Page 39 of Safety Net (Mendell Hawks #3)

LINCOLN

It's shameful admitting up until now, I couldn't say with my whole chest I experienced the authentic, metallic taste of hard work.

Sure, three seasons on the hockey team at Mendell meant I was no stranger to a decent grind.

Long gym sessions left my muscles feeling worn down and run over, while hard collisions on the ice caused bruises and scars that didn't respond to ice baths or heating pads.

But (any athlete could vouch for this) there was always a point in a workout, practice, or game where you could decide to push or pull back.

To take yourself well past your limit, knowing you're more than willing to face any and every consequence.

Or, to stop right when your body requested.

I've always given in to the ask without challenge and always pulled back because who cared what was on the other side of trying when I knew for sure what was right in front of me?

Training without holding back for two weeks left me in the kind of exhaustion that made blinking a laborious task.

It qa the first time I allowed dissatisfaction to breach my walls, leading to frustration with my limitations, which had become bold enough to begin haunting me in my dreams. I'm not sure how others deal with hitting wall after wall consistently.

"If we had the chance, I don't think we would have won nationals," I said through a heavy cough.

Henrik filled my ice packs, and Finn checked an old blister on my hand. I'm a warrior coming back to base camp, having my comrades attempt to patch me up for tomorrow's battle.

"Not with how I was playing," I said.

"Well, lucky for us, one person's not a whole team." Sam lounged on the couch opposite the one I sat on. He stuck around for moral support and to cash on his last decent, 'I told you so.'

"Is this how it always is?" I rubbed my hand over my chest. "Working hard for something? Truly wanting it? It's draining."

"You'll develop a tolerance for it," Henrik promised as he placed an ice pack on my knee.

"The pain never really goes away," Finn mumbled, still laser-focused on lining up my bandage. "You just learn how to live with it."

"I'm going to call Anthony tonight," I said.

"And say what?" Sam asked, but not even a small part of him took my declaration seriously. "All it took was a few independent practices for you to become the player he's been trying to make you all summer?"

The guys already convinced me not to try persuading Anthony to take me on as a client again.

But now, I felt like more than enough time had passed.

I knew what it'd take (my screaming shins were proof).

And I had another driving force: Celeste and her unwavering belief in me.

I was determined to live up to the man she thought I was.

"Not in so many words," I said.

Sam chuckled and shook his head. "I don't think you should bother."

"Why not?" I asked. "I want to work with him. And he said to call him back when I got serious."

"I think what he meant was, he wanted you to prove you were serious." Henrik sat on the couch's armrest, watching Finn's slow, meticulous way of wrapping my wrist.

"I am," I said. "I have."

"You've verbally committed to a change. And have actively stuck with that commitment for less than a week." Sam rested his phone in his lap, focusing his gaze on me when he realized I wasn't budging on my plan to speak with Anthony. "It's been twelve days."

"Less if you count rest days," Finn said.

"And actual practice time." Henrik looked up at the ceiling, trying to do the math in his head. "So, maybe, around thirty hours? Forty tops?"

"That's not even two days when you break it down like that," Sam said. "A commitment of two days isn't going to change someone's opinion. Especially not a guy like Anthony."

I scoffed. "Oh, come on. We all know no one breaks stuff down like that. I've been working for almost two weeks. That's commitment."

"It's progress, definitely," Henrik said quickly. "We're not trying to discount that."

"Sounds like you are," I said with a shrug that made me wince. Finn frowned with a look that told me to keep still.

"We're being realistic," Sam said.

"What's wrong with just starting this season without a personal trainer?" Finn asked. "You've done it before."

"This is different," I reminded him. "It's senior year. I want to get it right."

"You want to fix something you've messed up over the course of months in a matter of days," Sam corrected. "You want results right after you've made the decision. You're conflating instantaneous gratification with right."

"I'm sorry, I thought you guys were encouraging this?" I frowned. "Isn't that the whole reason you agreed to help me with training?"

"Of course, we're encouraging," Henrik said. "I think it's a good idea."

"We're just adjusting your expectations," Sam added.

"So, you got me an in with Anthony, but don't think I should use that in anymore?" I asked.

"Correct," Sam affirmed.

I blinked, surprised at how easily he answered. "Then why encourage me to do it at all?"

Sam sighed and exchanged a look with Henrik. I couldn't decipher what passed between them. Still, they reminded me of parents looking over their kid's head because the kid was too young and na?ve to understand. My jaw clenched.

"Hey, I'm some kid you have to protect from the dangers of the world," I said. "Don't look at each other like you're trying to decide which one has to be the mean parent."

"Lincoln, we all know you work better with external motivation," Henrik said.

Sam nodded. "And an opportunity at a second chance is a pretty damn good motivator."

"But in reality…" Henrik shrugged.

"Anthony's not even glancing in your direction for another few months," Sam said. "Maybe not even until we're well into the season."

I scoffed. "What would be the point then? It'd all be over."

And then, I'd be back to square one: aimless in a sea of possibilities that never called to me like hockey did. I hated being this aware of a clock. It was almost as if I can hear the seconds ticking off, time slipping into a bottomless pit, never to recover.

"There's still plenty of point," Finn chimed in. "You'll be able to hone your skills."

"Just in time for me to never play again? Sure, sounds like an incredible use of my energy."

"You can't rush this, Lincoln," Sam said, tone clipped and annoyed. "You can't talk your way out of it. You can't cram all the work in the night before. This is your problem. You think once you decide something, the stars will align. That's never how life worked. Grow up."

My laugh was devoid of any humor. The pain in my joints suddenly can't hold a candle to the piercing headache nudging against my skull.

I didn't mind a mirror; a hard truth staring back at me.

I did mind when the truth had been held behind a door, waiting for the right moment to make its appearance and put me in my place.

"I would have loved to know all these opinions weeks ago. Because it feels like you guys dangled a carrot, knowing it would distract me. And that's fucking condescending."

"Lincoln!" Henrik called out when I got up from the couch and started out of the room.

"Leave it," Sam said. "Give him space. "