Paxton drives a manual, allowing me to shift and punch the clutch and gas pedals, to feel the gas inch higher with my speed.
I drive until I reach the marina, parking and turning off the car, but I don’t move. I remain in the car, my brother’s cologne so strong I have to roll the window down.
I stare out across the gravel lot, my eyes tight with the loss of so many tears, and my head throbbing with each beat of my heart. Outside, summer hangs on by a thread, the afternoon sun surprisingly warm in its direct path, beckoning me to roll the window down farther. Lacey clouds rove across the sky like they’re late for an important event, a cool breeze tugging them to go faster, tickling my neck with the promise of autumn.
My phone beeps with a message that I glance down to read.
Poppy: You okay? I got some Oreos and all the Drew Barrymore movies.
Thoughts of Maggie and I binging the Harry Potter series while feasting on junk food and copious amounts of Dr. Pepper has my chest shuddering.
Poppy: I love you, Rae. I’m here for you.
I close my eyes, leaning my head back as tears stream down my temples. I know Poppy would be here for me, and part of me wants to reach out and rely on that knowledge—hole up in my room where we’ve spent countless nights lost in thoughts and dreams, heartaches and crushes, homework and ambitions. Yet, those four walls seem like a prison after the past couple of weeks.
The crunch of gravel growing closer has me sitting up, turning to discover Lincoln, his truck parked behind me.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you need a friend after today. And probably some booze.”
I close my eyes to make rejecting him easier. “We’re not friends.”
He places both elbows on the opened window and squats so our faces are level. “I’m not convinced.”
I pull in a breath and slowly open my eyes. “I’m in a shit mood. I’m not going to be good company.” I swipe at the damp trails across my face, keeping my attention directed anywhere but on Lincoln.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shake his head. “I didn’t come here for you to put me in a better mood, Lawson.”
I roll my eyes as I turn to face him. He called me Lawson for well over a month at the beginning of the school year—up until he kissed me. It seems like a tedious measure to go back to since he’s already stuck his tongue in my mouth as well as down there.
He chuckles. “Raegan,” he says, as though he can read my thoughts. “Come on. Let’s take a walk.”
I shake my head. “I don’t … I didn’t mean to come here. I just couldn’t think of anywhere else I could go.”
Lincoln opens the car door, extending a hand toward me. This situation is on par with taking another shot to cure a hangover. Instead, I’m trying to aid one heartbreak with another.
I grab Paxton’s keys, and against my better judgment, take his hand.
“Your hands are always freezing,” he says.
“It’s been worse since the accident.”
His brows lower. “You think you just notice it more?”
I shrug. “Maybe. But I feel cold now. Constantly.” I shove my free hand into the fleece-lined pocket of my jacket. “It’s like the ocean changed my body temperature.” His skin, in contrast, feels hot against my chilled fingers.
“Nigeria will be warm.”
I nod. “Maggie will like that. She loves the sun.”
We walk along a path I’ve only taken once because it’s long, windy, and unkempt, leading to a shore covered in rocks and pebbles and little sand. I don’t complain, though, because I have no desire to walk to the end of the pier.
“How’d you know I was going to be here?” I ask, glancing over at him as he pauses in front of a long piece of driftwood blocking our path. He releases my hand and climbs over it, reaching back for me. I don’t need his help to balance or get myself over. It’s not a very big log, and before Mom and Dad spent eighty-plus hours a week working, we spent most of our weekends with the woods as our classroom, climbing and exploring all of nature’s secrets. Still, I take his help in scaling the log.
“What was your childhood like?” he asks, like I didn’t just ask a question.
“What?”
Lincoln dips his chin and raises his shoulders. “I didn’t know you guys when you were younger.”
“It was good. I mean…” I shrug. “It was normal.”
He chuckles softly. “Your family isn’t normal. They like each other. You guys don’t fight and only see each other on Christmas.”
“We fight, we’re just quick to forgive … usually.” I think of Mom again and how each day, her anger surprises me. Lincoln stares at me, refusing to accept such a simple response.
“Supposedly, Maggie was upset when my parents were pregnant with me. Paxton didn’t sleep and stole all her toys. Plus, they say he was a biter. She was afraid I was going to be a menace, so she refused to acknowledge me until I was nearly two.”
Lincoln’s mouth parts with surprise, his brow rising. “No. No way.” He smiles, weaving us around a large puddle in the middle of the path. His jeans are clean and look new, as do his black tennis shoes.
“It’s going to get muddier. Maybe we should turn back. You’re going to ruin your clothes.”
He glances from his attire to my own. My jeans are comfortably worn, and I’d put on my old tennis shoes that are stained, and one has a hole in the side from excessive wear because while I love eyeliner and fashion, I hate shopping for shoes and only own a handful of pairs. These are still my favorite.
“I’m not worried about it,” he says, tugging me forward. “She really didn’t pay attention to you until you were two?”
I nod. “Well, almost two.”
“What changed her mind?”
“Dad said I refused to let her ignore me.” I smirk. “My first word was Maggie.”
Lincoln glances at me. “You’re not an easy person to ignore.”
“Yet, you’ve both proven it’s achievable.” I throw the words out, surprised I don’t regret them though it feels like I should. “Our childhood was good. I mean, we had parents who cared for us, family dinners every night, an annual vacation to the Oregon coast. But, it was definitely different than now. My parents never had much money, which is probably the biggest difference. Dad also seems happier now. Like he worked so long to be something more and better, and he finally feels like he achieved that.”
“I think guys are sometimes worse at that.”
“At trying to be the best?”
He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just at being present.”
“What was your childhood like?”
Lincoln smirks. “You ask that like I’m done. The only thing I learned out of that was Maggie ignored you for two years. Paxton being a pain in the ass doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
“I don’t have anything more to tell.”
“Have you always lived in that house?”
The path narrows, and Lincoln slows, forcing me to lead the way. “No. We moved in when I was eight. My grandma on my dad’s side passed, and she left it for him. We wouldn’t have been able to afford to live in Seattle otherwise.”