Page 37 of Safety Net (Mendell Hawks #3)

I nodded, laughing a little, and watched him disappear into the bathroom. It took a few minutes for the water to get hot. Once it did, Lincoln gave me the all clear and left to find some meds.

He laid out a couple of towels, body wash, and lotion for me. Being taken care of to such an extent had every ache in my body loosen before I even stepped foot into the steaming shower.

I smelled of him as I scrubbed the night away.

I felt wrapped in his arms when I tugged on his shirt that nearly reached my knees.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging on the door of his closet.

My hair remained in the perfect twists he'd done for me last night. I drowned in his clothes, looking like a woman in love. It’s a realization that made me smile.

I was falling in love. It was a feeling that was neither scary nor complex, as I had thought it'd be.

Falling in love with Lincoln felt like reaching my natural state.

Lincoln knocked before coming in. "You okay?"

"Yes." I glanced at the door, trying to fix my face to something not so lovestruck.

It was one thing to admit being in love with him to myself.

And another to share it with him. Yes, he'd already mentioned love last night.

But Lincoln was the kind of guy who got an idea during breakfast and made it his personality by dinner.

He was ever-changing and quickly evolving.

I loved that about him. However, it also meant that it was best for me to take things slow.

Keep us grounded. Because maybe once we started dating for real, he'd get another idea.

Find someone new to obsess over. Be ever-changing and evolving far quicker than I could keep up.

"This is for you." Lincoln joined me in front of the mirror, encircling me between his arms as he offered a hot mug of tea and a couple of Advil. "Made it myself."

"Oh?" I accepted the mug, bringing it to my nose to catch a whiff of the contents. It smelled of ginger with a hint of vanilla.

"I've reached perfection,” he quickly assured as he rested his chin on the top of my head. "Promise."

"I liked it last night," I said before taking a shy sip.

He chuckled. "You don't have to be so nice to me. I saw the look on your face when you took your first sip."

The tea he'd given me now was noticeably different. It was smooth — no renegade tea leaves—and with just a hint of sweetness. Not enough to make me need a sugar detox like last time.

"Well?" He watched me drink through the mirror, genuinely worried he'd messed it up the third time around.

"Honest?" I asked, drawing it out to tease him.

"Always."

"It's amazing and exactly how I'd make it." I held the cup close to my chest. If all my mornings started like this, I think I'd eventually be able to take on the world. "I love it."

Lincoln kissed behind my ears and neck, coaxing me into a fit of laughter.

"Okay, okay," I said. "You're tickling me, you're going to make me spill this."

"I've been practicing for weeks," he said, excitement making him talk so fast it was difficult to keep up with what he was saying. "Trying to get it right for you. I just have one problem."

"What's that?"

"I don't know what the hell I did to get it right this time," he confessed.

"I was just panicking, mixing shit, trying to make sure it was ready for you when you got out of the shower.

There are six variations of this downstairs.

I had to choose between them, and in the end, just went with the one that called to me. "

I laughed. "Lincoln, when you want to, you really know how to dedicate yourself to something."

I turned around so we were face-to-face when I said the next part, "Remember that, okay?"

He sobered a bit and pressed his forehead against mine. "I will."

"When are you talking to Anthony to ask him to come back?"

Lincoln shrugged. "Tomorrow."

"Oh, wow."

"Too soon?"

"No…" I shook my head, unsure. "I don't think so. I just thought you were going to give it a couple of weeks. Train with the guys, you know? Spend some time to show you're dedicated."

"I know what I want to say and what I can do," he said.

"There's no use in beating around the bush and dragging this out.

I just want to get back out there. Start over and work toward improvement.

I don't like wasting time, you know? I've made up my mind, and now I want to take action. I want to move forward."

"I get that, I do..." I bite on my inner cheek.

"Say it, Celeste." Lincoln smiled down at me. His hand massaged the nape of my neck. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know…I think taking your time could be good for you," I said. "It shows you're patient and willing to put in the work."

"I am only one of those things."

I smiled. "Could you try to be the other?"

