9
Lincoln
I wait outside of the building where I know Raegan will be coming tonight for her Statistics Class, my thoughts still in my last class where I listened to Professor Adams blame Tiberius for his shortcomings that ultimately failed Rome as the second Emperor, listing off facts like his tyrannical ways and frequent absences to the island of Capri. However, Professor Adams neglected to mention how Augustus, his adopted father, had ordered for Tiberius and his first wife to divorce so that Augustus could marry her. How his family pledged allegiance in accordance with Caesar and then became victims when that relationship soured. Forced to become proud and powerful out of self-preservation and a lack of allies and trust.
I’m nothing like him, and yet there are aspects I can clumsily align with my own life that leaves me feeling sympathetic as my thoughts wander down footpaths of my past, back when I was ten and caught the flu and spent three days with a hired nurse before being hospitalized. I could take care of myself, but I couldn’t sign my own release papers, and my parents weren’t there to do it, so the headmaster had to come and do it. I think of the holidays I came home and Gloria, our housekeeper and my nanny, would be the only one to meet me at the airport.
Those thoughts and their potential effects disperse the second I see Raegan. I’m here to invite her to a party that is a prelude to my father’s wedding. I could easily have texted her the details, but I haven’t seen her in three weeks. Halloween came and went, and I haven’t seen her at any of the parties, not at the house, not even at her home for the last team dinner that was catered with trays of Italian food. I know I’m being an asshole by seeking her out when she’s doing a diligent job of ignoring me and moving on. I should let her, encourage the fact by maintaining this absence. I’ve spent more time in the gym in the past three weeks than I have in months, pushing myself, demanding more from my teammates, working on plays with Coach Harris and our offensive director Coach Harold, eating, sleeping, and breathing football to keep my thoughts from wandering to her.
As she gets closer, I realize Raegan’s distracted, her arms folded over her chest, and her eyes vacant.
I step away from the overhang, walking straight toward her, and still, she doesn’t seem to notice me. “Raegan,” I call her name.
Her blue gaze meets mine, then slides over my shoulder as she stops. “Hey.”
Something is missing. Something I can feel on a visceral level like I could that night she dove underwater and the others kept saying she’d be back any second, but I knew she wouldn’t. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes flash to mine and then away as she opens her mouth and then closes it. “Nothing.” She shakes her head, rolling her lips together. “Nothing,” she says again.
“Bullshit.”
Raegan snickers, but it’s gone just as quickly as it formed. “I need to get to class.”
I glance at the brick building behind me, knowing she has at least fifteen minutes to get to the second floor, but, I don’t argue this fact. In the past couple of months, I’ve lost touch with her on so many levels, unaware of how her classes are going, if she was in the majority who complained about the early first snow or the minority who celebrated it. I have no idea if she dressed up for Halloween or if she’s been seeing anyone. “There’s a party this weekend. Our game is on Friday, and Saturday night, my dad and his fiancé are having a second engagement party of sorts.” I shrug. “She’s worried people think something happened because the wedding was delayed. I checked, and Dr. Swanson is going to be there. I thought you might want the chance to come meet him.”
She rubs her hand across her forehead. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
She swallows, looking away. “Maybe.”
I blink away my disbelief, trying to catch up to her dismissive tone. “Did I miss something?”
“I need to get to class,” she says again. “I’ll text you.” Without a second look, she disappears inside.
It’s better this way.
She’s making it easier, so why in the hell am I following her inside and up half a level of stairs?
“Rae.”
She turns, her surprise greater than my own as she moves to the wall so someone can get by, her eyes soft and yet tentative as she works her way across my face, looking for a reason.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
She looks tired. Scratch that, she looks exhausted.
“Blow off class. Let’s grab some food. Catch up.”
Her brow creases. “No. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Statistics is a Netflixer. Get the notes from someone.”
“Because now is convenient for you?” Her voice is soft, a twist of sarcasm that doesn’t dilute her honesty.
“Okay, then when?”
She shakes her head. “Why are you doing this?”
“We’re friends.”
Her eyes fall back in her head as she laughs, but it’s too dry, and her eyes don’t close like they do when she’s genuinely laughing. “I’ll go on Saturday, okay?”
“This has nothing to do with Saturday. I didn’t come in here to beg you to go. If you don’t want to, then don’t. I was doing you a favor because I thought you wanted to meet him.”
It’s like everything in her falls, her shoulders, her gaze, even her pride slips, making me regret the words I’d fired like a missile to ensure it wasn’t my pride that left this war with a wound. Instead, I’m leaving with it mangled as she nods, as though she understands.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know if I need to waste his time because I’m not sure about cetology anymore.”
Whiplash. That’s the only word I can think of to describe the one-eighty of my thoughts and emotions. “What are you talking about?”
Her eyes are windows with drapes that are always left open, telling me exactly what she’s feeling and thinking. While I can’t always know why she’s upset or bothered or amused, I can feel her emotions like they’re my own, and as I stare in her eyes, I lose that sense. She continues looking at me, her eyes wide with a silent plea like she wants me to understand just as badly. A sad smile paints her lips, and her eyes slowly fall shut. “I really do need to go. I’ll see you.”
