Page 17 of Safety Net (Mendell Hawks #3)

LINCOLN

"This is all for a one-night show, right?" Finn looked over the crude sketches I'd laid across the kitchen table. I stood across from him, eyes dry from my lack of sleep and fingers drumming on the counter, waiting for something else to sink my time into.

This musical planning was a blast. I'd spent the weekend watching clips of all the musicals Celeste had referenced in her conversations with me.

Some of them were hard to get through. Others are wildly addictive.

I loved Annie, didn't realize I could enjoy The Lion King any more than I already had, and was deep in the Into the Woods subreddit.

"Yes.” I pointed at one of my sketches. "See this arch; it'll be in the opening. We start in the woods—"

"This thing is supposed to be twenty feet tall." Finn raised a brow. "And covered in real moss."

"You're right; I'm thinking too small." I picked up my pencil and chewed on the eraser. "We could easily do another five feet. That'd matched the scope of things. And I checked the playhouse's ceiling. It's well over fifty feet tall—"

"I'm not building a twenty-foot archway, Lincoln," Finn said. "Do you know how long that'd take?"

"You just built our coffee table and gazebo." I gestured to our backyard. "In two days, Finn. You built a gazebo in two days; imagine what you could do in two months?"

He frowned. "You can't be serious. I assembled it from a kit. It came with step-by-step, illustrated instructions."

"Did I not draw you illustrated instructions?

" I grabbed the plans for the archway and studied them myself.

They're not professional-grade blueprints, sure.

But all the information was there. "You're more than capable of doing this.

I've seen your skill, and I believe in you.

I think it's high time to believe in yourself. "

"It's not self-belief I lack."

"Then what is it?" I wondered, genuinely willing to do my part to help him do his part.

"Patience," he grumbled. "Time."

I held my hands up. "Easy. I could help you with that."

"Lincoln." Henrik appeared in the kitchen entryway. As soon as I looked, he tossed a tennis ball toward me. I tried to swat it away with my pen, but missed it. The ball hit my chin, and the pen slipped from my grip.

"Ow." I picked up the tennis ball and threw it at him. He caught it without blinking an eye.

"Did that look like the reaction time of a starting goalie?" Henrik asked Finn.

"Sadly…no." Finn frowned, disappointed in me times two.

I would have taken offense if I hadn't spent the past few days channeling all my energy and excitement into Celeste's project.

Who cared about reflexes when the beautiful girl you wanted to spend all your time with needed your help with something?

I had more important things to prove than how fast I could block a puck.

"I don't have time for your surprise attacks," I said. He'd been pelting tennis balls at me all week under the guise of helping me keep my reflexes fresh. Honestly, I think he was trying to get me to react. Push me far enough to say what I've been leaving unsaid since Sam left.

"Make time," Henrik said. "It's painful watching Anthony nearly push you to your breaking point every session."

Finn studied me. "That's why you were asking about my painkillers?"

"You're fishing for painkillers?" Henrik crossed his arms over his chest.

"You two are being very dramatic for no reason. I take an Advil every once in a while, alert the media," I picked up my laptop and moved to the living room…which, unfortunately, didn't give me much separation considering our open floor plan.

"Sure, it's just once in a while?" Henrik's skepticism made Finn concerned enough to go to the cabinet where he stashed the last remnants of his prescriptions from his accident. I scoffed.

"You two are reaching. I know the summer's been slow and boring because I've been busy, but I promise I'll be back home to entertain as soon as I can," I said.

"I think you should consider freezing practices," Henrik said. "What's the point of doing something you don't want to do? Especially when that something means reinjuring yourself to the point where you're taking painkillers daily."

"I'm not taking painkillers daily." I swallowed a frustrated sigh. If I'd wanted a talking to, I'd call up Sam.

"Mostly because I wouldn't give you any," Finn noted as he picked up another of my drawings.

Henrik followed me like a shadow, sitting beside me on the couch.

I scooted over, putting a cushion between us.

On a typical day, I preferred an invasion of personal space.

