“What made you love football?”
“Grandpa.” I move close to one edge so I can look over my shoulder at Lincoln to make this feel more like a conversation. “He used to spend a ton of time over at the house. My parents met shortly after college, and both their families lived here, so in some ways, I think regardless of the house, we would’ve stayed nearby. Before they got the house, we lived with my mom’s dad, our grandpa, Cole, who you sometimes see. And once we moved, he’d come over every day while Mom and Dad went to work and school to watch us. He used to watch football all the time. Pro, college, even high school if it was on. He’d explain all the routes and plays to us, and I liked listening.”
“It paid off. I’m pretty sure you know more about football than most of our team.”
“Your turn.”
He pauses, reluctance flashing in his eyes before he nods. “My childhood was … brief,” he says.
“Why?”
“I was an only child, and my dad, like yours, worked a lot. He didn’t have much time to focus on me, and when he did, he’d get annoyed. He’s not a kid person. He doesn’t like cartoons or jokes or being outdoors—all the things kids love. So, when I was seven, I went to boarding school, where I learned how to become an adult pretty damn quickly.”
I think of the mask he wears, the way he hides his thoughts and feelings about nearly everything. How I have mistaken what is likely a taught mechanism for broodiness. “But you learned the staples? Camping? Riding a bike? Making mud pies?” I steal another glance before ducking below the thick branches of a pine tree.
A smile graces his lips before he bends in half to clear the same branches. “I went camping with you guys. Riding a bike, yes. Mud pies, no.”
“What about your mom?”
“My parents divorced when I was young, and she moved a couple of hours south. I’d see her sometimes on weekends when I was home and holidays, but she had to work a lot, and my boarding school was in Rhode Island.”
“Rhode Island?”
He nods. “Most boarding schools are only for ninth grade and up. This one was for elementary.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? I didn’t have a bad childhood. I had a good education and have known I’ll be able to walk into a well-paying job since before I knew what that even meant. Trust me, you shouldn’t feel sorry for me.”
My thoughts stray to the idea of having grown up away from my parents, of not having pancakes on Sundays, football and Grandpa, of missing out on scraped knees and catching snowflakes on my tongue.
“It had to be difficult, though. I mean, you left your family, then you left your friends… You’ve had to leave everyone you’ve ever known repeatedly.” The path widens, allowing us to walk side by side again and for me to look at him without it being so obvious.
Lincoln glances at me, his hands loose at his sides. “You think that’s why I don’t date?” he responds, seemingly reading my thoughts. It’s eerie how he can understand words I’ve barely constructed together mentally, and times like this, it can be both a relief and an annoyance. I want to know as much as I don’t.
“It would be hard to get close to someone,” I say.
“I moved back here when I was fifteen for high school. I’ve only moved two times. Plenty of people move more than that.”
“Are you saying I’m wrong?”
His dark gaze flashes to mine again. “Are you asking if I have abandonment issues?” He isn’t angry, but he doesn’t seem sarcastic either. Surprisingly, he seems completely calm and contemplative as he moves around another puddle. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.”
I try channeling Poppy, thinking about the right thing to say. How to comfort him and ask more questions at the same time.
“But, I don’t date because it all seemed so contrived. So juvenile. I mean, look at your brother and Candace. They stay together because they’re afraid to be alone, yet they don’t even like each other. What’s the point?”
“Maggie thinks Pax is afraid to be alone, too.”
“He is.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. You should have seen Poppy with Mike. They never acted like they were obligated to be together. As close as she and I are, she was different with him, more vulnerable, more open, like she entrusted him with those parts of her that were difficult for her to expose to others—even herself. She was sillier with him, too. Like, giggly and goofy. And he was even worse.” I chuckle at the memory of his expression each day when they parted for class, and he acted physically pained by it.
“But it didn’t last.”
“Maybe not all loves are supposed to? Maybe some are meant to end, teaching us lessons about ourselves and life.”
“Do you think Poppy would agree with that when she’s still recovering months later?” he asks.
“Poppy recovered, she’s just afraid to move forward because it means Mike is officially in the past. She likes the idea of dating around because she gets the fun side of relationships without all the heavy stuff like sharing imperfections and fears and learning they have weaknesses, too. Because once you start learning those things—those details that make them who they are—the other innately starts to feel those things as well, like the person is an extension of their own emotions and feelings.”
“The fun side being sex?”
“That and the excitement. Flirting, innuendos,” I shrug. “Making out and dirty secrets.”
He snickers. “Weren’t you going to date around this year?”
I avoid looking at him as the path starts to decline. “Yeah, but I’d forgotten how exhausting it is to make small talk for any length of time.”
He chuckles. “Bullshit.” His tone is easy and light, but he’s still calling me out regardless, his gaze confirming the fact.
“I planned to date around to get over you. But, that’s not necessary anymore.”
“I’m that forgettable?”
