Chapter 18 (deleted)
Raegan
I should have said no.
I have a dozen valid excuses that range from excessive amounts of homework to having not seen Poppy for several days, to needing to catch up on laundry, but instead, I’m sitting across from Lincoln, having just told him about my trip to SeaWorld as a kid and falling hard for orcas. Our server delivers me a Dr. Pepper and him a Sprite.
Lincoln leans back in his seat, his carefully crafted mask nearly absent in the place of amusement. “And you just knew?” he asks.
I nod. “I did. I knew that I wanted to work with orcas and do something that would help them.” I take a drink of my soda and try to match his disposition. “What about you? What got you interested in football?”
He flashes a smile, his fingers sliding against the white disposable cup in front of him. “My mom didn’t want me to play,” he says.
“That’s what made you pick up a football?”
He chuckles, nodding.
“What does she think about it now?”
He pulls in a short, sharp breath, sitting up a bit. It’s a rare event that he brings up his mom, a fact I’ve noticed because he always takes a harsh breath on the rare occasions he does. He shrugs, slumping back in his seat, but I notice the changes. His mask has returned, his jaw is strained, and the humor that had relaxed his face is absent. “She’s good with it.”
“You guys aren’t close.” I mean for it to be a question, but it sounds like a statement.
He shakes his head. “We are. Kind of.”
“You don’t have to explain it,” I tell him, though I wish he would.
“I’ll trade you a truth,” he says, peeking up from below the thick curtain of lashes that are currently hiding one of his best features.
“What?”
“I’ll tell you about my mom if you tell me something.”
“My choice?”
He shakes his head. “You asked about my mom.”
“What’s your question?”
He sits up further, lifting his chin so that he’s taller, bigger—again consuming too much of the space, my time, and my thoughts. “My choice.”
“This sounds like a terrible idea.”
He lifts a brow. “Is that a no?”
I hate that I crave to know things about him. “This game doesn’t seem fair at all.”
“What game is?”
I sigh. “Okay. Tell me about your mom.”
His grin returns. “She’s remarried to a guy named Ted. They’ve been married for ten years. No kids. They live about ninety minutes south and have a spoiled dog.”
“This doesn’t count,” I tell him.
“What? I’m telling you about her.”
“Yeah, the Cliff Notes version. That stuff doesn’t matter. You’re telling me about her like you’re reading a product’s description.”
He glares at me, a silent storm of words that he keeps at bay by swallowing another drink of his soda. I’d push him further, but our waitress returns with two cheeseburgers and a shared order of cheese fries, with enough bacon to nearly warrant distracting my attention from Lincoln.
Once she leaves, I turn my attention back to Lincoln. “You can glare, but you’re who suggested the game. I gave you an out.”
Lincoln holds my stare for several long seconds, anger emanating in his intensely bright eyes. “My parents got divorced when I was five. I think my mom was tired of being in a marriage alone. My dad worked a ton and was never home.” He sniffs, shaking his head in short, tight jerks. “He missed everything. Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, dates. He was always gone. My mom grew up with a really tight-knit family, and she missed that dynamic. She wanted dinner together every night, game nights, holiday traditions, and morning routines that involved more than just her and me.” He tilts his chin upward, licking his lips. “When they separated, I wanted to stay with my mom, but he made that impossible.”
My heart stops, a fracture cutting right down the middle as I imagine a younger Lincoln stuck in the middle of a situation that wasn’t fair for any child to be a part of.
“She knew that. So, she got an apartment close by and came by the house every day. It was almost normal, like nothing had changed, except when I went to bed, she left for her house, returning again the next morning. But, that ended after my dad got married to his second wife. She didn’t want my mom around.” Lincoln’s fist clenches. “Dad sided with his new wife, and I could only see my mom twice a week and every other weekend.” He sighs again, his sad and unsteady gaze falling. “Seattle’s expensive, though, and my mom couldn’t find a job that could support her living so close. So, she eventually had to move. My dad, of course, wouldn’t help.” He flexes his jaw, and I find myself wishing there wasn’t a table between us. I want to set a hand on him and somehow take some of the pain sitting so heavily on his childhood. I reach forward, placing my hand over his fist, my grip secure and purposeful, a message that I’m here and will help him lose his pains and find sense in the mess.
“It’s not her fault she left, and I know that. But it still sucked. Then, my dad sent me to boarding school, and she eventually remarried.”
My grip tightens, and he releases his thumb from my hold, placing it over mine. “That had to be really hard.”
He rolls his shoulder with another practiced shrug.
“Do your parents get along now?”
“No. They basically pretend the other doesn’t exist.”
“Do you see your mom much?”
He gives a weak nod. “Sometimes. She has an entire life now, though. She and Ted have a network of friends, and his family live down there, and Mom works a lot, but I usually go down and see her a couple of times a month. Have dinner. Catch up.”
“I bet she’s really proud of you.”
Doubt makes his eyes narrow. “Maybe.”
I shake my head and stretch my fingers to fit farther over his hand. “You’re worth being proud of.”
He holds my gaze but doesn’t say anything, and for a minute. I regret saying the words, worried that he’ll take back this moment and cover up these truths with a joke or worse—a lie.
“Thanks,” he mumbles quietly, his pride and ego surprisingly absent.
I stroke the length of his first two fingers with my thumb. “Okay. What truth do you want to know about me?”
Lincoln leans back, a smirk tugging his lips northward. “Are your parents okay with you going into cetology?”
“Okay, as in, do they approve?”
He gives a half nod and half shrug, as though permitting for me to interpret the question however it fits best. “I think my dad still assumes it’s something I’ll outgrow. Like It’s a phase or a hobby or something, but my mom is very accepting most of the time. She’s still uneasy about the boundaries of it all, as you saw the other day with the whole boating situation.”
“What does your dad want you to do?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “Anything that earns me a pension and good benefits.”
Lincoln laughs, the sound comfortable and easy, making our joined hands feel as normal as the changing weather. “What would you do if you weren’t going to be a cetologist?”
“Something still with marine biology. I feel at home when I’m by the water. Somedays, it feels like I can’t breathe until I get close enough to the shore.”
“I feel that way about the football field.”
“That speaks volumes. You should listen to it rather than hearing the doubts from your father.”
Lincoln’s smile slips, his thumb stroking mine in short brushes that feels like a lullaby to my skin. I know he has a curfew before game nights—a time dictated by my older brother, the captain of the team. Selfishly, I choose to ignore this fact and everything involving Pax.
I watch the column of Lincoln’s neck move as he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze drops to my mouth. I want to flip the table over—or crawl over the top of it—both options are playing in my mind as he licks his lips, his eyes still intently focused on my mouth.
“Raegan,” he rasps, twisting his hand so that his palm meets mine, warm and strong, covered in calluses and dirt stains from the field. He moves his hand slowly, our skin grazing. The sensation both tickles and feels ridiculously private though it’s the one part of me that’s touched a thousand others. “You make me want to forget about it all.”
I understand this feeling so entirely. If I could hit a pause button and just freeze time and stay in this moment, I would be content. I lean closer, plunging my fingers between his. “We can.”
“Can we? Can we be friends?”
Friends?
It sounds like a four-letter word.
The sensation of my lungs filling with saltwater occurs again as I clench my teeth and try to steady my gaze as I nod, trying my damndest to look convincing and hide the disappointment I’m currently getting swallowed by.