“As long as it isn’t going to give us a black eye or broken nose for your Dad’s wedding this weekend.”
He laughs. “That would make it even better.”
“You know,” I start as he pulls onto the highway. “I was thinking about the wedding a little, and with everything happening with my dad and all the news, I didn’t know if maybe you’d rather take someone else?”
His gaze cuts to me, the humor that had been there now absent. “I don’t give a single fuck if one of them has a thought or opinion about your dad. Not one.”
“But, it’s your dad’s wedding, and we told half the people at the party who my dad was. They’ll all know. My grandpa found out because it made the news.”
Lincoln’s chin goes up like an invisible force shoved him. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“She was a student,” I say on a sigh. “And two more students have come forward with the same accusation.” It feels wrong to say the word accusation, like there’s any doubt.
He looks at me, his eyes shaded by darkness. “My dad’s already had five weddings. I don’t doubt for a minute he’ll have a dozen more. I just need to know that you’re okay.”
My thoughts are still fragile. A quick ‘no, I’m not okay’ is screamed from somewhere deep in my heart where I work to shut the curtains on Lincoln, and my dad, and that my mom’s gone on the other side of the country, and Maggie’s on the other side of the world. But rather than give that scared part of me a voice, I simply nod. “I’m okay.”
Lincoln stares at me for a moment allotted by a traffic light. The roads are too busy for him to pull over or remain stalled. He takes his foot off the brake, the truck sliding back into traffic as his eyes return to the road. “When you lie, you lick your lips and fidget.”
“I’m not…” I instantly reply, my words falling away as he glances at my lap. I drop my gaze to my hands, where I’m rotating my phone like it’s a rectangular wheel across my legs. “I knew.” The admission hits my lips before I can stop it, before I can process how terrible the timing is because we’re pulling into a parking lot where Lincoln has no distractions, and I’ll have a dozen questions to face.
“Knew what?”
I swallow, but my throat is dry. “I knew about the affair. I’d caught him a few weeks ago. I don’t know if it was the same girl or not, but I knew.”
Lincoln’s stare is as penetrating as it is intense, reading my thoughts like he can see my memories. “What happened?”
“I should have told my mom.” Tears cloud in my eyes and clog my throat.
“He should have told your mom. Jesus. When did this happen?”
“Shortly after Maggie left.”
“That night I took you home, after the engagement party when your dad was leaving…?”
I nod. “I think so.”
“Son of a bitch.” He shakes his head, taking in a harsh breath.
“This year has been so eye-opening,” I admit, leaning back in the seat, so it supports my neck and shoulders completely. “In a matter of weeks, I’ve learned I’m not invincible, and love is like one of those really bad sheet cakes you get from the grocery store, pretty to look at but packed with regret and imitation.” Memories of my dad are like bubbles, popping as they surface into a new reality. “I told you I was going to be shitty company,” I say, turning to look at him.
He shakes his head. “You’re more bulletproof than you think.”
I don’t want to debate this, not when I faced an entire firing range because of my feelings for him. “Are you going to show me what this Whirly-gig is?”
He smiles—it’s weak and uneven, but it touches his eyes. “Whirlyball,” He nods. “Let’s go.”
The rain is light but constant drizzle that has me rushing to the front of Lincoln’s truck, where he’s waiting for me. Without a word, he grabs my hand, pulling me in the direction of the door. He pulls it open with his free hand, and when I try to break our connection, he holds on tighter. I glance at his knuckles looped around mine, and then at him, but his focus is on the crowded counter he’s pulling me toward.
“Beckett. What’s up, man.” A stocky guy with auburn hair steps forward. “Glad you could make it.” He reaches us, his gaze traveling between Lincoln and me, his eyebrows hitching a bit higher with each pass.
Lincoln nods. “What’s up, Chris.” His body is angled toward me, his feet spread like he could break into a sprint or take a hit. At the engagement party, he had positioned himself like this nearly each time someone engaged us in conversation, keeping distance, so I never felt trapped, but it also had me feeling included, though I rarely had anything to add to the conversation, similar to now. “This is my friend, Raegan. Rae, Chris,” he says. “We went to high school together.”
Chris grins. “You want to know anything about him, I’m your guy. I know all his dirty little secrets.”
Lincoln scoffs, triggering laughter from Chris, and it grows as two other guys converge on us. “This is Petey and Juan,” Lincoln says, pointing at each of them. “Guys, this is Raegan.”
“Did I hear you say we’re sharing Lincoln’s embarrassing stories?” Juan asks, a broad smile that looks easy and as common as breathing for him. “We should start easy with her. Wait. Wait. How long have you known him?”
Lincoln chuckles. “Do your worst.”
This is the side of Lincoln that makes me feel like jelly. Like my heart and feet are both levitating. Like this bond between us might be genuine and as authentic as my fears. It’s the strength he exudes, how relaxed and at ease he is even when he’s the target. It does something weird to my thoughts and emotions and has me believing that even in the worst situation, he’d be able to protect me from the cruelest parts of this world. In the past month, he’s opened the shades, allowing me to see through windows that reveal his past, and this feels like a highway.
“My favorite story is still the grilled cheese sandwich,” Petey says, shaking his head and chuckling like he’s already told the punchline.
I glance at Lincoln. “Grilled cheese sandwich?”
Petey laughs harder, his cheeks growing red. “Freshman year, we raided my dad’s liquor cabinet, and your boy here,” he pauses to laugh again.
“Oh, I remember this,” Chris says, pointing at Lincoln. “Don’t try and pretend like you don’t.”
Lincoln shakes his head, his fraction of a smile making me grin. “I don’t remember.”
“You’d smoked, and were struggling with a severe case of the munchies, and you went to make a grilled cheese.” Petey places an arm across his gut, as though it will prevent him from laughing. “And you were bragging to everyone about knowing the tricks to make a fast grilled cheese, so you toasted your bread and then melted the sandwich in the microwave.”
Lincoln’s smile grows. “It’s still genius.”
Petey laughs outright. “But, you used your fucking phone as one of the slices of bread and didn’t realize it till you pulled it out of the microwave.”