“You are a prize, honey. And she knows that. Think about this from her perspective: she is alone in the world. She finally breaks and lets you in and then something happens and it doesn’t work out.”
“But that’s true of any relationship. Not just with me.”
“True, but you’re an athlete. Like her dad. It’s human nature to stay away from things that remind us of other things that have hurt us.”
I hate when she makes sense. “So that leaves me shit out of luck?”
“That’s a disgusting choice of words.”
Ignoring her, I press forward. “So I’m supposed to just suck it up because her dad ruined her life? That’s not fair, Mom. I don’t accept that.”
“Then don’t,” she says softly. “You just struck out. What do you do when you strikeout in a game?”
“I hit a homerun at the next at-bat.”
“That’s right,” she sings. “Just be patient with her. Pretend like the pitcher is a little off his game and you have no idea what’s coming down the pike.”
“The pipe, Mom. What’s coming down the pipe.”
“Whatever,” she laughs. “You get the picture. Now, tell me when you’ll be home.”
“I have the assessment in the morning. I’m supposed to leave the day after.”
“I can’t wait to see you.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“You too.”
Placing the cup back on the counter, I walk across the room. When I get to the doorway, I stop and look at it sitting on the counter over my shoulder.
Batter up.
Me: Hey.
It takes more than a minute for her to respond, every second feeling like a year. When I hear the ping announcing a message, I can’t swipe fast enough.
Dani :Hi.
Me: How are you?
Dani: Good. In the bathtub.
Me: Are you fucking with me?
Very slowly, a picture loads on my screen of one bent knee in a pool of bubbles. A wine glass is on the ledge, along with a row of little candles.
Me: You better be alone.
Dani: Of course.
I erase every response I type out. I’m not sure which emotion to use to inspire the follow-up. When hers pops up, I let out a sigh of relief.
Dani: I’m good. Thank you for checking.
Me: Out of all the words you’ve ever said to me, and you’ve said some things that have been borderline offensive, those are the ones I hate most.
Dani: Which?
Me: Thank you.
Dani: How is that?
Me: Because it implies I’m doing you a favor. Or going out of my way when I ask if you’re okay or checking on you.
Dani: Ok. I appreciate you doing those things.
Me: That’s better. Sort of.
Dani: How does your shoulder feel tonight?
Me : :(
Dani: Ice it.
Me: I don’t want to talk about my shoulder.
Dani: I know. I was just thinking about it. The wine is starting to make me sleepy. I need to get out of here and get to bed.
Me: I’m here if you need me. You know that.
Dani: I do. Goodnight, Landry.
Me: Night, Ryan.
Strike one.
Danielle
“YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT.”
“Gee, thanks, Gretchen,” I sigh, heading to the doorway.
She surveys me before following me down the hallway. “I take that back. You look worse than shit.”
“Do you have something productive to say to me or are you just here to insult me?” I laugh.
I’m more than aware I don’t look my best today. Hell, I don’t even look mediocre today. My eyes have dark circles, my face crinkled with lines from sadness and wine and lying on the side of my face while I cried last night.
I woke up not sure what decision was right. Letting myself get involved with Lincoln, even when I felt like I was getting in too deep? Or pulling away because I’m scared? Which is worse—being extra risky or overly cautious?
All I know is that I thought of him as I fell asleep and when I woke up. I miss his voice and his stupid texts and wonder how his shoulder feels. There’s a part of me that feels dead not knowing when I’ll see him again . . . if ever. This is impossible.
Gretchen sighs, pulling me back to the present. “The budget is ripped apart.”
“No,” I gasp, my eyes going wide.
“Unfortunately. The official papers will come through next week, so enjoy the holiday. You might want to make plans for another job though, Danielle. I can’t promise you anything right now.”
My face falls as I try to keep this in a little box in my brain. If not, I’m going to be completely overwhelmed.
