I pull in a deep breath through my nose, considering another massive loss, one that seems so inconsequential considering I’ve lost sixty percent of my family unit in a matter of weeks, and the house is mere brick and mortar, but even as I try to tell myself this, it feels like a lie. My childhood is in those walls. Indoor Easter egg hunts on years we had late springs, lazy Sunday mornings where Mom made us huckleberry pancakes, and the driveway where Dad taught me how to ride a bike. The millions of laughs, tears, and secrets those walls have shared and witnessed make it feel like it’s as much a part of our family as a living person. “What’s he going to do?”
Pax shakes his head, his cheeks expanding as he blows out a long breath, the game temporarily forgotten. “I have no idea. He won’t be able to teach again.”
“He probably can,” Lincoln says. “Hell, he might even have grounds to sue Brighton.”
His words pave a path of fear and doubt, and then hope. “What?”
“Most colleges only ban teacher-student relationships. Unless the policy states all faculty and undergrad students, he can’t actually be in trouble.”
My stomach feels sour. “That’s so wrong.”
Lincoln’s smile is grim. “I know.”
The future he mentioned his father wanting for him plays in my mind like a carousel, a future that could conceivably include defending people like my father, like those who abuse the ocean and the marine animals. It makes me feel selfish not to have spoken to him at greater lengths about his future and the multiple options that will be readily available to him.
“I’m going to grab a beer,” Pax says. “You guys want anything?”
Lincoln shakes his head as I vocalize a ‘no.’ As Pax turns toward the kitchen, Lincoln takes a seat next to me, his hand running over my thigh. “This afternoon wasn’t at all what you think it was. Arlo invited someone over, and she kept inviting friends. I went up to my room because I had no interest—none at all. I had come downstairs to grab some food literally minutes before you got home.”
Home.
The word elicits contradicting emotions of both warmth and ice.
“I don’t want to be this jealous and insecure part of your life. I don’t want you to waste time trying to assure me when you have so much of your future to focus on right now.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t want to be a detriment to you.”
“You’re the only thing that makes me feel like I’m on solid ground.” He shakes his head. “You’re not a detriment, and this conversation isn’t concluded. Before we start statistics, we’re laying all this shit out. All of it.”
He turns before I can respond, swiping the remote from the coffee table as Paxton reappears with a bottle of beer, Caleb at his side, opening a giant bag of chips.
“What team is this?” Caleb asks, sitting in the chair, leaving the last seat on the couch to Pax.
“Utah,” Lincoln says.
“Are they good?” Caleb asks.
“Not as good as Texas,” Pax says, kicking his feet up as he starts the game.
It feels like I’m expending all of my effort and energy into not moving, my focus on the game nonexistent with Lincoln’s leg a breath from mine, his cologne a dare that is becoming impossible to resist now that I know the taste of it upon his skin.
“They have a strong defensive lineup,” Pax says while Lincoln rewinds the same play for the third time though I haven’t paid attention to a second of it.
“Rae, what do you think of fifty-two?”
I have to stare at the players for too long to even find fifty-two in the lineup. “Are you worried about him?”
“I don’t know. He goes from explosive to nearly nothing. Do you think he’s baiting them, or is he out of shape?” As Pax explains his thoughts, fifty-two clips the offensive lineman, slapping his helmet.
I shake my head, trying to recall the games I’ve watched with Grandpa this year, ones with Utah. “He’s never been on my radar that I can remember,” I tell him. “But, that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss him.” I glance at Pax, making sure he doesn’t misinterpret my original words as a false assurance. “I’ll pay attention to him.”
Paxton’s phone buzzes and he nearly knocks his emptied bottle to the ground as he reaches for it. He scans the screen, entering a quick reply before he turns his attention to me. “What’s your schedule tomorrow?” Pax asks.
I blink several times, trying to recall what day of the week it is. With everything going on, time has both sped up and come to a screeching halt, much like it had after my accident. “I only have three classes tomorrow. All of them in the afternoon. But I don’t work tomorrow. Why? Do you have more of their games?”
He nods. “Yeah, I was going to lift weights in the morning, and then I can get some more from Craig. If you’re up for it, we can watch it tomorrow night. I only have one class in the afternoon.”
“I can be here around six.”
Pax nods. “Okay. Let’s do that. I’ve got to get going. Candace is waiting for me.”
“I didn’t realize you guys were hanging out again?” I try to keep my tone light, free of accusation, but Pax knows my question without even hearing it.
“She’s not that bad.”
“I’m not saying she is. I just didn’t realize you guys were back together.”
“Can we not do this tonight?” He rolls his neck like the subject alone elicits a mass of stress.
I nod. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
Pax extends his hand to Caleb, doing a quick handshake the two have been doing for over a decade, and then he salutes Lincoln.
I sigh, watching as he clears the door. “He’s not going to make this easy.”
“He didn’t smoke a joint,” Caleb says. “Progress.”
“Unless he smokes with her,” I offer.
Lincoln shakes his head. “He doesn’t smoke with her because she always falls asleep.”
I block out the reasons that follow that decision as I watch the beginning of the game again. But then Lincoln stands, taking my full attention.
“Ready to learn statistics?” he asks.
“I should forewarn you that my understanding and knowledge for this subject could literally fit on a notecard.”
He flashes a grin, his eyes expressive for the first time that I can remember. “Then, we should probably get started.”
I stand, passing the remote to Caleb before following Lincoln, already knowing this is a mistake because the confines of his room will only guarantee distractions, not to mention what Caleb is going to be thinking. It doesn’t stop me or even slow me down, though.
Lincoln closes the door behind me, his arm extended, revealing each defined muscle in his forearm that makes blood rush through my body, anticipation building, making me hyperaware of his gaze on me, the heat radiating from his body. He leans closer, my breath catching in my throat. “Before we get to statistics, we need to chat about today.” He moves his hand that’s still loose at his side to my waist, my sweater a painful obstacle as I wish to feel him against me. “One thing I’ve never been proficient at is bullshit. I’m trying to let you in, and if there’s anything you’ve learned with all the shit I’ve put you through, it’s that I’m not good at it. But, understand this. I’m not fucking with you when I tell you I want to be the guy who’s good enough. I want to be the guy you want, and I’m not going to try to fuck that up. But, this house crawls with girls at times. You know Arlo. You know Candace, and I can promise you this, I will try my absolute damndest to not fuck things up. I’ll be honest with you, and I sure as shit won’t cheat on you.”