Page 3 of Safety Net (Mendell Hawks #3)

LINCOLN

“Wow, am I finally worthy?” Sam asked sarcastically when I picked up his call.

“You are lucky you,” I said with a smile. I lifted my shoulder, holding the phone in place against my ear. “I’m a very busy guy, as you know.”

My hands were full with two crates I’d bought from a yard sale.

A family down the street had been offloading all their Halloween supplies.

Never mind it being the wrong season; I would have our rental house decorated by the time the guys and Naomi returned.

It was never too early to do a practice run for a Halloween-themed murder mystery dinner.

“You better stay busy and ensure you’re at the rink tomorrow. Six AM sharp,” Sam said.

“What’s this for again?” I teased. The ladder Finn used to clean out the gutters rested on the side of the porch.

I dumped the boxes at the bottom of the stairs and dragged the ladder to the side of the house, where I’d start what I’d call an art installation.

Years ago, I learned labeling my projects as art helped my best friend, Henrik, accept things out of the ordinary.

Hen liked to color in the lines. The guy wouldn’t go outside without a tidy bedroom and an even tidier appearance.

Christmas trees were for Christmas, pumpkin pie for Friendsgiving, and Halloween movies should never be spoken of before October 1st or after November 2nd.

However, I had a vision that defied the concept of time.

And Hen had an undeniable respect for art.

“Stop messing around, Lincoln,” Sam said as if he could see the wheels turning in my head. “Don’t screw this up.”

“Didn’t plan on it,” I promised, swallowing a far more cutting response. I resolved to channel my irritability about his nagging into my project.

I couldn’t fault Sam for anticipating a grievous lapse in judgment on my end. He had known me since high school, where I would often skip classes out of sheer boredom.

But hell, I’d appreciate fake trust. The low probability of my failure to rise to the occasion constantly haunted my thoughts. I didn’t need it hammered into my skull from an external source when my internal team had things covered.

I opened the ladder and positioned it under the roof.

The installation involved rigging the ghosts to fall when someone opened the side door.

I’d have to figure out how to make a clue to fall along with the ghosts as well.

A sign tied around the ghosts’ necks might be the easier option.

But a note swirling to the ground would be far more theatrical.

Sam exhaled. “I can hear you right now. You’re doing something you’re not supposed to do.”

“Something I’m not supposed to do?” I chuckled. “Who are you? My father?”

“I hear cars going by. So, you’re not inside studying or at the rink.”

“Why would I be studying? The semester doesn’t start for another week.” I grunted as I repositioned the ladder. Its legs wobbled enough to be a red flag. But if it had held a guy as heavy as Finn, it should be stable enough to house my weight.

“That doesn’t mean you can waste your time,” Sam said. “And you’re definitely not going to waste Anthony’s time. I stuck my neck out for you. He’s driving down early because I convinced him you were dedicated.”

“Sam, relax.” I put the phone on speaker, resting it on the porch railing before climbing. The ladder swayed but remained upright. “Once I meet him, I’ll prove I’m worth the drive up. Give me some credit.”

“Credit? Lincoln, you filed for bankruptcy years ago.”

“That was the old me, young and na?ve. Fallen prey to shark loans. And living in your shadow,” I joked. “I’ve taken on the responsibility that was forced on me per your abandonment.”

Sam’s laugh was looser. He sounded more like himself.

My captain—ex-captain, now rival, eternal friend—was about three hundred miles away at a school with an angel as a mascot and one of the best hockey championship records in the country.

He had transferred out of Mendell for a few reasons, one large, eclipsing one being his girlfriend, Aderyn: another captain, another leader, another person who got the short end of the stick.

Aderyn’s ex-stepfather – our former athletic director–got a little too comfortable with his gambling habit and decided to take his betting to new heights. Accusations were made (and proven), investigations were opened (and closed), and people got hurt (and recovered as best they could).

And so, the landscape of hockey and all other sports programs at Mendell shifted. We couldn’t undo the harm, but we could learn from it. We had a committee dedicated to athletic well-being. It was unfortunate it took a scandal to implement it, but still, it was a nice change.

Not finishing out the season during my junior year due to no fault of my own bred a special kind of disappointment.

Four hockey seasons were equivalent to the blink of an eye.

I’d learned as much in high school. So, cutting a season short and letting all that momentum go to waste left a hole.

Not having control over a massive part of my life, a part I once felt the most stable in, stole a decent chunk of my inner peace.

Sam was also no stranger to a lack of inner peace due to the scandal. Though he was gone, he still felt a responsibility to help his team. Help me. I appreciated his willingness. It led him to connect me with a former NHL goalie, Anthony Baker, who agreed to train me during my senior year.

“Anthony’s dedicated to what he does,” Sam said. “I think you can learn a lot from him if you take this seriously.”

“What did I say about the new me?” I’m at the top of the ladder now. Finn did an incredible job on our gutters. There was plenty of space to latch a few hooks up here, along with my trip wire.

“I mean it.” I leaned forward, trying to get a better look at the shingles and a concerning dark splotch that could be mold.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked. “I can’t hear you that well anymore.”

“I said—” I cut myself short when the rung beneath my foot gave out.

I’d been so focused on the ladder’s legs, I hadn’t paid attention to the rungs.

The wood had rotted thanks to the undoubted years it spent in the elements.

The Ables (who happened to be Celeste’s parents) were the couple we rented the house from and were notoriously bad at maintaining much of anything.

