The door opens and I’m greeted by red, bloodshot, and teary eyes. There’s no denying what she was doing right before answering the door.
“Lincoln, it’s late.”
“I couldn’t wait,” I say, knowing damn well it’s late. I couldn’t come visit her until after our game. “Can we talk?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
I press my hand against the wood of the door. “Do not shut this door on me. After everything we’ve been through, do not shut this door on me.”
Her lip trembles and she nods, opening the door for me to step in. I shut it behind me and she makes her way over to the living room where she curls up on the couch and brings her knees in close to her chest. A tear falls down her cheek and she quickly wipes it away, her oversized sweater acting as a tissue.
“Why are you crying, Indie?”
She leans her head against the couch and looks past my shoulder, her lip trembling again. I can see she’s trying to compose herself, so I give her time. I have all the goddamn time in the world to make this right. I’m in no rush now that I’m here.
Finally, she says, “I’ve made some mistakes in my life, mistakes that have shaped me to be the person I am today, but I think my biggest mistake, one I can never take back . . . is you.”
Talk about a motherfucking gut punch.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
A really bad fucking idea by the way nausea rises up my throat.
I press my forearms to my thighs and clasp my hands together in front of me. “I don’t really—”
“I’m not finished,” she says, her eyes cast down.
Okay.
I watch as her breath evens out and finally, her gaze meets mine. “I should have known being just friends with you would never work out.” She shakes her head. “I thought keeping you in my life as my friend would be enough, because I’d always have you. No matter what . . . I’d always have you. But then I didn’t.” More tears fall down her cheeks. “And if this last year has taught me anything, or last night for that matter, it’s that I can’t be friends with you, Lincoln.”
Christ.
I suck in a sharp breath. Taking blow after blow. Cory was so fucking wrong.
“It feels impossible to be friends with you, when I’m . . . when I’m in love with you,” she says and my eyes shoot to hers. Did I just hear her correctly? Love? She’s in love with me? “And I know that’s not what we said this relationship was about. We put rules and limits on what we’re supposed to be, but I can’t have you coming over here, visiting with me, fucking me, and then leaving.” She catches a tear on her finger. “It’s too hard to walk away when all I want is to have you all to myself.” She sucks in a sob and steadies her breath. “I’m sorry, but I thought I should be honest with you.”
When she’s done, I move over to the couch and slide her legs over mine so I’m sitting right next to her, my arm draped over the back of the couch.
“Indie.” She doesn’t look at me but buries her head in her hands. I reach out and lift her chin. Tears stream down her face and I lean in closer, keeping her eyes on mine so she hears me loud and clear. “I am so in love with you, it’s painful. So fucking in love with you.”
She shakes her head, almost as if she can’t quite comprehend what I’m telling her.
“You don’t have to say that, Lincoln.”
“Hey, I listened to you, now it’s your turn to listen to me.” And now I know why I’m here. I know exactly what words need to be said. “If we’re talking about mistakes, I have a few. First, never pushing for more when I first met you. Then when I left after the draft, never asking if you would do long-distance with me. And every time we met up after that, never finding it within me to assess how I honestly felt about you. And when we met up for dinner, a year ago, never calling you and begging you to reconsider, to give me your heart instead. And then this morning, allowing you to walk out that door without telling you how much I love you. How much I don’t want to go through another goddamn day as only your friend. I want to be your man, your person, your goddamn everything.”
“You already are,” she says on a sniff. “You’re everything to me, Lincoln, and I’m so mad it took me this long to figure it out, to admit it.”
I grip her cheek, brush a tear away with my thumb. “Babe, it took me just as long.” I can feel my uneven breathing as I hold her close, our foreheads touching. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Mayhem. Will you please, after all these years, go on a date with me?”
A bubble of a laugh falls past her lips as she lightly nods. “I don’t think I could ever say no to that.”
Gently, slowly, I lower my mouth to hers and capture her mouth with mine. Sweet and innocent, we move our mouths, finally closing our friendship chapter and turning us into so much more.
What started out as two meddling moms attempting to find love for their children, turned into the longest, but most brilliant love affair. And even though I hate to admit it, my mom picked right.
She picked so fucking right.
Indie is it for me. My one and only. My forever setup.
Epilogue
LINCOLN
“Three orders of potato skins?” Mom asks. “Are you insane?”
I lean back in my booth, looking at my two moms, who I met at Boondoggles for dinner. “Mom, I can afford it.”
She rolls her eyes. “I know you can afford it, but you know they don’t reheat well, despite what your mama might think.”
Mama stuffs her napkin in her Rebels shirt and says, “I am more than happy to take these down with my son. I haven’t had these potato skins in a really long time and didn’t eat lunch. I’m ready.”
“Self-respect, Michelle,” Mom says while fluffing her napkin on her lap. “So, to what do we owe—”
“Hey, I didn’t know you were going to be here,” I call out to a very unsurprised but rather smirking Indie, whose mom is trailing behind her, hands over her ears. Beth hates Boondoggles, so it was a feat for Indie to get her to come.
“Lincoln, is that you?” she asks, pointing her finger at me. “Wow, look at you.” Indie and her mom come up to our high-rise table. We give each other a quick side hug and then she pulls away.
“Beth, you remember my mom, Laura, right? And this is my mama, Michelle.”
Confused and possibly a little scared, the meddling moms all exchange timid hellos.
“Crazy running into you here,” I say.
“Yeah, I was just telling my mom, who started her own salon, that she needs a website.”
“No way. Well, my moms just finished up a job. Maybe”—I point to the three of them—“maybe you guys should, you know, talk or something.”
“Oh honey, that’s not necessary,” Indie’s mom says, looking startled and very unsure. It takes everything in me not to bust out in laughter.
“Don’t be silly. My moms wouldn’t mind helping. Here, take my seat, we just ordered potato skins, so you can talk over spuds.”
My mom smiles. “Lincoln, honey, I thought you were just here for the night.”