Breaking the Rules: The Dating Playbook, Book: 2 Page 9

  “Hate you?” She releases a sob. “Oh, Rae, I could never hate you. I don’t even hate you for jumping into that stupid ocean. I know you did what you thought was right. I just hate that it happened. I hate the reminder that I can’t protect you because that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I just want you to be safe.” She hugs me, her hair falling across my face, sticking to my tears. “I could never hate you.”

  Her scent soothes me, bringing a lifetime of memories that are filled with laughter and warmth. We hold one another for several long minutes, only pulling away from each other when the front door opens, and Pax yells, “Knock, knock!”

  He stops, his fist still raised midair. Lincoln’s behind him, two drink trays in his hands that he lowers several inches as he steps forward, his eyes moving with a silent urgency as he takes in me and then Mom, our tear-stained faces and blotchy cheeks.

  “We’re okay,” I tell them, sitting back on my feet and wiping my cheeks with my fingers.

  “You have a strange definition of okay,” Pax says, still unmoving.

  I release an uncomfortable laugh that is only partially fabricated, swiping at a stray tear.

  Lincoln hangs back, his jaw clenched as he stares at me.

  I release a breath that’s considerably less shaky and stand. “What are you guys doing?”

  Pax lifts a DVD case and a bag. “I came to bribe you with doughnuts in exchange for watching some tape.”

  I’ve barely seen Pax. I don’t know how to be around anyone right now with the secret I’m holding because I feel like a grenade with the pin pulled, ready to tell someone at any moment. I wanted to tell Lois this morning in the parking lot. I’ve wanted to tell Mom a dozen times, Poppy and Pax, too. I even wanted to tell Lincoln when I saw him earlier this week, and he read the distress on my face.

  “You’re lucky. She wasn’t supposed to be home,” Mom says, righting her glasses and turning her attention back to the book once more.

  “You ditching class?” Paxton asks.

  “At this hour?” Mom asks. “Come on, you know your sister. There’s only one thing that gets her out of bed before nine, and it’s not school.”

  Pax’s gaze turns critical. “You didn’t go out onto the Sound?”

  “I didn’t sleep well and have had a headache all morning.” It’s a half-truth. I didn’t sleep well, but my headache didn’t start until the tears did.

  Pax’s brow lowers. “I didn’t think anything could keep you off the water.” Beside him, Lincoln has a matching look of doubt—one I’m sure I created after giving such a vague and uncertain response regarding his invitation to his dad’s engagement party.

  “Everything else good? Classes?” He moves forward, sliding his shoes off.

  I nod. “Yup.”

  Pax’s eyes cut to me again as he rights a sock from slipping down his foot. My short answers are constructing an entire kingdom of doubt, and I know it, but I don’t know how to stop them. Lying has never been my forte. “It’s getting cold out.”

  “I had to turn the heater on,” Mom says.

  “Finally,” I add.

  She laughs. “You’re the one always pressuring us to reduce our carbon footprints.”

  “I was starting to see my breath in the house. I was considering bringing the firepit into my room so I wouldn’t get frostbite.”

  She tips her head back, laughing—a real laugh. The first I’ve heard in weeks from her. It feels both vast and relieving, giving me hope that with our brief exchange, we can hopefully move forward, and this time will wane, allowing us to return to a normal rhythm.

  Pax sets the box of doughnuts beside Mom’s knitting book and puts the disc into the DVD player before sitting next to Mom. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He left for the gym. Basketball, I think.”

  I consider if that’s where he really went. If he’s actually been going this entire time or if it’s been a façade. I think of the facial hair he started to grow, how he suddenly started to care about his weight. We’d attributed it to him getting older, but now I doubt each of his actions and stories.

  “He’s really getting after it. I’m proud of him.” Pax sits back, crossing a foot over his knee.

  Lincoln sets the two drink trays on the coffee table as well.

  “We stopped by your work to get drinks,” Pax says, “And they gave them to us for free.”

  “You should’ve asked for muffins.”

  Pax laughs. “Right?”

  Lincoln takes two of the drinks, handing one to Mom and the other to me, his gaze connecting with mine like a magnet, taking a silent inventory of my thoughts.

  I avoid his inquisition, looking around the living room for possible places he can sit that don’t include next to me. He doesn’t choose any of the alternatives, sitting so close I know my sweatshirt’s going to be stained with his scent. I wet my lips that still feel dry and sticky from my tears. His gaze drops to my mouth, staring for several seconds before reaching for his phone and grabbing the cup marked with his name.

  My heart races, struggling to decide if this is awful or incredible.

  I take a drink, hoping the caffeine eases the headache that’s due to the burst of emotions.

  “Have you seen Arizona play this year?” Pax asks.

  “Yes,” my answer is rushed. “Yeah, I’ve watched a couple of their games. They’re a strong offensive team,” I say, watching as Mom resumes looping the yarn around her knitting needles. “Their defense isn’t great, which is why so many of their games have both teams scoring so much.”

  “Two of our defensive linemen are down with injuries, so we need to capitalize on our offense, knowing we likely won’t be able to shut them down offensively.”