“I have a meeting and then I’m heading home to nurse this migraine. Take the day off tomorrow—paid. Extend your holiday weekend before the chaos of next week hits.”
“Gretchen?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Aren’t we all?” With a sad smile, she turns down the adjacent hallway and disappears.
Maybe this isn’t the worst thing to happen. Everything seems so bleak here. I could use this as an opportunity to move. Maybe somewhere warm. Or maybe Boston. I should call Macie.
The elevator dings and I glance over my shoulder and stutter-step before stopping. His eyes light up in the way I love, his body looking strong in a fitted black workout shirt and shorts. Lincoln makes no effort to move, to wave, to insinuate in any way that he is happy to see me besides the flicker in his eyes. As the doors close, we exchange a small, almost-smile, and then, before I’m ready, they swing shut.
A whimper slides through my lips, my eyes wetting immediately.
“Stop this,” I hiss to myself and dart to the bathroom. It’s empty. “This was your decision and it was a good one.” I straighten out my rumpled yellow dress. I’d hoped the color would brighten my spirits, but no luck.
I head back to my office, my heels clicking against the tile. “Take the job with Macie. Get out of here and make a fresh start,” I whisper to myself as I watch my feet step in the center of each tile.
I flick the door behind me to my office and nearly yelp. “Lincoln!”
He’s sitting across from my desk, the twinkle in his eye replaced with a look of . . . fear? He forces a swallow as I grab the corner of my desk for support.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I needed to see you.”
“Why?”
“A number of reasons,” he says, a smile ghosting his lips.
“I thought you went down on the elevator,” I whisper, still not sure I’m really seeing him here.
His face lights up as a full-blown smirk drags across it. “I did. Then I came back up.”
My cheeks ache from the smile I’m giving him and I tell myself to stop it before I give him a false idea, but I can’t erase it. There’s no way to turn off the light he ignites in me.
He holds a tube up in the air. “I brought a signed poster for Rocky. Think I could take it to him?”
Some of my hope wavers. “Rocky was released two days ago. His cancer is undetectable.”
The joy on Lincoln’s face hits my heart. This is part of what I love about him. His genuineness. His sweetness. His thoughtfulness.
“I can take it and mail it to him though,” I offer.
“Please.”
I take the tube and our fingers touch. I jerk mine away.
“I have a favor to ask,” he says tentatively.
“The last time you asked a favor, it was a trick.” I sit across from him, grateful for the support.
“It might be a trick this time too,” he laughs. “Can you blame me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m leaving in the morning for Savannah for Thanksgiving.”
“So?”
“Go with me.”
“What?” I squeak. “Landry, are you nuts?”
“Nuts about you.”
I collapse back in my chair with a huff, hoping I sound more irritated than I am. I have to power through, not succumb. Protect myself. “I can’t go with you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?”
I expect an argument, at least a little fight, but get none. He just shrugs his broad, thick shoulders. “Fine.”
My brows pull together, but I keep my features otherwise smooth. He’s watching me too carefully. He’s looking for an opening and I’m not about to give him one.
“Should I bring dinner to your house or should we cook it together at mine?”
“Excuse me?”
“Look,” he says, sliding his hands down the legs of his shorts, “if you don’t want to go to Savannah, I get it. My family can be a little overbearing. So we’ll stay here. We’ll—”
“I’m not having Thanksgiving with you.”
“You have plans I’m unaware of?”
“Maybe.”
“You better fit me in.”
My eyes wet again and he grips the armrests. He’s obviously fighting to keep himself from jumping the desk and grabbing me, but he doesn’t. I’m both thankful and a little disappointed he doesn’t.
“You need to see your family,” I counter. “It’s your thing. You’ve told me stories about football with your brothers and everything.”
“Yeah, they’ll be pissed if I don’t come. But I’m not leaving you.”
“Why do this? I’ve told you this won’t work out between us in the long term. We’re just setting ourselves up for a lot of heartache later.”
