Page 23 of Safety Net (Mendell Hawks #3)

CELESTE

Isat in the stands, going back and forth on how to bring up what I saw in Lincoln's eyes. I'd been worried all day about what he had to say about our kiss. But the moment I saw him, all that 'what if' fear dissipated, replaced with concern.

Lincoln's practice hadn't gone well. But there was something more than disappointment in his tone when I spoke to him. Something so familiar, my heart ached when I recognized it.

I never could have predicted looking at Lincoln would be like looking in a mirror. Tonight, I'd seen a part of myself I'd known in my deepest isolation.

It's not your business. Don't put a spotlight on something that's obviously bothering him. Don't make him uncomfortable.

I almost listened to the warning, but then I remembered how light my chest was while I laughed with him in the theatre.

How comfortably lost I got while listening to him explain the tabs in his worn Carter paperbacks.

Whenever I found his gaze already on me, offering an encouraging smile at rehearsals, the knots in my stomach loosened long enough for me to breathe again.

Lincoln gave me comfort. Safety.

I couldn't gloss over how he looked. Wouldn't, because now, it was my turn to offer that safety.

Lincoln buried himself like I did. He'd done it far more successfully and with far more grace than I ever could. But that didn't mean it made him feel any less lonely.

When he came out of the locker rooms, I was quick on my feet, meeting him at the bottom of the stands. He smelled as fresh as the pine of the mountains. The shower had washed away his worried brow.

"When you're out there," I nudged my chin to the ice, starting the conversation immediately because I knew if I didn't get it out soon, it'd stay trapped in my throat forever. "What are you thinking about?"

"Today? Every single rise and fall in your finale," he said without missing a beat.

I smiled. "Now, for real this time."

"I wouldn't joke about that," he promised.

I'm still not used to flattery, but I resisted the urge to dip my gaze. I wanted to stay connected with him.

"Why?" I asked.

"Was I thinking about it? Or why I'd never joke about it?"

"Former."

"Because it helps me feel close to you," he said. "And when I'm overwhelmed and don't want to be somewhere, I distract myself with something comforting."

How am I supposed to keep talking to him without stammering? Without feeling completely undone and put back together all at once?

"When you were out there," I said, quilling the buzzing warmth of his compliment by picking at my bag's strap. "I noticed you held back whenever it came time to…do anything really."

I didn't know hockey, but I knew what it looked like to hide and hesitate.

It was in the simple adjustment of his hands, the way he pulled them to his sides too prematurely.

He stopped trying before the puck even reached him.

He assessed the situation, yet he didn't take any action to influence the outcome.

Lincoln tilted his head to the side, studying me. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "You've always seemed like a full steam ahead kind of guy. But not out there. It's unlike you."

"Just because we've been hanging out all summer doesn't mean you've seen every part of me, Celeste."

The response gave me pause. I swallowed, fighting the urge to retreat into the shelter anxiety provided.

"No, no, of course not." I shook my head, cheeks aflame. "I know I don't know every part of you…I just thought I saw some small part that I could understand. It was…almost like self-sabotage. Like you purposefully trying to hold back."

I wanted to be there for him like he'd been there for me. I would be there for him. Anxiety could have a lot of things, but I refused to let it have this.

Lincoln's smile faded, turned into a ghost that haunted the rest of our exchange. "It's not that deep, I promise you. I'm not that deep."

"Everyone's that deep," I whispered. I've been bullied, overlooked, and underestimated since I was a kid who decided to remain silent for years.

I believed in multitudes, had to. I believed in a person's ability to be more than the surface-level version they presented to the public.

I couldn't fathom someone made of stardust not containing beautiful secrets.

And if, for some reason, they held no secrets, then I assumed someone or thing burned them out.

"What you see is what you get, Celeste," Lincoln said.

I wanted him to stay with me, but he pulled away again. He was fortifying his walls as soon as I was curious to understand what was behind them.

"Let's get out of here," he said before I could probe a second longer. "The arena's eerie this time of year. Too empty, too quiet."

