Chapter 17

Lincoln

Guilt is a tricky son of a bitch. At times, it sneaks up when you’re least expecting it, and other times, it haunts you, making you paranoid.

I’m one of the first to get seated on the plane to Colorado. I pretend like I’m asleep, so no one bothers me. Arlo obliges. Paxton doesn’t, which has that paranoia in my chest growing and expanding. I’m jumpy and ready to try and give some sort of honest reasoning for acting like such a fuckface. But, he settles in and closes his eyes. It doesn’t ease my concerns. He looks like a grenade, and I can’t tell if the damn pin is still in.

But the pin must be intact because we’ve just landed and are taxiing, waiting for a gate to open, and he hasn’t even scowled in my direction. “Sorry, man. I’m exhausted. Candace and I were up way too late talking about things.”

That isn’t at all where I’d expected the conversation to go. “How’d she take the breakup?”

“We’ve decided to try again.”

I should be expecting this answer. After all, the two have been unable to escape the unhealthy rip tide they call a relationship since they started dating two years ago. “As long as you’re happy, man, I’m not going to give you my two cents, but stay in this relationship solely because you feel obligated.”

He nods, his shoulders sliding down on the leather seat as though he’s relieved by my response. I’m relieved by the topic. Since the second half of my production last night, which was brought on by the many expectations and regrets shared by my dad and my pride transformed into brash arrogance, guilt and remorse have been sitting on my shoulders like a second conscious, only compounded when Raegan tore out of the driveway. Unfortunately, pride still sits on my other shoulder, insisting that what I did was best for both of us.

“Lawson,” Coach barks, standing from his seat in the front.

Paxton clamps his hand across my chest. “Thanks for not telling me it was a mistake.” He grabs his duffel from under the seat and heads toward Coach.

It was a mistake, but I’m fairly certain he already knows that, and it won’t be long until she reminds him and finally proves it again.

“I heard a rumor.”

The sound of Derek’s voice has me grinding my molars. Dickface makes it a point to avoid the entire team. He shows up to practice and then leaves. I’d be completely cool with that if he didn’t constantly spread rumors about the other guys on the team and create trouble with both the media and coach.

“Well, you know what they say about rumors and the idiots who spread them.”

“Guys on the team are talking about you hanging out with Raegan Lawson. Said they saw you at a party with her last week after the win.”

Others have stood and have begun gathering their things, the volume of voices and movement growing, making me still to catch his next words.

“I know you like competition, but this one surprises me.”

I turn, seeing his stoic expression and narrowed stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been trying to control things since you first saw us talking. You need to back off.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Yeah? What does Paxton think about that?”

I consider lying. Telling him I’m cockblocking him because of my friendship with Paxton, but the words won’t form, and the thoughts are quickly smothered by ones that consist of Derek dating Raegan. Making her happy. Making her smile. Making her feel everything I didn’t last night.

“If this is your idea of a shakedown, you need to work on this game as much as you do your game on the field. This isn’t kindergarten, asshole. If you think you’re the best, prove it.”

Derek snickers. “I knew this was a game to you.”

“Fuck you.” I grab my bag and prepare to get off the plane, ready to check anyone who dares to get in my way.

“I have a quick announcement,” Coach says, slowing me. It takes every ounce of strength and patience to not trudge past him.

“There was an incident that happened on campus this morning, and I want to make you all aware of it because the press will likely ask for your opinions, and then Sandy is going to give you all some talking points on it.”

The last time I can recall Coach asking to share talking points with us was freshman year when a fellow student was raped. My stomach plunges to my feet, and every muscle in my body tightens. My gaze snaps to Lincoln, but he’s looking beyond me and every other player on our team, his jaw strained. Something’s wrong, and he knows what it is.

“There’s been a development at school.” Coach briefly looks across at us and then sighs. “A professor and a student were having an affair… Of all the times for an idiot to get caught with his pants around his ankles….” He shakes his head.

My heart slows to a stutter. The paranoia is in full force today.

“What’s wrong with you?” Arlo hits me with his forearm.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, shifting to move forward as we start to de-board.

“You’re jumpy as all hell.”

“Just tired.” Tired of these thoughts trailing my ass.

“I saw you and Derek having a heart-to-heart. Anything good?” He tosses an unopened energy drink up and then catches it.

“He was just confessing how much he wishes he were me.”

Arlo slaps a hand to my shoulder, already bent with laughter. “Are you ready to take this win?”

I pull in a deep breath through my nostrils and nod. “Absolutely.”

A bus is waiting for us. In high school, we traveled on old school buses without air conditioning that smelled of urine and wasted dreams, but in college, we travel on private planes and coach buses with plush seats and recline far enough to nap in the controlled temperatures.

I sit near the front with my bag on the seat beside me. I need to focus my thoughts and energy on what matters: football.