“Because,” he says, leaning forward until his elbows rest on my desk, “I care about you. And I know you care about me too. So maybe you are afraid to trust me. I hate it, but I’ll deal. But we’re friends. Hopefully with benefits,” he winks in only the way he can.
My heart nearly explodes as a warmth extends throughout my veins. The twinkle is back in his eyes. Slowly, his hands reach across the desk for mine.
And just as slowly, mine take them and give them a squeeze.
“This is what I was telling you,” I say, our gazes locked together.
“What’s that?”
“You’d be impossible.”
“So you’ll go with me? Or are we staying home?”
I open my mouth and then close it. Then, against the screaming of my brain, I let my heart do the talking. “Let’s go to Savannah.”
As good as it feels to say that out loud, it’s even better to be met with Lincoln’s smile.
Danielle
MY HEAD RESTS AGAINST LINCOLN’S shoulder as the car, driven by one of Barrett’s staff, rumbles down the road. The plane ride to Savannah was fast, uneventful, and quite frankly, the best trip I’ve ever taken. First class and sitting next to him, breathing him in, feeling his touch, watching women beg him for attention while he held my hand was pretty much the stuff dreams are made of.
Lincoln squeezes my hand, our fingers interlocked as they have been since we got in the car. “You okay?”
I’m not sure if I am okay. Right now, I’m perfect. I haven’t felt this excited about something since I was a little girl and I’m not even sure what it is I’m excited about. Spending time with Lincoln? Being a part of something bigger on a holiday? Feeling this happiness in my heart? Maybe some of all of it. But with the good, comes the bad. There’s the unknown of what happens when we get home.
This feels right. Being with him always feels right. But how do you trust your heart when your brain is screaming you know better? When as soon as you start feeling good about things, a photo essay flashes before your eyes highlighting the resemblances in past mistakes and this situation?
The uncertainty of what’s ultimately right, not what feels right at this moment, keeps me wobbly. So I do what any crazy person does: I don’t think about it. Pasting on a smile and reminding myself I’m enjoying this weekend for what it is, I squeeze his hand back.
“I’m good,” I say.
“I hope so. I’m just really glad to have you here.” He brings my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the top. When my phone rings inside my purse, I think about not answering it because it means taking my hand out of his. He seems to figure that out and laughs, using his free hand to unlace ours. “Get it.”
With an exaggerated sigh, I dig through my bag and pull out the glowing device. “Hello?”
“I’m so sorry to call you while you’re on holiday,” Gretchen rushes, “but I have news. Big news!”
“Really?” I squirm in my seat. This can go one of two ways. “What is it?”
“I just got a call from the business office, Danielle. There’s been a donation to the department. Big enough that we don’t have to worry about anything until mid-year next year! We can stay fully staffed and under normal operations for the time being.”
I can hear the emotion in her throat and it causes my own to clench shut. My mind races with all this means—continued service to so many children and their families. A job. Hope.
How did we get so lucky?
“I’m in disbelief,” she chokes out. “I haven’t slept in nearly two weeks. I’m drinking a mai tai to celebrate and then I’m passing out.”
“Who made the donation? We need to thank them somehow.” I glance at Lincoln as he shifts away from me ever-so-slightly. “I feel like a load of stress has just evaporated from my shoulders.”
“We don’t. It was made anonymously this morning.”
A twitch pinches my gut, hidden away in that place that only triggers when you know something you don’t know you know. It crawls out, over my heart, making it tingle, and to my brain. “We don’t, huh?” I look at Lincoln’s profile, all angles and scruff. He refuses to look at me.
“No. But whoever it is deserves a huge hug. And a kiss.” She rattles on and on while I watch Lincoln pointedly not look at me. “Are you still there, Danielle?”
“Yes,” I laugh, shaking my head. “Such great news. Thank you for calling. I’ll see you at work on Monday!”