He waited till I cleared the stairs before starting toward the exit. I followed, my thoughts racing a mile a minute as I thought of ways to touch someone who was just out of reach.

Lincoln made an excuse to go to the playhouse early. Apparently, the set needed immediate attention, and Jack wasn't going to do it right without him. So, we left campus, the air between us heavy with the strange concoction that was our kiss and his withdrawal.

I put my ruminations about self-sabotage and the gentleness of Lincoln's kiss on the back burner once I was with everyone else. They knew their lines, and for the first time, I had a complete recording of the music.

We ran through each scene; everyone hit their marks. Halle made a small mistake on one of her lines, but she recovered in time to meet Ellis at center stage. Thank God for a figure skater's stamina and grace.

It was all coming together like the final strokes of a painting.

The only thing lacking was the structure of the finale.

I couldn't figure out how to make it land with grace in exchange for its current screeching halt finish.

I'd spent most of the week revising, taking things apart, and putting them back together.

The songs had been edited sixteen times since the last meeting.

"It's perfect." Lincoln rested his elbows on the piano, smiling down at me. His mood lightened when he was around everyone. I was happy for him, but there was a string of sadness coiled inside my stomach because I couldn't do that for him.

"I…sure," I mumbled as I undid everything we'd just done with an aggressive scrub of my eraser. I got rid of last night's revision as easily as new wiper blades cut through rain. “Almost.”

"Celeste?" he asked.

The others remained on the far end of the stage, lost in conversation and the joy of being done for tonight.

Envy clawed at my throat as they made plans to go to some party.

I wasn’t just jealous of their social competence, but their ability to step into their next moment of the day without so much as the need to reflect.

Without the incessant pull to nitpick every little decision they’d made with a fine-tooth comb until their soul bled.

"It's perfect," Lincoln repeated, firmer. He tried to catch my gaze, but I only had the capacity to digest my writing.

"It's missing something." I shook my head and scribbled notes into the margins.

Lincoln joined me on the bench, stacking the array pages I wasn’t working on back into my binder. He knew the exact order I wanted each sheet to be in and placed a crease in the corner of the middle page because he'd seen me do it countless times.

"You have changed this over and over again. Every new addition is no more or less brilliant than the last."

"That's…" I sighed. "Easy for you to say."

"And why's that?"

"Because you don't have an ear for this stuff," I whispered, trying not to come off rude or cruel.

But he didn't. Lincoln didn't know the ins and outs of composition.

He didn't know how to use notes to evoke that tiny feeling I got in my stomach when I felt my world caving in and crushing me in the process.

He didn't understand that not all of us could be naturally talented, do the bare minimum, and still have adoring friends, fans, and a lovely future laid ahead of us.

"I may not have an ear for it," he said.

"But I do have emotions. And just because I'm into you doesn't mean I'm pretending when I say what you've written is moving.

You have done something incredible, and you keep trampling over it like it's nothing.

It's infuriating to watch, you know? Someone with so much talent and drive is getting in their own way simply because they can't see themselves clearly, due to a warped perspective.

Do you realize how fortunate you are to possess both talent and drive?

I'd give anything to be able to do half of what you've done.

Anything to be brave enough to give it my all. "

My hand paused. Heat traveled across my cheeks as I tried to digest his compliment and the contrasting frustration in his tone.

"You can tell me," I said gently. "You know you can. You know I'm not going to judge you for whatever's going on with you."

"I did hold back," he confessed, voice dropping in volume even though our cast was too loud to notice this new shift in Lincoln's persona. "At the arena. You were right. I self-sabotaged."

I lowered my pencil, giving him my undivided attention.

"I hate that you noticed." He laughed a little, nerves lacing throughout the sound.

"I hate that you notice me, too."

We shared a smile. Some of the rising frustration simmered.

"I don't put one hundred percent into anything," Lincoln said. "I don't believe I ever could. I don't feel like it'd be enough. And if I did try… I'd finally have tangible proof whatever I do will never quite work out."

My chest was heavy, honored he trusted me with a peek behind the curtain. I pressed my shoulder against his. "I get it."

