Page 8 of Good Girl’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #4)

linc

“Lincoln Kincaid! Get your ass up! We’re going out!”

I groan from my couch as I hear Wyatt, my best friend, teammate, and annoying neighbor, barge through my door. I say this to myself about once a week, but I really regret giving him a key.

I don’t move as I watch him help himself to a beer from my refrigerator.

“Make yourself at home.”

Wyatt tips the bottle to me as he takes a seat. “I will. At least, for the next thirty minutes, as we wait for you to get ready.”

I don’t move an inch. “You’re going to be waiting a hell of a lot longer than thirty minutes, because my ass is staying right here.”

“Wrong. You’re getting up, and you’re coming with us to karaoke. It’s Maddox’s birthday so you have no choice.”

That makes me snort laugh. “Actually, you’re wrong. I do have a choice, because this is America. And I’m absolutely the fuck not going to karaoke.”

Normally I love celebrating birthdays. Maddox is a good dude—a safety who’s a few years younger than me who’s going to be a fucking stud in this league when he hits his peak.

But a night out with my team, singing bad songs from our youth badly, sounds like the worst night ever.

Especially when I had a night of pizza and a binge watch of The Sopranos on deck.

“Why would I want to do that?” I ask. “We just spent the last month together every fucking day at training camp. We should be sick of each other and wanting some space before the season starts.”

“Oh, but that’s where you're wrong,” Wyatt says. “We need more time together. Team bonding and shit.”

My groan echoes off the walls. “Well, then call me a bad teammate, because I’m going to sit this one out.”

I’m all for team bonding, especially because I was thrown into the fire last year so I really was learning my teammates on the fly. Well, everyone except Wyatt. We played together in college. But other than him? I was lining up around a bunch of strangers.

So yes, in theory, getting to hang out with my teammates would be a good thing.

But considering the last time I went out I ended up on a gossip blog—and that was an organized team outing by our coaches and somehow I was still painted the bad guy—I really don’t think a night of karaoke is a good decision.

“Oh, come on,” Wyatt says. “Is this about that picture? The bullshit one?”

“Partly,” I admit. “Listen, the season hasn’t even started. I don’t need any fuckery happening. It’s safer to stay at home where I know nothing can be leaked or taken out of context.”

“So you’re going to stay home the whole season?” Wyatt asks. “Here, on this ugly-ass couch, is where I’ll find Linc Kincaid when he’s not on a football field?”

I pat the cushion next to me. “Exactly. It’s quite comfy.”

Do I like this decision I just made for myself? Not at all. I’m a social guy. Always have been. Which is probably why I’ve always found myself getting into trouble.

When I was in grade school, I was just the loud kid who liked to cause commotion. A little bit of a prankster. A bit of an actor. And sure, I got in trouble more than a few times, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.

Then that fateful day happened when I was thirteen. The day my life changed.

The day my parents died.

That’s when the innocent little pranks became near crimes. Fights were regular. I was hanging with a crowd who skipped school and did drugs. During those years, I spent more time in in-school suspension than anywhere else and teetering on the brink of a stint in juvenile detention.

Then I met my high school football coach. Coach Henry saw something in me no one else did. He saw an angry kid who needed an outlet. So he gave me a football helmet and told me to start hitting shit.

It was the day that changed my life. And only once since then have I let that anger get the best of me—and it nearly ruined my life.

So I’m taking lessons of the past and putting them into practice today. Diving head first into football. No distractions. Eye on the prize. If I’m not tempted by trouble, I won’t get into any.

“I get what you’re doing,” Wyatt says. And if anyone does, it’s him. He’s the only one who knows my whole story. So if anyone could understand this, it should be him. “But I actually think hiding is the worst thing you can do.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Explain.”

“For starters, humans aren’t meant to be kept inside. You need to go out. Be among the people.”

Okay, this doesn’t sound like my best friend at all. “Says the man who owns a cabin in the mountains because every few months he needs to get away from humanity.’”

“But that’s just a break. You don’t see me staying in tonight.” Wyatt stands up and does his best to physically pull me up from the couch. He might be a lineman who I know for a fact can bench-press my body weight, but his efforts are futile as I go boneless against his hold.

“Get your ass up, Kincaid. Get out of this house and come have some fun!”

“Get off of me,” I say, pushing him away as I finally sit up. “Why do you want me to go so bad? There’s going to be plenty of other teammates out. You don’t need me to hold your hand.”

Wyatt was my first true friend when I transferred to Mississippi State, but we didn’t start out that way.

Like most of the guys there, he was recruited out of high school.

I, on the other hand, went the junior college route first, since I didn’t start playing football until my sophomore year of high school and didn’t have the best grades.

We were both on offense—he’s on the line, and me being a tight end, I’m in enough of their plays that we got to know each other pretty well.

Unfortunately, my old habits came back the second I stepped foot in Starkville.

Instead of hanging out with Wyatt and the players who kept their noses clean, I started cozying up to the guys who thought they were untouchable.

The ones who smoked weed behind the scenes and paid for tests to keep their grades up.

I know the saying is that insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome, and that’s probably what I was—insane for hanging out with guys who were exactly like the ones I grew up with and expecting that I wasn’t going to get in trouble.

And I did. Busted cheating on a test. And it wasn’t even a hard one.

Your basic economics class. But of course I was given the easy way out, so I had to take it.