I tell myself this for a solid hour while we make the long drive to the campus, stuck in rush hour traffic, but as hard as I try to concentrate on the game against Colorado, my thoughts are as congested as traffic, roaming back to Rae and the past few weeks. I reach for my phone, which lives on silent, dismiss the multiple alerts, and pull open my texts. Rae is in my contacts. I added her over a year ago when I went on vacation with their family to Barbados. I barely saw her during the four days Pax and I hunted down girls in thong bikinis and cheap alcohol, but we’d all exchanged numbers, and it’s been sitting in my address book, taunting me for weeks.

Lincoln: I’m an ass.

I hit send. My heart beats unsteadily in my chest, but finally, my thoughts are focused, and the guilt in my stomach doesn’t feel so sour.

The small dots blink at the bottom of my screen, indicating her response, then they disappear. They reappear. Then disappear again. She’s censoring herself. I know it and want to tell her to stop again.

I drop my head back against the soft gray headrest, the irregularity of my pulse becoming painful as I question what she’s erasing.

Rae: Yes you are.

Lincoln: I could make excuses, but I was out of line, and I’m sorry.

The dots appear and disappear three times.

Rae: Apology accepted. Let’s just forget about it and everything else.

Everything else. A strange flood of emotions hit me as relief wars with objections.

Lincoln: I’m that forgettable?

The dots appear, and this time, they don’t disappear.

Rae: I’m sure you have an entire army of girls who will happily inflate your ego. Start with the ‘A’s’ I’m sure by the time you reach the ‘B’s’ you won’t remember my comment.

Lincoln: Can’t you just lie and tell me I’m pretty?

Rae: That’s what the A’s are for.

I chuckle.

Lincoln: We’re cool?

Rae: Absolutely. Why wouldn’t we be? Nothing happened, right?

Everything returns to normal. Itch scratched.

Lincoln: I didn’t say that.

The dots dance across my screen and then vanish. I don’t know Rae well enough to guess if she thinks I’m being sarcastic or not. I’m sure she’s thinking the same about me.

Lincoln: I’ve gotta go. Game time.

Rae: See ya.

I pull out the portable DVD player with the tape of Colorado loaded. I always ask Kirk, one of the coach’s assistants, to have the team we’re playing loaded so I can watch them before a game. It helps me to focus and keep their plays and strategy fresh in my thoughts before taking the field.

“Hey.”

I press pause and glance up at Pax, who’s stopped in the aisle. I move my bag to my feet so he can sit. “What’s up, man.”

“Check this out.” He passes his cell phone to me, a video paused. I hit play and watch as the full-back on Colorado aims low and takes the running back of Arizona out. The player lies on the field, immobile. “Fractured his tibia and tore his meniscus,” he says. “And check this out.” He reaches across to his phone and scrolls up through his messages. “Two more times this happened. Once last year and once his senior year. He got kicked off the team but was recruited.”

“Shit.”

Pax nods.

“No one knows?”

“He changed his last name. Apparently, his parents got in an ugly divorce, and he transferred, so he rode the bench all of last year. Time has a funny way of making people forget, I guess. Rae just sent it to me.”

“Raer?”

Paxton nods. “She understands football better than half the jokers on this team.”

I’m not surprised yet shocked at the same time—a contradiction of emotions that has become a norm lately.

“The point is, watch your ass tonight.” He clamps a hand to my shoulder, a playful grin on his face.

“Is everything cool with you?”

“With what?”

I roll my shoulders, attempting to shrug, but it’s nearly mandatory. My neck and back muscles are so tightly wound. “Your conversation with Coach”

“Oh, yeah. I guess there aren’t any details at this point. He just wants us to be aware in case we’re asked about it tonight.”

He breathes out a loud, harsh breath, then closes his eyes. “Candace wants to break up or become more serious.”

Denial is as absent as reason has been. Pax stares at me. I think he’s hoping I’ll tell him to fight for her or tell him this is a good idea, but the two have been trapped in a toxic relationship that is barely more functioning than my father’s and any one of his ex-wives.

I shake my head. “That’s more than just giving it another shot. I don’t get it, man. She is exactly the role you fear. She’s looking for a free ride, and hell, maybe she wasn’t when you guys first started dating, but that’s what it’s become.”

His jaw ticks with annoyance. I know he wasn’t looking for an ass chewing, and if Candace were about any other girl, I might even play along and pretend it wasn’t true, but Pax doesn’t need that shit. He needs brutal honesty, though he may not realize it.

“I just need to get out there and kick Colorado’s ass,” he says, changing the subject.

Most people struggle to focus on the field when they have shit going on in their lives, and I know Pax is no exception, but my dose of honesty ends after my advice about Candace. I pull up the film I have loaded on the DVD and crank up the volume so we can both hear the game as we both attempt to drown out everything else.