He smiled, leaning into me, and we stayed that way, supported by one another for a moment. When I brushed my fingers against the back of Lincoln's hand, he opened his palm. I entwined my fingers with his without a second thought.

I loved how my hand fit into his, how his secured my fingers in his grasp.

I love how it felt like neither of us would ever let go, no matter what direction the other could pull us in?

I wanted to be linked with him like this indefinitely.

The thought of returning to an existence where there was a gulf in between us sent a gut-wrenching ache through my belly.

Lincoln Hill was the only person I wanted to share my chaotic, concerning, and saddening honesty with.

He was the one person I knew could keep my confessions safe while challenging me enough to question my beliefs.

Lincoln and I were building something. A world in which being seen wasn't synonymous with performing. Because that who where we were at the end of the day, two people trying their best to put on a show that would protect us from looming shame. The stage was much less intimidating with company.

"Just because you've cast yourself as the silly guy who doesn't have the drive to do something different doesn't mean you have to stay that way," I whispered and squeezed his hand. "Lincoln, you of all people are capable of being whoever you want."

He brought my hand up to his chest, pressing it there like he'd done the other night. His heart was still racing like before. "Thank you. Really…thank you. I haven't been feeling like myself today."

"Be whoever you need to be."

Lincoln studied me for a second, searching for something. "We should have that talk—"

"You two in?" Ellis interrupted, standing at the other end of the piano.

"What's that?" Lincoln asked. He didn't take his gaze off me, but I removed my hand from his, still not comfortable enough to be showing public affection to him when we didn't know what we were yet.

When I looked away from Lincoln, my gaze met Naomi's in an instant. She knew. She didn't have to give me more than a small smile to tell me she knew. Without a word, Naomi understood I couldn't keep a wide breadth anymore because no part of me wanted to.

"Party at Noel's," Halle said. "They have food and a pre-screen copy of that new superhero movie. Noel's mom's the producer."

Lincoln looked at me. I didn't want to say no, but going out would be a lot of work. I'd spent the last few hours with everyone. I liked how comfortable I was getting with our small group. But something more could push me on the cusp of burnout.

"We could do something just you and me." Lincoln's voice was lowered so only I could hear.

"Really?" I asked, unable to mask the excitement in my tone.

He smiled. "Would you like that?"

"I would," I said. "But I know you like... people."

And with all the work we'd been doing together, he hadn't been around them much.

"I'd rather spend a night with you," he promised, and before I could protest, he said to everyone else, "We're out. You guys have fun though."

"Damn," Ellis said. "You sure? Half your team's going to be there."

"Group chat says they're dying for you to bring your game," Kaya said, trying her best to sound uninterested. I’d gotten used to her enough to notice she only brought up things when she really wanted to do them.

"You love facilitating your game." I nudged my elbow against Lincoln's side.

"I'd love being with you even more," Lincoln countered.

I chewed on my bottom lip, unable to hold in my smile or maintain his gaze.

"We'll send plenty of pics in the group chat," Naomi said before anyone else could protest. She steered the conversation away from Lincoln and onto how they were divvying up the ride situation. Our bubble reclosed as Lincoln said, "I say we stop working on this tonight and do something fun."

"Your kind of fun?"

"Or yours?"

I shook my head and laughed. "My kind of fun mostly consists of solitary acts."

"I don't mind a quiet movie night. Or reading session"

"No," I said as I looked over at how excited his friends were. "I want to do something you think is fun. Something exciting. Just us, but exciting."

He raised a brow. "You sure?"

"I…yes, I think so." I crossed and uncrossed my ankles, trying to calm myself with movement. Was this going to be a date? My excitement multiplied at the thought. Anxiety made itself known, too, but didn't linger for more than a couple of seconds.

"Do you have something in mind?" I asked.

"I always have something in mind."

"Should I be prepared?" I looked down at my skirt and sandals. "Dressed a certain way?"

He looked down too. "Maybe some walking shoes?"

"Where are we going?"

"Ever been on a ghost tour?"