“See you then. Happy Thanksgiving.” The phone goes back in my bag as I continue to wait for Lincoln to look at me. “Guess what?”
“What’s that?” He faces me, his eyes cautious.
“Someone anonymously donated enough money to keep our program going for a while. Isn’t that nice?”
“That’s awesome, Dani.”
“You, uh, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Instinctively, he leans away. It’s so slight, so barely noticeable that I know he doesn’t realize he’s done it. And therefore, given himself up. “Why would I?”
“I think you do, Landry.” My hand rests on his knee, and with even pressure, I run it up his muscled thigh to the bend of his jeans.
“I think you’re crazy,” he gulps, nodding towards Troy as if he’s reminding me he’s there.
“Don’t act innocent. No one believes you.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he grins, “I’m happy to fuck you right here.”
“Landry!” I exclaim, my cheeks burning.
He chuckles in return while Troy, ever the professional, pretends not to notice. The car pulls up to the entrance of the Farm. It is beautiful. An ornate gate opens, and a long, winding driveway extends in front of us. Hedges block any visibility from the road, and it’s not until we are rounding a bend that I can see the house.
Why they call it a farmhouse is beyond me. That word paints an image of a little white house with a chicken coop. This is a Southern plantation. A huge, wide porch with pillars looks to encompass the entire place. Mums line whiskey barrels and give the clean exterior pops of burgundy, orange, and yellow. It’s breathtaking.
“This is gorgeous,” I breathe as it comes into full view. “Not what I expected.”
“This is my second favorite place in the world,” he whispers against my ear.
“Second? What could be more perfect that this?”
“Inside you.”
Before he can pull away, I turn my face so my lips capture his. He deepens the kiss, our lips working against one another in perfect harmony. As we pull away, breathless, he grins. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’ll ensure you come later,” I promise.
“Naughty girl,” he chuckles as the car rolls to a stop. “I like it.”
“You will.”
Looking around the fields leading to a spectacular tree line of evergreens, I feel my heartbeat pick up. I practice my even breathing technique so I don’t panic. “Who are all these people?”
A swarm of people seems to pop out from all directions. A regal couple stand on the porch, and I figure them to be Lincoln’s parents by their age. Another man comes out the front door and down the steps towards the car. He looks like Lincoln, just more distinguished in his navy button-up and open collar. I vaguely recognize him as Barrett Landry from random magazine articles.
From the side of the house comes a stockier, clean-cut version of the same cloth. With his black track pants and long-sleeve white shirt, he looks military. At his side is a female, younger than Lincoln, in ripped jeans and an orange off-the-shoulder shirt. Her long, blonde hair is purple at the ends.
“My family,” Lincoln smiles the widest I’ve ever seen. “Come on!”
Without waiting for Troy to open the door, Lincoln slides out, nearly pulling me along with him. His excitement is contagious and, despite the tinge of panic, I find myself smiling.
“Hey,” Lincoln calls, pulling one of his brothers in a bear hug. “How are you, Barrett?”
“Good. How was the trip?”
“Great. Where’s Alison?”
“Fuck off,” Barrett laughs, stepping to the side. “Who is this?” He heads my way, his eyes sparkling. “I’m Barrett. Nice to meet you.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear before extending my hand to him. “I’m Danielle Ashley. Nice to meet you.”
He walks right past my hand and pulls me into a quick hug. “We don’t shake hands in this family,” he laughs.
“Easy with the hug,” Lincoln laughs, shoving him gently.
Barrett chuckles as the other siblings reach us. Lincoln greets them both before standing beside me, his hand around my waist. “Danielle, this is Ford and Sienna. Guys, this is my girl.”
My reaction to his declaration in front of his family is pasted on my face. Sienna laughs right before she, too, pulls me into a hug. “It’s so great to meet you,” she says, her eyes shining. “He treats you right, right? Because if not, I’ll take care of him.”
Swing Page 15