He took a breath, considering. "One day, sure, I'll give patience a go. But with the new season right around the corner, I don't think I can afford it. Besides, patience on the ice could be the reason you miss a winning play. Most winners aren't patient."

"I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit. You've been plenty patient with me."

Lincoln shook his head and leaned down for a kiss. "Because you make everything feel whole. There's no amount of time I wouldn't wait for you."

I kissed him this time, parting my lips slightly as a reminder I've let him in once and I would continue.

"It's up to you ultimately," I said once we pulled away to catch our breath. "Regardless, I'm rooting for you. And if you need anything from me, just let me know."

"I will," he promised. "You let me know, too. I'd push it all to the sidelines for you. In a heartbeat, I'd drop it all for you."

"I'm not asking for you to drop it all," I assured. "But I will ask you to bring in the castle set pieces before next Friday. My aunt's been asking about it. She's getting nervous. We really need it for opening night."

"I got it taken care of," Lincoln promised. "It's as good as done, so cross it off your to-do list."

"Thank you." I forced myself to step out of his embrace. "I need to go now if I want to make my meeting on time."

"Alright," Lincoln said, disappointment making his voice quieter. "When will I see you again?"

"I'm free after." My cheeks burned at how eager I sounded. "Too soon?"

He shook his head. "I'll start the countdown. "

My hand trembled as I knocked on the door of Professor Nola's office.

But there was more excitement than anxiety flowing through my veins.

She welcomed me in with a smile and immediately pulled up the email with my video attachment of the final practice.

We watched in silence. I was so focused on the stage I didn't notice Nola's worried brow.

"Celeste," she said as soon as the music faded out and the video cut to black.

I sat up straighter, my smile disappearing. I'm out of the foggy bliss of last night. Now, the world felt brighter and once again, as dangerous as ever.

"Yes?" I managed to ask, sounding far more stable than the trembling hands I tucked underneath my thighs.

"It's not just an audio recording," she said, trying to laugh to lighten the mood.

"Right." I swallowed and willed myself to elaborate. "I wanted to do something bigger. Something that'd help me stand out from everyone else."

Nola watched me, expression blank as she waited for me to say something more. Something that made sense.

I couldn't make much sense, but I could be honest. "I wanted to do a production."

"A big job,” she noted.

"Yes, but not unlike what Ophelia Lawrence did during her time here.

" I tried to smile, but Nola stared back at me blankly. My gaze became flighty, unable to hold eye contact as I realized she wasn’t the slightest bit impressed.

I tucked one hand around my midsection and slipped the other underneath my thigh.

Sitting here, confessing I was trying to be like Ophelia—and had so clearly failed in the eyes of a professional—made my insides feel ready to spill out.

"Everything fell into place over this summer.

" I’d given up eye contact altogether, staring at the back of her computer instead.

"Some of my…friends didn't mind pitching in.

And I figured this was a perfect opportunity to really see my music come to life.

To show what it'd look like and feel like…

a musical isn't at its fullest if just on a page or recording. "

It was quiet for too long, the suspense more discomforting than my shame.

So, I dared to glance up and look for some sign maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought.

Nola twisted her mouth to the side as she considered my explanation.

I could hear water dripping from the AC.

A hum of a microwave coming from the lounge next door.

Music of everyday life, taunting me in its ability to be loud and consistent.

Everthing else was ever in motion, when I felt as though my world had stopped.

"I don't think you should submit this," Nola finally said. "In fact, I'd strongly suggest you don't."

"Okay..." My stomach lurched at the confirmation of failure.

I was surprised I didn't start to cry on sight.

But if there was one thing social anxiety was good for, it was saving face.

Crying would lead to more shame. I tucked my emotions up in a tiny box that would eventually burst open at the seams.

"The set design isn't strong," she continued. "It pulls from the music."

"The sets are still…being worked on."

"And the lyrics need edits. Your peers, the ones submitting against you, won't have full productions—I'll give you that. But they're work is tighter because they don't have to worry about multiple issues that come with working with a cast of inexperienced singers."