And I’ve been fine with that. But for some reason, since hanging out with the boys earlier, sharing shit about our years together—and this being our last party together—I want to peek over that wall, feel her out.
Thankfully, she leads into the conversation perfectly. “Are you excited about the draft coming up? I saw an article online talking about how you’re a top-twenty prospect. Top-twenty, Linc. That’s incredible.”
“Thanks, babe,” I say, squeezing her thigh. “Yeah, it’s pretty crazy. Hitting ninety-five this season boosted me to the next level. Coach Disik said it’s opened a lot more doors, and I really have you to thank for it.”
“You would have hit it on your own,” she says, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Just would have taken you longer.”
“Well, it means a lot to me, you working with me on everything.”
“What are friends for?” She winks and my stomach drops.
Friends.
Okay, I don’t know why I was expecting more. Maybe because it feels like so much more than just friends.
Plastering on a smile, I say, “Yeah, you’ve been one hell of a friend.”
“I don’t know if we should thank our moms or our professor who teamed us up.”
Chuckling, I say, “I still can’t believe we got a B in that class.”
“Don’t even talk to me about it. I’m still bitter. He had an agenda and it was to make us feel less than perfect.”
“The nerve.”
She tangles her fingers through the short strands on the back of my head, leaning against me. “I’m sad we didn’t have another class together. We didn’t plan that well.”
“For the best. I was too distracting for you.”
“Please.” She rolls her eyes as her fingers work magic on my scalp.
“I saw the doodles in your notebook, the many attempts to draw me naked. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Aww, you thought those were naked pictures of you? That’s cute. They were of Rusty.”
I nearly choke on my beer laughing.
She pats my back. “Did you picture it in your head?”
“I did, and I did not like it.” I take another sip of beer and say, “Did he tell you that he’s proposing to Chrissy? This summer?”
“He did.” She sips her drink. “Good for them.”
“Wow, hold back your excitement,” I tease.
“You know how I feel about marriage, Linc.”
Yeah . . . I do. She could write a skeptic’s guide to marriage now. Especially given her parents’ divorce was done three months after they filed for divorce. Three months. That’s good old Michigan for you. After twenty-two years of marriage? Three months. Property and debt division finalized amicably. A neat, fucking package. And Indie’s fucking mom had the audacity to send her a text with a smiley emoji announcing just that. Needless to say, Indie got wasted that night. I heard her tears in the shower the next morning, but she didn’t let me see those. Nope. Those tears are well and truly hidden behind her wall, never to be comforted. Much like her heart.
“Anyway, are you sure you want me to come to the draft-watching party? I don’t want to step on a family gathering.”
“Hey, you’re family,” I say. “Of course we want you there.”
“Okay.” A small sigh escapes, and I want to break down that sigh and figure out the meaning behind it. “I still can’t believe they’re having the championships at Brentwood this year.”
They’re usually held in Omaha, Nebraska, but a terrible storm hit the city this year, leaving the field unusable. Brentwood was nominated to hold the tournament, the college stadium hosting most of the games with some being optioned out to fields in the area. It isn’t ideal, but it will get the job done, which means we can have a gathering at Indie’s during the tournament.
“It’s crazy, but also kind of cool, being able to play in our stadium again.”
“I can feel that. I’m dreading the fall when I have to say farewell to my field.”
“Yeah, I wish I could be there for that,” I say, already knowing my life will be so different this coming fall.
“But you’ll be on to bigger and better things.” It sounds like a throwaway comment, and that makes me worry. Worry about our future and what’s to come.
“So when you’re a big-time soccer player, think you’ll still talk to me?” I ask, feeling her out.
“Not going pro,” she says, downing a big gulp of her drink.
“Wait, what?” I ask, pulling her drink down. “What do you mean you’re not going pro? When did you decide that?”
“A few months ago,” she says casually.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t think I needed to tell you everything, Lincoln. Anyway, it’s no big deal, just focusing on other things.”
“Indie, soccer is your life. This has been your dream forever. Why are you giving up on it—” I pause, remembering something. “Is this about your mom?”
“No,” she says looking away. I don’t believe her. “It’s just not smart. The pay is shit and what happens when my career is over? It’s not like I’ll have millions to fall back on like you.”
“Hey, when has it ever been about the money? It’s always about the game for you.”
“There’s no use talking about it, Lincoln. I’ve made my decision.”
“Well . . . I think it’s a shitty decision,” I say, unable to hold my tongue.
“Wow, tell me what you really think.” She laughs sarcastically and tries to get off my lap, but I hold her in place.
“You want to know what I really think? I think you’re hiding behind someone you’re not. You’re hurting because of your parents’ choices and instead of facing that hurt, you’re turning into someone nowhere near the Indie I know.”
“I don’t think this is the time to have this conversation, Lincoln. It’s your last party. Let’s not fight.” She leans in and presses a kiss to my lips. It’s sweet, and it stirs feelings inside me, feelings I shouldn’t be having. Gripping my cheek, she looks me in the eye. “Can you drop it, please? Let’s enjoy these last few weeks, okay?”
Remember when my heart sank? Well, it just flopped onto the floor, and I’m pretty sure Indie carelessly kicked it across the lawn with that last statement. I want to ask her what she means but I can sense the tension building between us, and the last thing I want is to ruin tonight. So, I drop it and nod.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Thank you.” She tilts my head back and swipes her tongue over my lips. “Open,” she demands, and because I’m desperate for anything from this girl, I open my mouth and get lost in her for the rest of the night, reveling in her sweetness the only way I know how.
Fuck, I’m going to miss her.
JUNE
“Indie.” I motion for her to come sit with me. Mom and Mama are holding hands on my right and when Indie comes over, I pull her down to sit at my left.
Rusty and Deacon are pacing in front of me, hands in their hair, looking more stressed than I am. Hutton is sitting in a chair by the living room window, holding a beer between both of his hands, and Hartley? Well, he’s sitting on the stairs, one leg bouncing up and down. Me? I’ve surrounded myself by those I trust—my people, my tribe. I’ve done the work. Followed the rulebook to success. A draft spot should be mine, so I don’t doubt that. What I’m not sure about is what that will look like without these people by my side. But I can’t think about that. Not now. Onwards and upwards. Working toward the goal. That’s what my parents have taught me. I take a deep breath. You can do this, Castle. You’ve got this.