I try to think of something sharp and cunning to say—something that won’t remind either of us that his voice calling to me that night may be the very reason I’m still here. “There’s a horde of girls who will happily inflate your ego—I’m pretty sure their names are all in your phone. Start with the A’s, and I’m sure by the time you reach the B’s, you’ll be like, Raegan who?” I smile, though it feels as clumsy and wrong as walking in a pair of shoes several sizes too large.
7
Lincoln
This trail should have been closed. It’s a broken leg in the making. Yet, I keep guiding her forward, concerned she’ll stop talking to me like this—like there isn’t a landfill of resentment and secrets between us because each time she creeps deeper into my life, the harder and faster I close the next door.
Her admission sits heavy on my thoughts, a reminder that Raegan’s had feelings for me, ones she fought against rather than for. The knowledge is a double-edged sword that I can’t manage to sheath.
“I wasn’t lying when I told you that you deserve someone better than me. You need someone who can trust you and see your best sides without constantly thinking those are the things that might drive you apart and hurt them the most.”
Raegan’s steps falter, one foot sliding against the loose gravel covering the path. I reach for her, one hand on her waist, the other on her shoulder. Her blue eyes are bright and round, her body rigid as she recovers from her near fall, then she moves forward, her steps purposeful and careful.
“You can’t say things like that,” she says, her back to me.
“It’s true.”
She turns, her eyes downturned just like her mouth. “Those risks are mine to take, and you’re making the decisions; therefore, I don’t believe you. Every time you give me an excuse and say you’re not good enough, it feels like you’re reminding me that I’m not good enough.”
“Don’t you understand? I’ve been trying to tell you you’re too good for me since the beginning, from the first time I told you to stop me from kissing you because I knew th
en I couldn’t stay away from you. I’m selfish with you, and my trying to be away from you is the best chance at saving you.”
“Saving me from what?”
I run a hand over my hair, my regret growing with each truth she uncovers. “Me.”
Her blue eyes drift over my face, a quantifiable pain in her gaze that appears equivalent with the one in my chest. “I don’t know what that even means. You say that like you’re some kind of bad person.”
“I’ve seen what happens when things end badly, and I don’t want that. Not with you. Not for you.”
“Why does it have to end badly?”
“Because it always does.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
“But, it’s a gamble.”
“Everything’s a gamble.” She rubs a hand across her forehead, brushing the stray hairs the wind has blown free once again. “Why are you even here?”
“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” I tell her, the admission slipping through my lips before I can consider if I’ll only be hurting her more. She turns, her blue eyes patient and curious as she studies me, waiting for my honesty to match hers.
I clear my throat. “Lately, I’ve been coming here, thinking about that night, and how I could have changed the outcome. If I’d jumped in after you rather than waiting long enough for Pax and that lady to stop me. I consider if the boat hadn’t worked. If we’d have just let the cops come and arrest them for being shitheads instead of saving their sorry asses.”
“Does it help?”
I shake my head.
“I can’t change the past.”
My will bends with each second that I’m close to her, and this is no exception.
Laughter approaching draws our attention back to the trail where three teenage boys are walking toward us, the scent of pot greeting us.
“Hey!” One of them yells. “Nice weather, right?”
Raegan glances at me, a gentle smirk tugging at her lips as she reads my annoyance. “Yeah. Is the trail pretty bad ahead?”
“No. Not too bad. There’s another tree up a ways, but if you guys made it this far, you won’t have any problem.” The guy’s hair is practically in his eyes, his stocky build looking wider with baggy jeans and coat.
“Cool. Thanks.”
“Yeah. They said you can sometimes see whales, but we didn’t see anything.” A blond with glasses says.
“You have to be really patient or really lucky with them,” Rae explains.
The dark-haired guy laughs. “Apparently, we’re neither.”
From the side, I see Rae smile before moving to the side as they get close enough to pass. “Have a good one.”
“You too!”
Rae continues walking, our conversation seemingly over.
“What was your introduction to football?” she asks after a few moments of silence except for the squawk of several seagulls flying overhead.
“It wasn’t actually supposed to last,” I tell her. “I only signed up because my dad hated football and forbid me to play.”
Her eyebrows rise as she smiles. The expression is unfiltered and automatic, like much of her personality is. She’s genuine on a level that most aren’t, and sometimes it’s that side of her that scares me most because I find myself looking at her reaction to things rather than how others are trying to respond.
“And you decided to stick with it to spite him?”
“That was only a perk. Turned out, I loved the game.”
Her full lips pull into a taunting smirk. “I’ve always liked things I excelled at, too. I’m sure prodigy level is even better.”
“Prodigy,” I scoff. “It’s taken years of my life in a gym to do half of the shit I can.”
“Liar.” She stares ahead, the breeze pulling at her hair.
I scoff again. “What’s that supposed to mean.”
“Being in a gym can strengthen and heighten your skills, but you have a talent that can’t be taught. You move like you have skates on your feet. It’s crazy.”
