Page 42 of Safety Net (Mendell Hawks #3)

"Yeah, in there with everyone. I thought I'd seen you happy, but that was a whole other level."

Lincoln laughed. Or tried to laugh. It was the kind of amusement someone feigns when they're unsure whether they should be offended or not.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"Nothing." I stepped back, out from underneath his arm. He didn't reach for me; instead, he shoved his hands into his back pockets. Lincoln tilted his head up for a second, staring at the sky like his last straw was floating amongst the stars.

The air between us was heavy with dissonance.

It was him at the hockey rink all over again, but instead of having to contend with blocking a puck, it felt like he was blocking me.

I'm at a loss, combing through our conversation like all the others I've had tonight.

I hadn't had to do that for our interactions for over a month now.

"Is this what you wanted to talk about?" All amusement drained from his tone.

"No, not entirely." I folded my arms over my chest, and one hand massaged circles in my side. "Not at all, actually."

His eyes softened a bit when he noticed I was hugging myself. "Then what was it?"

"I wanted to ask about the…sets," I said. "My aunt said you hadn't dropped them off yet. I thought you'd done that last week."

He sighed. "I got it, Celeste. I told you, I got it."

"I know. It's just that the opening show is tomorrow. And I'm kind of worried. Do you know if it's completed? Will you have enough time to pick it up and put it all together?"

I didn't know all that went into putting the pieces back together because I'd completely given up the responsibility. Lincoln had assured me I could afford to with him in charge.

He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his head. "I'm sure it's ready."

"Sure?" My forehead wrinkled. "Wait, you haven't confirmed with the person you have working on it?"

"He's going to have it done."

"He's going to have it done," I repeated, more to myself and the knots in my stomach.

"Yeah, he is," Lincoln said. "Trust me. Try to relax. Don't let your anxiety win."

At any other time, I would have let those words wash over me. They were common enough to be ineffective. But right now, in this conversation, I didn't believe my anxiety was an issue. My nerves were burned through, replaced with annoyance.

I didn't appreciate the idea of my disorder being brought up when I responded in a perfectly normal way to something that would cause anyone concern. Cause anyone to question.

"Lincoln, those sets have been gone for almost a month," I said, voice hard and steady. "You said they'd be done in time for the show—a show where someone I really need to impress will be. I'm sorry, but I don't think this is an anxiety issue. I don't think most people would be relaxed."

He leaned his head back for a second. "Celeste, I swear I will get you those sets."

I couldn't believe the slight hint of annoyance in his tone. "Sorry, it's been such a bother. But…you do remember you volunteered, right?"

Lincoln laughed dryly. "A bother? What's going on right now?"

"I'm trying to hold you accountable for something you promised you would do." I blinked so fast, my body oscillating between the need to cry and scream. "I don't think… that's too much to ask."

All this time, we'd kept a couple of feet between us. The distance felt like it stretched with every word we said. And those words started to become bricks on a wall.

"I think I should go." I tugged on my sleeves, giving my trembling hands something to hold onto.

"Now?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Right now?"

I nodded. "I should have left earlier. Nothing either of us says is going to change anything. I'm exhausted, you're drunk. A back-and-forth is pointless. I can't do this."

Lincoln blinked as a shadow of confusion crossed over his face. He studied me, trying to figure something out, but couldn't because the alcohol hindered him from coming to an understanding.

"Can't do this as in the party?" Lincoln asked. "Or as in us?"

I hadn't even considered us. Not consciously. But a small part of my brain had poked at the idea. We had considered our differences to be novel and never thought they could turn into roadblocks later.

"This is new and different," I said.

"Fun," he offered, almost hopeful.

I tried to smile. "Sure, sometimes."

"And other times?" His brows furrowed as he forced out the question I'm sure he didn't want to ask.

At other times, our relationship felt like a mirage. A fantasy of what could be if we had our lives figured out.

"Sometimes you party as if tomorrow doesn't matter. I…I thought you were going to be there. Like, really be there for me."

"Of course, I'm going to be there. This is just one bad conversation. One uncomfortable party. One long, uncomfortable night." Lincoln tried to laugh as he glanced behind us at the loud chaos of the house. "One delayed pick up."

"I'm not sure this will work all the time," I confessed and gestured behind him.

"I'm not sure I want to be the person pulling you away when you could easily enjoy your night.

The person waiting for you to remember a commitment.

I'm not sure you want someone you have to keep an eye on.

To constantly worry if I'm okay in a crowded room when that's the most natural thing for most people. "

Surely he'd tire of running out of parties after me. I couldn't promise complete separation from anxiety. I couldn't stomach being the one gray cloud on his otherwise sunny days.

"I'm not worried. You're not pulling me away." His voice was firm, gaze unwavering. "You don't pull me anywhere, Celeste. I willingly followed you out here. I would follow you anywhere and everywhere, every single time. I can barely see straight, and I still followed you."

"I'm saying you don't have to follow me." If he continued, it could eventually ruin us. I could subsequently ruin us.

"I know I don't," he said. "I want to. That's the one commitment I won't ever break. I've proven that, no? When have I ever given you evidence otherwise?"

He hadn't directly. But in other aspects of his life, Lincoln clearly struggled to maintain his course.

I'd been okay with that. I wanted to help him with that.

But the decision to party when something so big and important to me loomed over us both gave me pause.

I couldn't force him to change. I couldn't get him to take the right things seriously if he wasn't yet ready.

"Look, it's been a long day and an even longer night." I swallowed and brushed at my cheeks, swiping away unshed tears. "And…I really need some sleep. I need to be up tomorrow so I can figure out how to do a show without sets."

Lincoln pinched the bridge of his nose. "I told you, I'm going to handle it."

"No, I know." My anxiety was diluted with frustration.

"But I've been quiet for days thinking you'd already done it.

Those sets weren't mine to keep. My aunt has worked hard for everything at the playhouse, and she's trusted me enough to handle things.

And I trusted you enough to do what you said you were going to do. "

Lincoln looked at me, expression unreadable.

For the first time since I've known him, he was quiet.

And remained so while I continued, "All I'm saying is maybe it's time to do what you say you want to do.

Be responsible. Find some sort of balance.

Stop treating everything like some game, especially when someone wants to trust you with something important and special to them. "

There was nothing left for me to say. And for once, I didn't feel the need to endure the silence in hopes things will get better. In hopes I’d find a way to smooth everything over and make someone want to find merit and worth in my words. That was not, nor had ever been, my job.

I walked away. And Lincoln didn't follow.