walking the streets of my town with torn, raw flesh rapidly controls all my senses. Lincoln knows and is standing a mere inches from the two who have done nothing but devastate me shred by shred every moment of my childhood. If it wasn’t Duane, it was another exactly like him.

  Run, you need to, run. Don’t look back. Everything is exposed. There’s no chance of pretending anymore. Even thousands of miles isn’t enough. Nameless and hopeless. The two possessions I require to survive.

  My heart and soul are the only things to hear the next few words.

  Goodbye, Lincoln Wilks.

  ***

  I don’t think, I just run. There are parked cars everywhere. I wind my way through them and keep running. The voices in the patio are becoming more and more jumbled, but not Duane’s voice moaning my name. It’s loud and screaming in my ear.

  “Fucking cars,” I shout, weaving through a whole line of parked ones.

  I spot a clearing of timbered land and dodge into the dark field and keep running. Lights ahead alert me of a nearby street. The closer I get, the more lights I spot. Turning, I don’t see anyone chasing, so my feet keep their steady pace.

  My foot slams down further than expected; I realize I just stepped off a sidewalk and into a street. It’s dark, so I keep going. A loud honking catches my attention, and looking to the right I see a bright light heading straight toward me, and I don’t run.