Chapter 19

Lincoln

“Let’s go!” Coach claps, chewing his gum so hard it looks like his jaw’s about to break.

Arlo looks at me. “Are you ready?”

I nod, turning my attention to Pax. He’s turning a familiar shade of green. I pat him on the back a couple of times. Coach notices the detail as well. He used to wince. Now he looks almost relieved because it means Pax is nearly ready.

Paxton stands and exits out the side of the huddle in the direction of the bathroom stalls.

“This is a big game for you guys,” Coach Harris says. Utah is a strong defensive team, which means this win rides on your shoulders,” he clasps a hand to my shoulder, then looks at Derek, who stands a few feet away.

“Yes, sir,” he replies.

Coach Harris looks at me again. “Every game counts this season.”

It’s a reminder I’ve been told since high school, one that makes my fists curl because I know better than any of them how much each game is worth. Unfortunately, I’m plagued with a new overwhelming sense of guilt, the reminder of Raegan’s face falling, her grip loosening, and the confusion that warred with anger in her eyes after I dropped the fucking friend bomb on her. It was necessary. We were both spiraling last night down paths of memory lane and comforting one another in a way that was guaranteed to lead to the loss of clothes and inhibitions. Then I’d be dealing with more than blue balls and guilt for confusing her—I’d be dealing with her emotions and feelings that I know we’d have exchanged.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Arlo asks, his shoulder bumping against mine as we line up.

“I’m just trying to focus.” My tone is gruff, an attempt to say fuck off without actually saying the words.

Arlo raises both palms, clearly hearing my silent insinuation. “I figured you’d be in a good mood today. You were out late last night. I thought you were putting your banana in some fruit salad last night.”

“This has nothing to do with that. I’m just trying to focus.”

He looks at me with raised brows, silently calling bullshit. I ignore him though. I don’t have another shit to give if he thinks I’m lying, mainly because I am.

Pax appears, his forehead covered with a sheen of sweat but not nearly as pale as he’d been. He wipes his mouth with the back of a hand. Coach hands him a stick of gum and an orange sports drink. He pops the gum and takes a long swig of the drink before passing it to an assistant and slides his helmet on. He nods to me, and I return the gesture.

Game time.

Raegan

I sit beside Poppy, gripping a full Dr. Pepper and a bag of buttered popcorn with extra butter. “I heard there’s a huge party tonight,” she says, squeezing mustard onto her hotdog.

“I don’t know if I can go to another party tonight. Each one takes another little piece of my soul and pride.”

Poppy laughs so hard she nearly knocks her hotdog off her lap. “Why is that?”

“You remember our last party, right? I spent half the night trying to find pants for Paxton. And the only guys who talk to me are all drunk and are literally only looking for sex.”

“Most guys literally only want sex. Drunk or not.”

“I give up on guys.”

“What about Derek?” she asks.

“What about him?”

“He was totally crushing on you, and then you gave him the cold shoulder. Maybe you should reach out to him again?”

“I have to be at work at eight in the morning. Is that a better excuse?”

She shakes her head, her red hair restrained by a green scarf tied loosely around her neck. “It’s not. Next?”

I tip my head back, and it’s then I notice the girls next to me are paying far too much attention to our conversation and me. They catch me watching and instantly turn their heads toward each other, giggling and whispering something to each other. I turn to face Poppy. “Is something in my teeth?” I smile, hoping the explanation is a kernel stuck somewhere obvious. Poppy shakes her head. “Is something on my face?”

She shakes her head again. “Why?”

“Because, did you see that? Those girls were staring at me, and when I caught them, they started laughing.”

Poppy places a hand on my shoulder. “Some people think they’re above basic manners.” Her words are loud enough for them to hear easily, but if they do, they don’t say anything, still whispering to one another.

“Oh. My.” Poppy’s hand slides down my shoulder, gripping my wrist. “Rae,” she whisper-yells.

I try my best to ignore the girls and focus on Poppy. “Yeah?”

“Rugby team. Ten o’clock.”

I turn my attention from the field where Brighton is currently jogging out to an eruption of cheers to where Poppy is smiling and offering a slight wave to four guys. I recognize Chase, who Poppy has still been messaging with.

“You look cute tonight. We have to go,” Poppy says. “Call it sacrificing for your bestie, or mission getting over Lincoln phase two, whatever, but we’re going.” She gives me a long stare, her green eyes bright with determination.

I turn back to the field where Pax is currently shaking hands with Utah’s team captain. Arlo walks behind Pax, affectionately slapping him on the shoulder. I take inventory of the entire team, stopping when I reach Lincoln. He’s looking out at the stands, and I wonder for a moment if his mom is here. If his dad might be here.

Someone must scream his name because Lincoln points at somebody in the crowd, and an explosion of screams and applause quickly follows. He raises both arms into the air, and then Arlo joins him and breaks into a short victory dance that gains even more attention.

My phone rings and Maggie’s face appears on my screen, her tongue out and middle finger raised. I chuckle as I move to answer it. “Beautiful picture,” I tell her.

She belts out a loud laugh. “Where are you? This place is crazy?”

“You made it?”

“I told you I was. This is my last game.”

The glue that’s been steadily holding my feelings together like the cut on my hand threatens to pull loose as my entire heart seems to flex with the reminder. I recite our seats to her and stand once she gets closer. Paxton’s number is painted on both of her cheeks, and she has a giant sign that she proudly displays to me as she scoots into the seat next to me.

Maggie links her arm around the back of my neck, pulling me against her. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, still trying to let the glue dry so my emotions remain intact. “I’m fine.”

She stamps a wet kiss to my cheek, the scent of strawberry strong on her breath as she chews gum between her bright red lips. “Hey, Poppy.”

Poppy grins. “Mags, tell Rae she has to go out with me tonight.”

“Party?”

Poppy nods.

“Yes. A must.” Maggie nods. “Why are we questioning it?”

Poppy shakes her head like she’s mystified by the question as well. Traitor. She turns her attention back to the rugby players. Chase flashes her a grin. “Especially when we have admirers like them.”

Maggie bumps her arm against mine. “She knows about Lincoln, right?” she whispers.

“Oh, I know,” Poppy says with a long sigh. “Except, he asked to be friends last night.”

Maggie’s eyes stretch wide with shock. “What? But you guys kissed!”

Poppy nods. “I know.”

“I’m so confused,” Maggie says, gripping her head with both hands. “I was waiting for you to ask me how to drop this bomb to Pax.”

I shake my head. “I told you both. There’s no way it will happen. There are a million reasons and rules surrounding the mere idea of us being more than friends, and we both know it.”

Maggie shakes her head. “That’s bullshit. Will it be hard? Yes. Will it be more complicated than other relationships? Probably. But you guys have something. I can see it.”

“Well, you’re the only one who does.” I take a long drink of my soda, watching Lincoln and Derek getting into position on the field. Lincoln’s on the weakside, one hand resting on a bent knee as he angles himself forward.

“She’s the committee chair of her failed relationships,” Poppy tells Maggie. “You know those girls who cling to the positive hopes of everything about a guy, believing every look and touch means a thousand good things? That’s not our queen pessimist over here who assumes everything just means he doesn’t like her.”

If only she knew how often I’ve held onto hope.

“Are we here to watch football or torture me?”

“Both,” Maggie says, holding her large sign up over our heads. “Go, Paxton!” she screams in response.