Page 22 of Safety Net (Mendell Hawks #3)

LINCOLN

Her music looped in my head throughout practice. The melody was almost as all-consuming as her lips had been on mine.

But it was safer to think of the soft notes instead of her silky skin. Or my hand capturing the warmth of hers. Her body leaning into mine. That very real look in her eyes, I once daydreamed of being there.

The first thought that came to mind when our lips touched was: I didn't think we'd get here.

The second: had we got here? Truly taken all the steps?

All my report cards labelled me a class clown (derogatory). I liked the attention the laughs earned me. Humor made people feel good, welcomed, and safe. I loved that those feelings could be wrapped up in something as simple as a joke. Something that easy could build bridges. Move mountains.

It hadn't worked like that with Celeste. Connecting with her was something I was still trying to master. But I'd been getting better and sensed when she needed 'serious Lincoln,’ 'Take control,' Lincoln, 'Don't leave my side,' Lincoln. And I was more than happy to be any version she wanted.

I worked hard to earn her smiles. But I'd done nothing to be in kissing territory.

When I got over the initial shock, all I could think of was whether this kiss was happening because she felt overwhelmed. I grabbed her hand and placed it on me. We were close enough to hear one another's heartbeats. And she'd been so nervous, so panicked. I was the only thing keeping her calm.

Celeste hadn't given me a single hint her mind had changed about me before our kiss. And I had been honest in letting the idea of us go. Because being even a small part of her life meant everything to me.

The idea of her kissing me because of fear didn't sit right with me. Enjoying it felt like taking advantage. I'd pulled away. And instantly regretted it because of the look of hurt in her eyes.

A talk was what we needed. And something we didn't get.

After hours of rehearsal, Celeste's aunt called her away at the end of it.

A couple of days passed, and I replayed everything forward and backward.

We texted and finally found a gap in our schedule to meet before the next rehearsal to figure everything out.

Celeste's music carried me through a warm-up and thirty minutes of my session with Anthony before he noticed. Before he realized mentally, I was nowhere near the ice and had no intention of being there anytime soon.

"Lincoln!" he shouted, pulling me back into this icy abyss. "What the hell?"

I stared at him, obviously missing something. It took me a beat to put together that he's gotten his third puck past me, and I hadn't done much more than half-assed attempts at defense.

"You're good," I said. "Might even be a professional."

I could practically hear his teeth grinding from here.

"The plan this summer wasn't to use some guy's grandma as a cash cow," Anthony said. "But now, you're making this feel downright exploitative."

We're on our own today. No Henrik to be a buffer, sanding down our rough edges. I couldn't bury my lack of effort behind my friend's hard-earned skills.

"If it's any consolation," I said. "I plan to pay her back in full. So, you won't be exploiting someone's grandma but some jackass goalie."

"That so?" Anthony sighed, releasing the tension in his shoulders.

At the beginning of every session, he was a walking and talking wall of nerves.

He watched everything (including me) with such intense purpose that if I didn't know any better, I'd think he owed someone a ton of cash and was afraid of losing everything at the drop of a hat if things didn't go exactly as he had planned.

"I'm curious," Anthony said. "How exactly do you plan on doing that?"

I leaned on my hockey stick. "What do you mean?"

"Money. How are you making it? Because it's not going to be through any league I've ever heard of."

"I'm good at thinking on my feet," I said. "There's a plethora of jobs for guys who know how to do party tricks. Who knows, maybe I'll get into legal gambling. I do have firsthand experience on what not to do."

Anthony didn't crack a smile, just as expected.

"What a waste," he said under his breath.

I felt sucker punched. "What?"

"You," he said, louder and determined for each word to stick into me like push pins. "A waste."

He started to skate away, leaving me in the middle of the ice to wonder what the hell I did wrong this time. Out of all the other times I'd been a million miles away in some daydream, why was this time different?

"Hey!" I called after him, substituting my dismay for the frustration that was tearing me apart. I held out my arms. "What are you doing?"

"Salvaging what's left of my summer." He stopped at the exit to call back to me. "There's a guy in Wyoming. He's not as good as you, but he's been emailing me for months. No one will take a chance on him. He deserves a shot."

Because I've wasted mine.