I was put on academic probation and suspended a few games.

I felt like I had blown my chance at having a solid college career and maybe making it to the pros.

That’s until Wyatt stepped in. He invited me to study with him and some of the other linemen that night.

Before I knew it, we got into a routine where it was morning lifts and night-time study sessions.

Hell, we ended up moving in together during our last season.

He’s the one who kept me out of trouble.

The one who kept an eye on me and made sure I didn’t make any bone-headed moves.

Until the big screwup. But neither Wyatt, nor God himself, could’ve stopped me that day.

Needless to say, I owe this man more than I’ll ever be able to repay him.

But not enough to go to karaoke tonight.

“Can’t a guy just want to hang out with his best friend?”

I raise an eyebrow to that. “He can. But in the entire time I’ve known you, Wyatt Atkins, hanging out has been you sitting on this couch with me and grabbing a beer. Not going to a loud bar and hearing bad singing amplified by a microphone.”

“Come on, Linc. I need a wing man.”

Now I know he’s serving me a line of bullshit.

If there’s one thing that man doesn’t need, it’s a wing man.

He’s not a manwhore or anything, but if he sets his sights on a woman, whether it’s for a night or for longer, he has no problems approaching her and taking matters into his own hands.

So, if he’s forcing me to go out, there has to be another reason behind it.

“Bullshit. Try again.”

Wyatt lets out a sigh like he really thought that was going to work. “Okay, fine. I lost a bet to Maddox, and I have to sing an embarrassing song of his choice.”

I spit out a laugh. “And how does this involve me?”

“Because you’re my duet partner.”

I look around the room to see if anyone else has suddenly entered. “Me? Since the fuck when?”

“Since always.”

“We’ve literally never sang karaoke together before.”

“Yes, we have.”

“In the locker room or in your truck doesn’t count.” Wyatt starts to say something, but I cut him off with a raised finger. “And neither does us being drunk at a house party.”

Wyatt’s eyes narrow. “Come on. If I have to sing fucking “Islands in the Stream,” I need a duet partner. I need my best friend. Come on, Linc…I’ll owe you.”

Shit, this is serious. Wyatt doesn’t throw out potential IOUs often. He doesn’t like feeling indebted, whether that’s something silly like a karaoke night or something to the extent of borrowing money. If he throws that out, he means business.

“Really? This is worthy of a coveted Wyatt Atkins marker?”

He nods. “If I don’t do this, I have to let Maddox and the rest of the defensive backs use my cabin during the bye week.”

“Oh, shit,” I say. Wyatt’s cabin is sacred. No one’s been there, not even me. “Yeah, I get why karaoke wins.”

“Which is why I need you,” he says. “I know why you want to stay in. This seems safe. Believe me, I get it. But you can’t hide.

Plus, I’ll be there. So will Maddox and the rest of your teammates.

We’ll make sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that nothing will happen that will even remotely make people think you’re trying to get into a fight. ”

I feel my walls starting to crack and slump back on the couch. “I hate that I trust you.”

A slow smile forms on his face. “No, you don’t.”

I don’t, but I do need to make one thing abundantly clear before I actually commit. “I’ll go. I’ll sing. But this needs to be a low-key night. Katie just put out the fire with that picture. I can’t be starting shit all over again.”

Wyatt nods in understanding. Luckily for me, he knew that photo was bullshit from the minute it came out on the internet. Apparently, he was one of the loudest advocates for me to our coaches and gave a full description of what actually happened.

Yet again, Wyatt coming to my rescue. I guess the least I can do is sing some Dolly and Kenny.

“I understand,” Wyatt says. “Did Katie ever figure out how that photo got out?”

“She has no idea,” I say as I make my way back to my room. “I’m just glad it blew over as quick as it did.”

The hospital visit I did earlier this week helped a ton in that department.

The photos that Katie took and posted on my social media, along with the others that families posted on their own, made any headline of the not-fight fade away.

I also jumped on a few podcasts and radio interviews where I talked about the season, wanting to repeat what I, and in turn the Fury, did last season, and when they asked me about troubles from my past, I made sure to say that those days were far behind me.

And I mean that.

For my entire football career, I’ve been this guy with nine lives.

I’ve survived suspensions and punishments.

Not being drafted and living off of practice squads.

Every time I think I’ve had my break, I do something stupid to ruin it.

I might not be the guy who graduated at the top of his class, but even I know I can’t have that many lives left.

Which is why I know I can’t fuck this up with the Fury.

Brad is still injured, so I’m walking into the season as the starting tight end.

But he’s on the mend and is set to come back sometime during the year.

I’m not sure what’s going to happen when their ten-million-dollar-a-year player comes back, but I do know that if I’m playing my best ball, it’s going to be hard to bench me.

And even if they do decide to go with Brad, if I put together good enough film and make myself an asset on offense, then another team will sign me.

But that’s only if I put the bad decisions of my past behind me.

Which is why tonight I have to make sure that I can have fun with no trouble.

No bad decisions. Minimal drinks. Certainly no women.

I don’t have time—or spare lives—to have distractions leading me down paths I don’t know if I can navigate.

I want to say that I’m at a point in my life when I can make good decisions and stay on the right path, but I also know I’ve said that before and failed miserably.

I can’t fuck this up. I have too much riding on this season.

And I have a feeling I’m on my last life.