I reached for the edge of the roof, trying to hold myself in position. But the rung underneath my other foot cracked too. Before I could inhale, both completely broke in unison. A coordinated attack, if you ask me.

I landed on my knee first. The sharp pain traveled down my shin too fast for me to react. I bit down on my inner cheek, trying to focus on anything but the broken, bleeding skin.

“Lincoln?” Static from my pain muffled Sam’s voice. “Are you still there?”

I inhaled, feeling a throbbing ache as I tried to brush it off and stand. When I attempted to push off the ground, I noticed a cut on my hand, the blood painting my palm and sliding down my forearm. Fuck, that burned.

“Don’t move yet,” a soft, concerned voice said.

I looked toward the end of the porch. Celeste Able stood a few feet away. Her hands were full of reusable bags that she dumped before coming to my side. I thought it was a dream because her gentle touch on the back of my palm made all my pain vanish for a moment.

The wind picked up her perfume; the soft, floral scent teased my nose and triggered memories of all the times I’d volunteered at the community center just to say ‘hi.’ Just to see her for a second.

Celeste kneeled, examining my hand and knee. I smiled at her despite the pain making my mouth taste of copper. She stared back, uninterested and unfazed, like she usually did, and damn it, my heart hammered. Wanting someone I couldn’t have was the only pain worth focusing on.

“Lincoln?” Sam’s voice called out again, disrupting whatever stare-off Celeste and I were having. “Are you good?”

“He fell,” Celeste answered while I remained frozen in shock at her presence.

“What?” Sam asked. “Who’s that? You’re talking too quietly.”

Celeste dipped her head, embarrassed. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Lincoln fell from a ladder.”

“What are you doing here?” I finally recovered enough to speak again.

She didn’t answer, and I realized how accusatory I sounded. But this was unprecedented. Celeste only came around when Naomi was home. Her visits were brief, and she avoided interacting with anyone outside of her best friend as much as possible.

“I was…” Celeste shook her head, unable to meet my gaze as she tried to respond. With her head dipped down, I could see the stars I loved so much in the corners of her eyes. So precise. So beautiful.

Her brown skin glowed underneath the sun, the light turning her eyes a golden brown. Usually, her dark hair was in twists, but today she wore it loose, the coils reaching well past her shoulders.

Celeste had wide-set eyes, big and bold enough to make her nerves more noticeable.

I’d learned in the past year there was not much that wouldn’t set off her anxiety.

And yet, I still resolved to try. I wanted to be someone she felt safe enough to talk to—or at least tolerate.

I could live with tolerance. Maybe even thrive because this was Celeste—a wildly creative human being who loved her quiet corners and her art.

I was attracted to the gentle flow of it all.

“I was… dropping off some things for Naomi,” Celeste finally managed to get out. Her gaze stayed trained on the ground as she asked, “Can you stand?”

“What’s that?” Sam’s voice interrupted.

“I can stand,” I assured before checking in with myself to see if it was accurate.

As soon as I moved, an involuntary hiss escaped my lips.

The nerves in my knee made a case for stillness.

I clutched my thigh, trying to get my muscles to relax long enough for me to calm my breathing and reach a verdict.

“How bad is he?” Sam asked.

“He’s having problems getting up.” Celeste lifted her head high so her voice would carry. “And he’s got a cut on his hand. There’s a lot of blood.”

She examined the cut, unblinking. Celeste was far calmer around the injury than I was.

“What the hell were you doing, Lincoln?” Sam asked.

“I’m fine.” I winced at my hand. The bleeding had slowed, at least.

“Can you help him up on your own?” Sam asked.

“Um…” Celeste studied me. She was almost a foot shorter than I. There wasn’t much muscle on her, either. “I could try.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Hang up on that nerd and call one of the guys for me.”

“Aren’t they in Richport?” Sam asked.

“Still?” I cursed.

“Finn said they were looking for places to eat dinner,” Sam said.

“Wow, so it’s official. Everyone’s abandoned me.” I tried to get up again and winced at the pain. Celeste tucked her hand under my elbow, steadying me as I attempted to stabilize. The piercing spark that ran along my skin had nothing to do with my injury.

“Stop moping,” Sam said. “You’re not alone. I’m guessing that’s Celeste?”

“Y-yes.” She swallowed, and we were close enough I could see her neck bob. Her fingers were cold against my skin, and her long nails scraped me lightly anytime she adjusted her grip. She held onto me like I was drying paper maché.

“Are you sure you can get him up?” Sam’s tone indicated he was in problem-solver mode.

“I can.” Celeste’s voice was a little louder this time. Her hands shook, but she sounded determined.

“Alright, good,” Sam said. “If it’s a lot of blood, depending on what he cut himself on, he might need to go to urgent care.”

“It’s fine,” I insisted. “I’m fine.”

“Is he really?” Sam asked.

Celeste froze, not expecting a request for assessment. She studied me, looking for any sign that I would go into some kind of shock due to my wounds. Going into shock due to her closeness was more likely. My chest about caved in when she twisted her mouth to the side, focusing on how to help me.

“I’ll get him inside and get the first aid kit,” she decided. “After we get everything cleaned up, we’ll go from there.”

“Perfect, so you’re all good?” Sam asked, making sure everything was handled before he hung up. “You don’t need me to call in reinforcements?”

Celeste nodded, a determined glint in her gaze as she stared at the phone like it was my friend in the flesh. “I got him.”