Page 5 of Safety Net (Mendell Hawks #3)

I wanted to ask him something, anything about the event. But the words didn’t leave my mouth. I was overwhelmed by what questions to ask and the appropriate way to ask them.

“You should come,” Lincoln said. “I don’t think you got the chance to play last time.”

I tried to smile. The last time I’d pushed myself to come to one of their house parties, I ended up overstimulated.

I had a panic attack in my car afterward.

It took me days to feel like myself again.

I couldn’t handle being around anyone, not even Naomi, for more than ten minutes.

That was when the texts between Lincoln and me came to an official end.

He’d checked in, and I’d left it unanswered.

“It’s okay,” I said, meaning it was okay that I didn’t get to play, not that I didn’t want to come. Lincoln assumed the latter.

“No worries.” He smiled and pulled his hand away since I had finished bandaging him.

“I meant…I hadn’t been ready the first…time.”

“It’s not everyone’s cup of tea.” Lincoln focused on patching up his leg.

My mouth remained open as I tried to come up with something to say. The anxiety that had made my stomach sour turned into frustration. If I couldn’t correct a simple misunderstanding, how in the world did I expect to ask him to work with me? Or anyone to work with me, for that matter?

Say something, I willed myself. Anything.

At this point, I’d settle for a dry comment on the weather. My brain had other plans.

“Who’s your favorite mystery author?” It was random but not too out of left field… I hoped.

“Too difficult to narrow down.” Lincoln smiled, his bright energy returning. “Will you settle for my favorite one at the moment?”

“That works.” I nodded; the weight in my chest loosened because I’d done something to push the conversation forward. It was a small, pinky-finger, minimal-effort push. But a push, nonetheless.

“Zoey Carter. If you happen to look her up, don’t believe the reviews,” he warned. “She’s ahead of her time; I promise.”

I raised a brow. “Why…uh…do you like her?”

“Her plots are a perfect blend of real and nonsensical,” he said, moving his hands as he spoke. “Every time I finish her books, I’m more confused than when I started.”

“And that’s… a good thing?”

“The best. It makes me feel a part of it. She doesn’t spell everything out, and it’s exciting trying to fill in the blanks. It’s like I’m writing the story along with her, you know?”

I nodded, trying to wrap my head around it.

I didn’t know how I’d feel reading something that left me with more questions than answers.

It sounded stressful. I already had enough internal anxiety to overcome.

But something about the way Lincoln’s energy skyrocketed while he talked about it was enough to sell me.

I tucked the name in the back of my mind, vowing to read something from the author.

And if I did, I’d have an in with him—something easy and sure to talk about.

“Do you…have a particular book of hers you’d recommend to a new reader?” I asked.

“Oh, for sure—” Lincoln stopped short when there was a loud knock at the back sliding door.

We turned. A guy with long, curly brown hair and sunburned cheeks stood there with his phone pressed to the glass.

I couldn’t make out whatever was on the screen, but it was clear that he wanted Lincoln to see it.

“You can’t ignore me all week.” The glass muffled his stern tone. His posture more rigid than a telephone pole.

“This guy.” Lincoln sighed, unfazed by his new guest’s icy glare. “Sorry, excuse me for a second. I’ve gotta take care of this.”

He got up, limping a bit as he went to open the door.

“Get in, hurry, hurry,” Lincoln said with renewed vigor as he rushed the guy past the threshold.

He stepped inside, brow wrinkled with confusion and concern at Lincoln’s sense of urgency. His dismay grew when Lincoln scanned the backyard before closing the door behind him.

“What’s going on?” the guy asked. When he didn’t get an immediate answer from Lincoln, he glanced at me for an explanation. I was as lost as he was; my nerves spiked now there were two people I had to try to figure out how to interact with.

Lincoln made a show of closing the blinds and curtains. He still favored his leg but did an impressive job of getting around. “I can’t have the neighbors seeing you. They have a bad habit of wanting to introduce themselves when they see people come over.”

The guy shook his head. “What are you going on about?”

“Since the Incident, they’ve obsessed over Mendell’s hockey team,” Lincoln explained in a stage whisper. “If they find out you play, they’ll ask for your jersey number. They’ve memorized every player.”

“Okay, and?”

“I kind of told them my name was Jack Whitfield.”

I blinked, still not on the same page, but this seemed to mean something to the guy.

“Things could get a little dicey when they figured out I lied,” Lincoln continued. “Can’t have them complaining about lying college students to the HOA. They’re big on neighborhood trust and whatnot. We’ve gotta keep this lease for another semester.”

“Why would you tell them you’re me? And why would they believe you? We look nothing alike.”

It was true. Jack was a white guy with gauges in his ears and wore black from head-to-toe. He had an unapproachable demeanor I doubt Lincoln could pull off even if he wanted to.

“I said they memorized names and numbers. Not faces.” Lincoln peeked through one of the blinds, ever dramatic. I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile because in, small bursts, I could ignore my nerves and appreciate his amusing overreactions.

Jack’s skin got redder. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“I don’t like the idea of people like them having my real name.” Lincoln pulled away from the blinds. “It doesn’t sit well with me. They’re up to something.”

“You can’t be serious,” Jack said. “So, you’re willing to give them my name and not a fake one?”

“They’d know it was fake.” Lincoln scoffed like it was apparent. “Don’t worry about it. I’m forty percent sure they’re not planning to use your name in their next séance. And if they do, I’m forty-two percent sure they need to know what you look like to succeed in a hex.”

“They’re witches now?” Jack asked.

“No, unfortunately not. They’re Westbrooke fans.” Lincoln sighed. “If we miss the winning goal next season, or if you lose more teeth than usual, we’ll know why.”