Her smile makes my chest feel both lighter and heavier, a conflicting and irrational sensation that leaves me light-headed.
Then my phone rings. Coach Harris.
“You can get that,” she says.
“It’s Coach.”
She nods, understanding the importance of this call. “Hey, Coach.”
“President, we’ve got something in the works that I need you and Lawson to come in and see. I think we’ve got a good work around for San Fran’s defense. Where are you?”
“I can be there in an hour.”
“Good. Get here.” He hangs up.
Raegan rocks forward on her toes, then changes direction, leading the way back up the trail.
The crunch of gravel beneath our feet and the distant call of birds are the only sounds for several minutes as we work to navigate ourselves back to the parking lot—back to the same familiar territory where she’s Paxton’s sister and the lines that divide us are clear and concise.
8
Raegan
“Raegan!”
I stop, hitching my bag a bit higher as it starts to slide under the weight of my book. Derek eats up the space between us with a few quick strides. “Hey,” he says, looking me in the eye rather than taking me all in, looking for broken pieces like everyone else does. “How are you?”
I smile, and though it’s more out of appreciation for being treated normal, it grows when his lips turn north. “I’m well. How are you?”
His smile slips. He’s tried calling me at least a dozen times and has texted even more. The calls went unanswered, but I’d replied to several of the texts, assuring him there were no hard feelings because although he was a contributing reason to the accident if he hadn’t been out there, I may not have survived.
“Doing twenty to life currently for guilt,” he says, placing an open palm across his chest.
“You shouldn’t. You helped save me that night. Besides, you’ve sent so many flowers over my house is starting to look like it’s a flower shop.”
His caramel-brown eyes spark with a brightness of hope that makes me nearly regret admitting the fact. “I’m glad you’ve been getting them. I’ve been sick over everything. I keep thinking about that night and how we weren’t even supposed to go out, and how if we had just gone to that party, none of this ever would have happened.”
I know how dangerous those ‘what-if’ thoughts are, having lived through two solid weeks of them myself. “We all make mistakes.”
He scoffs. “Except mine nearly killed you.” Regret sits heavily on his slumped shoulders.
“You didn’t make me jump.”
“No, I just stacked the logs and lit the match.” He sighs. “And, Paxton hates me.”
“He’ll ease up. A lot has happened lately. He just needs a little time.”
Derek licks his lips. “I don’t know. He’s asked the coach to bench me and start Matthews.”
Awkwardness makes the air stagnant as my guilt mixes with his, creating a tonic that makes this entire situation taste even more bitter. “I’m sorry. I can talk to him.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not your job to clean up my messes. I don’t want you to compromise your relationship with him. I probably deserve to be benched anyways.”
Lincoln and Pax have often accused Derek of showboating and disregarding the team as a whole, blaming him for not working harder to make peace with the guys. At times like this, it’s difficult for me to imagine that when his humbleness seems greater than Lincoln and Paxton’s combined. “It won’t,” I assure him.
Derek wipes his hand across his chest covered in a sweatshirt that the puffy jacket he’s wearing reveals. “I didn’t want to catch up with you to talk about Paxton. I just wanted to see how you’re doing and see if maybe when you’re feeling a little better, we could hang out again. I’d like to spend an evening groveling and begging while taking you up to the Space Needle.”
My stomach feels like I’ve
eaten an entire packet of the pop rocks my mom used to fill our Easter baskets with and chased it with a can of soda. Aside from prom, I haven’t been on a formal date, and I’ve painted the picture in my head so many times in the past couple of months. Except on those dreams, my date had dark hair and darker eyes, and a mask he only removes for me.
“I know you have classes and stuff you’ve got to catch up with, but maybe in a couple of weeks?”
I nod, the gesture more of a reaction than a response.
His smile is kind, easy. “By the way, I need you to tell me which flowers have been your favorite.”
“You have to stop sending me flowers. You’ve spent a fortune on them.”
He shrugs, like kids who I went to high school sometimes did when the cost of something would come up. He’s never known life without lavish nonessentials.
“After what you went through, you deserve to be spoiled.” He takes a measured step back. “I’ll see you later.”
My thoughts spin as I watch him walk in the opposite direction of where I’m headed, wondering if there’s a reason he keeps appearing in my life when I’m hurting.
I lean back on Poppy’s bed, flipping through the textbook I’m supposed to be reading. She’s dialed up the hovering since Maggie left, inviting me over and making plans to hang out nearly daily, switching her schedule around with hours she picks up from her mom to align with my more chaotic schedule.
“Are you hungry?”
I shake my head.
“Want something to drink?”
I glance up from the black and white print. “Do you want to get something to drink?”
Poppy leans forward in her desk chair, her elbows propped on her knees. “You haven’t volunteered to go out on the Sound.”
I stare at her, waiting for her to ask the question she’s been hinting at for a week now.
Breaking the Rules: The Dating Playbook, Book: 2 Page 6