Her black tennis shoes squeak on the stairs, carrying my thoughts higher before veering to the right.
I drop my head back, debating my options while seeking my own reasons. I slap a hand against the wall, my anger so great it needs an outlet before it leads me back up those stairs. A girl jumps and cries out with surprise, then giggles as she leans into a friend.
Poppy.
Poppy will know.
But I don’t have Poppy’s number or know where in the hell she lives, so instead, I’m left with my unfavorable alternative: Paxton.
He’s been alternating his nights with strangers and the gym to keep his thoughts off of Candace, who recently started dating and plastering shit all over her social media pages to ensure Pax saw. I told him just to block her, but I think he’s becoming addicted to the pain and the excuses it allows.
Me: You at the gym?
I step outside of the building. The skies are clear tonight, a coldness sweeping over the campus, making everyone hustle to their next location.
Paxton: OMW now. You in?
Me: Yeah.
The gym is nearly empty. There are periods where it gets too busy, the beginning of the school year, after the holidays, the start of a new sport’s season. I prefer these lulls when everyone has forgotten their goals, and I can navigate freely through the space.
“Hey,” Pax says, racking his weights.
“Arms tonight?”
He nods. “You?”
“I was going to run.”
Lincoln nods. “Derek’s been working on his speed.”
“Fuck Derek.”
Pax chuckles, lying back on the bench press. “Just wanted to throw it out there in case you needed
some motivation tonight.”
“Hey, so, I ran into Raegan today.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You know how she’s going to my Dad’s wedding so she can meet that scientist guy she was geeking out about?”
Pax expels a breath as he lifts the weight. “Yeah?”
“She said she’s not sure she wants to meet him anymore. Said she’d be wasting his time because she doesn’t know she wants to do cetology anymore.”
The bar clangs as Paxton racks it again, sitting up so he can see me. “What?”
“She seemed off.”
Pax’s brow lowers as he shakes his head. “I’ve barely seen her lately. Hell, I’ve barely even heard from her.” He blows out another breath. “Did she say why?”
I shake my head. “We only talked for a minute. She had a class.”
Pax lifts a shoulder. “She’s probably just tripping out because finals are coming up. She’s always hated tests.” He lies back. “Dude, you should have seen the girl I banged last night. She was seriously hot, and she kept asking for things. I felt like I was starring in a porno.”
I don’t know what I’d hoped for or expected, but it wasn’t this easy blow off. I needed a reaction. For him to demand we talk to her and find out what in the hell is going on. To laugh and tell a tale about times she’s done this previously.
I dial up the speed and the incline. “She didn’t have her phone propped up, did she?”
He laughs between labored breaths. “Phones always go in a drawer. I’m not about to take that risk.” He continues telling me about something, random words dropping into my consciousness to confirm he’s still talking about having sex as my thoughts wander to Rae, working to recognize her demeanor.
10
Raegan
It’s still dark as I pull into the parking lot at the marina, the sky blooming with light shades of orange and blue, making the bottoms of the clouds appear like they’re glowing and the tops to look bulky and black. My heart beats unevenly in my chest as I grab my jacket from the passenger seat and open my car door. There are only two other cars here, Lois and Joel. They’re always here early when we go out, and today is no different. I wait a few minutes, allowing the heat from my car to soak into my body before I grab my heavy winter coat and hat and step out. I thread my arms through my jacket and zip it before pulling on my beanie and fishing my gloves from my pocket. The yard was frosted this morning, promising a freezing game tonight for Brighton’s football team.
I pull in a deep breath and slowly trudge forward, each step heavier than the last as I eye the ocean, feeling each wave lap at my neck, my chest, my face. They go higher the farther I get until it’s stealing my breath and drowning me. This is the first time I’ve been back since Maggie left, and the first time I’ve agreed to go out onto the Sound with the team of scientists.
I pause, my chest tight and my muscles even tighter. I reach for my phone to send a quick opt-out to Joel—another opt-out.
“Raegan?”
I turn, surprise nearly tripping me as Lois emerges from her car, wrestling her full-length coat and scarf. She slams her car door and hustles toward me. “It’s so good to see you. We’ve missed you.”
I consider one of the dozens of excuses I’ve made since being discharged for not coming out, ready to relay one to her, but then she’s hugging me, her lips pressed to my temple in a gesture that feels so maternal and loving I nearly weep. Mom’s still short with me, and I have no idea if it’s still due to my accident or if Dad has told her. Lately, it feels like I don’t know anything, and it’s left me with this sense of purgatory that has me begging for Hell so that I can get out of this stage. “How are you?” She holds me for another long minute before pulling back, her eyes searching my face, waiting for an answer—a real response rather than a fake one.
My eyes blur with tears that I quickly blink away. “I don’t know if I’m ready to get back out there.”
Lois nods, one hand still on my arm. “That’s understandable. You went through a lot.”