“Are you fucking with me?” Jack asked.

“Time will tell. Anyway, glad to see you got up the walk okay.” Lincoln patted his friend’s (?) shoulder. “You’re a little breathy, though. Off-season not treating you well? You should hit the gym with Hen, Finn, and me. It’ll keep you competitive.”

He shrugged Lincoln’s hand off. “You’re unbelievable.”

I tried to think of a good excuse to leave. I felt like I’d interrupted something even though I was there first.

“It was just a suggestion,” Lincoln said. “If you want to lift weights in your lonesome, I won’t stop you.”

I parted my lips, getting nothing but quiet air out.

“I didn’t come here to get an invite to a workout session.” Jack shoved his phone in Lincoln’s face.

“I should probably…” I tried again. Lincoln noticed my attempt at an exit.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Jack’s just dropping by. Right, Jack? Thanks for the ‘hello.’ Bring food next time; that’s always a good way to get on someone’s good side.”

Lincoln tried to herd him to the front door, but Jack matched his strength. He wasn’t as tall as Lincoln, but he was a bit more built.

“Good side attempts are your job,” Jack said. “Since I’m getting burned alive on social media, thanks to you and your big mouth.”

Jack shoved his phone in Lincoln’s direction again, and this time, Lincoln took it.

“You told reporters you think I divided the team. Lincoln, divided?”

Lincoln frowned as he read whatever was on the screen.

“What else would you call it?” Lincoln’s voice had lost any semblance of go-lucky.

My back straightened as I tried to get a better look at his face. I’d never heard Lincoln speak so low or seen his shoulders sag as if he harbored regret. I wasn’t sure I liked Jack and how he barged in here, disrupting the atmosphere.

“I’d call it complicated,” Jack said.

“Sorry, but I don’t find consistent betrayal that complex,” Lincoln said.

“Oh my god.” Jack ran his fingers through his hair. “Are you—wait, are you bleeding? Why the hell are you bleeding so much?”

The bandage on Lincoln’s hand had opened. I had done a poor job of securing it. I grabbed a fresh one and stood up to fix the problem.

“He fell…and he should probably get some rest.” I didn’t make eye contact with Jack.

I couldn’t. But I did try to make my voice harder.

My tone, final. I didn’t want to leave unless Jack did too.

Heaven knew Lincoln didn’t need someone standing up for him.

And yet, I had the urge to do just that…

in the only way I could. But of course, my small voice was like a tiny dog trying to protect its owner from a Rottweiler.

“What were you doing? Don’t you have that mentorship thing tomorrow?” Jack asked.

“Don’t worry about it; it’s fine,” Lincoln said to Jack, and to me, “Thanks, I’ve got it. Sorry about all this.”

And there went my opening. My window of opportunity to pitch the volunteer position had closed the second Jack joined… okay, maybe I shouldn’t blame it all on him. I’d been stuck in limbo long before he showed up.

“It’s literally my job now to worry about it,” Jack said.

When Lincoln’s brow furrowed, Jack added, “The accountability initiative. You don’t remember?”

“There have been so many initiatives over the last few months; it’s been hard to keep track of them.” Lincoln’s sigh reminded me of my own when overwhelm threatened to nudge me off a cliffside.

“Well, for better or worse, I’m your partner.” Jack closed his eyes for a moment, clearly still grappling with this fact. “Which means the least you could do is stop talking to reporters about me. We’re supposed to be building team trust.”

To his credit, Lincoln’s lips pressed together with remorse. “He wasn’t a reporter; he was a journalism student working on a paper. I was trying to help.”

“He works for the paper, genius.”

While they were busy biting one another’s heads off, curiosity got the best of me. I unlocked my phone and pulled up the school’s newspaper website. The sports headline read: Believe in nothing, fall for everything: Mendell’s hockey boys aren’t so golden.

I skimmed the rest. It was riddled clichés, but overall, was a well-written piece.

The author condemned the athletic department while also throwing the players under the bus.

Most of the piece delved into how the school invested money in the hockey program instead of distributing the funds to other programs. I felt bad for agreeing with some of the opinions.

But I did wish Mendell invested even a sixth of the money they put into hockey toward the music program.

Our department was small, with limited practice space and resources.

We shared music stands, an auditorium without AC, and seats that were peeling.

“Did they get you to sign up for that community outreach course?” Jack’s question brought my attention back to them.

“Of course.” Lincoln finished rewrapping his hand. “An uninspired attempt to make us look good.”

“Have you picked your project?” Jack asked.

“Why? Do you plan on copying me?” Lincoln teased.

“Yeah, that’s the whole point. How are we supposed to be accountable to each other if we’re not together?”

The playhouse was a part of the community.

And my aunt signed volunteer slips all the time.

She could even write them an official letter.

Lincoln, needing to do community outreach, made asking for his help that much easier.

He wouldn’t have to do something just for me, the lonely girl who left him on-read.

The puzzle pieces were coming together, and all I had to do was open my mouth.

“If…” I started, and they both looked at me, waiting. Before I knew what was happening, I ended it with a rushed, “I have to go.”

“Okay, thank you for helping me back inside and with all this.” Lincoln held up his hand. “Maybe we could—”

“Of course.” I blinked every other second, holding back hot tears and heavy embarrassment. “See you around.”

I cursed myself as I rushed out of the house, not even waiting to hear a goodbye. My nails dug into my palm as I sucked in air through my mouth. Pathetic. I was absolutely pathetic.

I knew asking was going to be hard, but after that failed attempt, it felt downright impossible. I didn’t have enough time. If I didn’t figure out how to speak to this guy soon, then I’d have to go back to the drawing board.