My mouth was dry. He wasn’t just thinking of leaving; he already had a plan in place. And it wasn’t not just the fear of disappointing Sam that threatened to swallow me whole. My own fear of failure is upon me.

I couldn’t stomach this session ending like this. I couldn’t imagine going into next season and semester the same way I left last: coasting.

I hurried over to Anthony before he could step off the ice, nearly tripping over my skates to stop him. Something in me knew if he left now, that'd be the last I'd see him. And my panic told me it’d be the closing of a door—the end of my chances. I’d run out of luck. Out of favor with fate.

"Come on, man," I said, focusing hard on making my voice sound normal. Making myself sound like I could survive another disappointment. "I can defend, you know I can defend. Give me another round and I'll prove it."

Anthony sighed. "It's not about defending. It's not about how many pucks I get past you."

"Then…what are we doing?" I asked.

"Exactly." Anthony pointed at me. "Have you done any of the outside exercises I've given you? Have you reviewed the videos I've sent? Really studied the techniques?"

I opened my mouth, ready to spout a lie or some joke to smooth this all over. But I couldn’t. All lightness had been burned out of me thanks to the finality in Anthony's nod. Every moment outside of our practice time, I was doing something for the musical or lazing about the house.

"That's what I thought." He took a breath, slowing calming his voice down. He'd cycled out of the disappointment and now, all left was surrender. He unloaded his proverbial pack onto my back.

"You've got the kind of talent most guys dream of," he said. "Enough of it to go as far as you want. But you're satisfied with where you are, which is fine. It's good for you. But I can't do anything with good.”

Satisfied? I mulled the word over, and it had a nauseating taste.

"I'm…" I'm not satisfied. I haven't been since…ever? What did satisfaction even feel like?

I've faked satisfaction. I've learned how to do so by watching Sam after a good game, Finn figure out another piece of his fractured personality, or Henrik ensuring everyone in the house was fed. But I hadn't experienced it firsthand, and there was shame in that.

"You'll figure something out," Anthony said, his voice didn't have the sharp edge he'd possessed the entire time we've known each other. I guess the hard exterior was reserved for people he thought could become something bigger than what stood before him.

"Good luck, Hill," he said before leaving.

I stood on the ice, unmoving. It’s not that big of a deal, I tried to tell myself.

I'd still play next season. I'd still be the starting goalie. Still get to be with my team on the ice… one last time.

None of that comforted me. Instead, I'm somehow burning from the inside out. Lungs full of nothing but regret and dread. Why didn't I try? Why couldn't I have just tried?

"Lincoln?" Her voice pulled me out of the flame.

I didn't see her come in. Or how long she'd been here. She stood in the bench area, wearing a pink dress, her hair pulled up on top of her head, and her beautiful eyes lined in purple.

"Hey, sorry, am I late?" I asked, confused and a million miles away.

I skated over to her, meeting her at the boards.

She smelled like a fantasy, and I'd just fucked up my summer.

How was I ever going to deserve a woman as talented, brilliant, and driven as her if I couldn't commit to making a future for myself?

"No, you're not late," Celeste promised. "I was...I didn't want to sit around the house when I could just hang out on campus… so I thought I'd come early to…see you. Are you okay?"

"I'm good." I tightened my grip on my hockey stick. "We ended early and I… I'm going to need a second to get showered and changed. Then we can head out and talk."

"We don't have to," she offered quickly. "I didn't mean to rush you. We could go straight to the playhouse. You seem…distracted?"

"I've been looking forward to seeing you all day, so even if I were busy with something, I'd drop it," I confessed. It's the one thing I can say with my whole chest today, tomorrow, and forever.

"You wouldn't have to drop anything. I'd never expect you to do that. Hockey's just as important to you as my music is to me."

I chuckled under my breath, not a trace of humor in sight.

"Hockey is just as important to me," I repeated, words hollow.

Celeste studied me, gaze shadowed with confusion about my tone.

"I'm not rushing, Celeste. I'm done with my session, and I'm very conscious of how behind we are in finishing the paint job on those buildings.

I'm going to clean up real quick and be back.

" I said, ready to make my escape in a cold shower and wash away all the muddy emotion this day left on my skin.

I hate being like this. I wanted a drink. A party. A night in a place where nothing mattered besides the next song on the playlist or the next nonsensical thing coming out of some stranger's mouth.

"I'll be here," Celeste promised.