Growing up an only kid did that to me. However, this invasion demanded my attention and heart, two things that were occupied for the foreseeable future.

"I'm not interested in painkillers…anymore. Working is more than enough of a distraction." I said while I searched to find out how much wood we could get affordably. Our pockets weren't deep. So, realistically, we could only buy enough to make another coffee table.

Finn and Henrik continued to talk. Their back and forth became as non-consequential as lo-fi music. I typed up a few emails for our upcoming fundraiser. Finally, I called the one person I knew could change our financial situation in a heartbeat—if I played my cards right.

"Hey, Mini," she answered on the first ring.

"Hey, Grandma," I said.

The guys stopped talking. Henrik raised a brow, and Finn followed suit—only interested because of Henrik's interest.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

I laughed. "Nothing."

"You don't, hey, Grandma, me for nothing," she said.

"Let me talk to her after you?" Henrik asked. I shook my head and flipped him off, knowing exactly what he would say if he got her on the phone.

"I, hey, Grandma, you every time," I defended.

"No, you tell me why I shouldn't make mint chocolate or lecture me about outsourcing," she said. "I pick up this phone knowing you're going to talk my ear off about something you know nothing about."

I laughed. "Oh, come on. I'm just trying to be helpful."

"You're just trying to piss me off enough, so I'll spill the beans on our next reveal," she said. "Pain in my ass."

"I love you, too," I said with enough endearment to pierce her frozen heart.

Grandma lived a long life of fighting for what was hers.

She'd almost lost our family's chocolate company three times over the past few decades.

She'd had three husbands and one wife and now lived unattached, with the occasional partner moving in and out of her world.

She didn't bend for anyone but made the occasional exception for me, her only grandchild…

and the guys, her pseudo-grandchildren, who often got better treatment than me.

Exhibit A: Henrik calling Grandma on his own phone. She told me, "Hold on a second. I got someone else on the other line."

Henrik moved back to the kitchen. He set his phone on the island and put it on speaker so Finn could participate in the conversation.

"Morning, Grandma Hill," Henrik said.

"Morning, Henny," she said, a voice sweet enough to give someone a sugar rush. "How are you? How's school? Did you all get my care package?"

I shot daggers at a man who turned his back on me.

Henrik sweet-talked my grandma, earning his way into her good graces the second they met.

I didn't mind their bond; I wanted nothing more for my best friend.

But his ability to capture her attention proved annoying on days like this one.

These days, I want nothing more than to stay on the right track.

Being this laser-focused was an oddity. I needed to seize the moment before it gave way to something else.

"I'm good. School's fun. We loved the care package," Henrik said. "Did you receive ours?"

Grandma laughed. "I did. That was unnecessary but sweet. I've missed your baking. Your new recipe for oatmeal cookies is heavenly."

"I'll send more soon." Henrik tried to shoulder-check me out of the way when I came over to grab his phone. "I've been wondering if Lincoln has checked in with you about his summer training."

Grandma tsked. "That boy talks about everything but what he does on campus. Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I yelled over Henrik's attempt to respond. "Other than you hanging up on me to answer someone else's less important call."

"Both calls were important, Mini," Grandma promised. "But I know I'll get actual updates when Henrik calls. It's called prioritizing."

Henrik gave me a wink. I huffed a breath of disbelief and joined him at the island. If they wouldn't let me have my conversation, I'd have to settle for crashing theirs.

"So, what's going on?" Grandma asked.

"I'm volunteering to help assemble a musical," I said.

Henrik answered simultaneously, "I'm worried about Lincoln's training."

"Musical and training," she said. "Let's start with training. I refuse to have your senior year end like this one did. What's this private coach doing? Samson said he was the best."

Grandma didn't know anything about hockey, nor did she have much interest in the sport until I came home after my first day of middle school and told her I wanted to go out for the team.

After that, she made my dream her mission.

She researched the best coaches, schools, and opportunities.

My one-off comment and growing interest incentivized her to make my dream a reality.