I’m freezing and yet too warm, regretting my timing and for running into someone I know when this moment—this decision—feels so personal. Though her sympathy and compassion are both a hundred percent authentic, I feel judged. Judgment for allowing fear to dictate my life, for taking someone else’s opportunity when every single volunteer at the aquarium would eagerly jump at this chance, for failing to be out there, studying the animals who I know still need advocacy from others—others like me who are willing and capable of doing it. If only she knew I have the opportunity to meet Dr. Swanson, a hero for those of us who follow his work.
“We understand, Raegan. We don’t expect you to get back out there.”
Expectation.
The word gets trapped in my thoughts, memories of earlier this fall when I confessed to Lincoln how many expectations I feel others have for me while others lack them entirely. In a matter of weeks, I went from having a complete setlist of expectations to a single one: keeping a secret for my father, a secret I selfishly wish I didn’t know because when I think about it for too long, I feel ill and everything seems like a lie.
“Give it some time.” She brushes the hair from my forehead, tucking it under the edge of my beanie. “There’s no rush.”
I nod. “I’m sorry.”
Lois shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for. Rest—mentally and physically. And when you’re ready, we’ll be here.” Her gaze is steady and sure, nearly impossible to hold because shame is creeping up my spine, using my body like a marionette.
I turn back to my car, distance relaxing my muscles as tears fall down my cheeks, each one chasing the last.
Mom’s car is in the driveway when I return home. It’s early enough, I’m surprised to see her car out of the garage.
I find her in the living room, her knitting needles in hand. She glances up from where she’s reading through a book propped in front of her, to me. “You’re back early.”
I don’t try to make a lie, knowing it won’t help the situation. Plus, the knitting is a guaranteed sign something is already taking up residence in her thoughts. “What are you doing? It’s Friday.” Usually at this point, she’s in the shower, getting ready for school.
“Teachers have a prep day. I decided to stay at home. I need a break from that place and the constant stream of complaints.” Mom sets the needles down and pulls off the glasses she began wearing a couple of years ago for reading. “I can’t remember how to do this,” she says. “I thought it would be like learning to ride a bike.”
I kick off my shoes and set my coat down. “Yeah, well, you never really got to the stage where you removed your training wheels.” I move into the living room, grabbing the throw off the back of the couch and sitting on the adjacent couch.
“Hey,” she says, pointing one of the knitting needles at me. “I’ve successfully knitted four blankets, thank you.”
I raise both palms in surrender. “You’re right, knitting master. Move forth and conquer.”
The ghost of a smile makes her eyes shine.
“Who are you knitting a blanket for?”
“Candace.”
“What?” I balk. “I thought they were broken up?”
She laughs. “They are. Five weeks now.”
“Don’t jinx it,” I warn her.
Mom sets her needles down again. “I was going to make you a new blanket. That one I made you is starting to fray.”
“I still like it.” The light pink blanket has sat at the end of my bed since she gave it to me.
She picks up her glasses, sliding them back into place before gripping the needles, and reviewing the book again. This is the longest exchange we’ve shared over the past several weeks, and I’m pretty sure this is her subtle way of giving me her proverbial cold shoulder again.
“Mom,” I say, reaching forward and laying the book face down on the coffee table. “Can we talk?”
She glances at
me, her nostrils flaring as her face tinges several shades of red. “Mom,” I repeat her name, this time gentler. “Talk to me.” My thoughts race in an attempt to understand her reaction. Did Dad tell her? Does she know? Is that why she’s home?
“I feel like I failed you. Like I keep failing you.”
“What? Mom, what are you talking about?” I kneel in front of her, gripping her hands in my much colder ones.
“I’m supposed to protect you. You’re my baby, and I couldn’t do anything.” Her chin quivers and my eyes cloud with tears. It’s an automatic response to seeing her upset, a reaction I see from her so rarely.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I want to forbid you from working at the aquarium and ground you so you can’t leave the house anymore. I want to keep you in your room where I know you’re safe.” She sniffs, working to control her emotions. “I know I can’t. I know you’re nearly nineteen, and you need to experience the world, but God, Rae, you scared the hell out of me. I was so worried you were going to leave my world, and I don’t know what I’d do if that ever happened. I don’t think I could live if something ever happened to one of you.” Her chin shakes violently this time as tears streak her cheeks.
I lick my lips that have gone dry with the cold weather, tasting the salt from my tears. “I hate that you’re mad at me,” I tell her. “I hate that we’re not talking.”
She nods. “I do, too. I’ve never been so mad at you. When your heart stopped, I swore to God I’d do anything to have you back, and then when they gave me the all-clear, I was so angry with you, and I’ve been trying to get past it, Rae. I swear I have. I just don’t know how. I keep thinking about what my life would be like without you, how empty I’d feel, and it makes me angry all over again.”
“Poppy says that’s normal. That it’s part of the grieving experience, and I can take it, Mom. I can take your anger, as long as you promise me you won’t hate me forever.”
Breaking the Rules: The Dating Playbook, Book: 2 Page 8