  Arizona isn’t a strong team like they have been in years past, but each game seems to be a greater feat as each win brings Brighton closer to an undefeated season and a bigger spotlight to the team. Though I could likely summarize the basics of their defense without watching the game, I take advantage of the feeling of being needed—an expectation I understand and can deliver on. I cross my legs, leaning farther from Lincoln as the barrier between us thins to nothing. His arm is against mine, his hip pressing against mine, his fingers running along his phone, taunting me to look and see what he’s doing.

  I don’t. Self-preservation doesn’t allow it.

  “They’re slow,” Paxton says after a few minutes.

  Lincoln spreads his legs wider, invading what’s left of my space and my sanity. I stand, setting my coffee down. “I need to grab Chapstick. My lips are so dry they’re ready to bleed.” I move to the stairs before adding, “You’ll still need to watch out for their cornerback. I’ve seen games where he’s had several sacks when the offensive lineman can’t keep him back, but he doesn’t like contact. If they take a few hard hits from him, he’ll stop.”

  “Got it,” Pax says, skipping forward on the disc.

  I nod before heading toward the stairs, taking each of them a bit faster as I create some much-needed space.

  I grimace, catching my reflection in the full-length mirror beside my closet. My outfit was chosen for comfort and warmth this morning, my hair pulled back into a simple ponytail and makeup forgotten. Before I can exchange my baggy fleece sweatshirt with something that makes me look less like a bag lady, Lincoln appears in my doorway, hovering at the entrance.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my tone lacking the defense it should have.

  “A package is going to arrive in the morning. Open it.”

  His order sounds like a line out of a spy movie. “What?”

  “You’re going to the party tomorrow. You’re meeting Dr. Swanson.”

  My eyebrows knit. “Are you crazy?”

  “The idea of you missing this opportunity is crazy. Get out of your head, Lawson. It starts at six. I’ll be here to pick you up at five-thirty.”

  He has no idea how much I wish I could get out of my own thoughts and steer them far away from him. “This isn’t
a decision you get to make.”

  “Too late. I already have.”

  11

  Raegan

  “I’m starving,” Poppy grumbles, sliding into the seat beside me. She pushes her dark-red hair back, revealing a gold stud earring. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold weather, her makeup flawless. You’d never know she rushed to get here on time.

  “I got you nachos with extra cheese, a hot dog with extra mustard and relish, popcorn with extra butter, and doughnuts.” I grab the bags of food from between my feet.

  Her grin is broad as she scrunches her nose. “You make me sound so extra.”

  “You are,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “I am,” she agrees, digging into the bag. “Now that you’ve made me dinner, tell me about your day, dear.”

  “Wonderful, darling. I ironed the sheets and your jeans, so they have that crease you love so much right down the front.”

  “Fantastic,” she says, her voice enthusiastic, keeping up the act. “And how were the children?”

  “Little Susie was perfect, but Charlie was a handful.”

  “Charlie?” Poppy’s eyes narrow, and then she shakes her head. “You’d never name your son Charlie.”

  “But, I’d name my daughter Susie?”

  She lifts a shoulder. “Well, I picture you with one son, so Susie was purely fictional.”

  “Obviously.”

  Poppy nods, squirting the toppings on her hot dog. “Remind me why I thought taking political science was a good idea.”

  “You love that class.”

  “But,” she says, raising a finger, a mustard packet pinned to her palm with her other fingers. “I can’t stand my professor. He’s so douchey, and his T.A. is even worse. Every time he talks, I have the urge to kick him in the ball sack.” Poppy is rarely so direct, and the idea of her doing this has me cracking up. “I’m serious.”

  “If we were in reverse roles, you know you’d be giving me some psych talk about how I was displacing attraction for aggression.”

  “Oh, no. Zero attraction. Zero. You’d hate him. He’s a sexist pain in the ass who constantly smirks. Literally, always smirking.”

  “Lincoln and Pax came by today,” I tell her.

  “And you let me lead with my complaints about douchebag?”

  I grin, and she elbows me. “What happened?” She takes a big bite of her hot dog.

  “Apparently, his dad is having a pre-wedding party tomorrow, and a marine biologist who studies orcas is going to be there, and he invited me so I could get the chance to meet him.”

  She licks the mustard from her lip, her eyes wide as she chews her food. “And you’re going, right?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t make me force you to go. I’ll do it.” She takes another bite, making her threat even less invasive.

  “I don’t even know Lincoln’s dad. I’m worried I’ll come across as rude if I use his party as an opportunity to climb a social ladder.”

  Poppy shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hand because she’s too impatient to finish chewing. “You’re going to put on a cute dress, do your hair, and go woo everyone.”

  “Woo them?”

  She drops her chin. “Yes, woo them. Dazzle them. Impress them. Show them exactly who Raegan Eileen Lawson is.” Her tone is direct, her stare an order. “Do this, Rae. Go.”

  I reach into one of the bags of food that’s now balanced on her lap, digging to the bottom for the package of Skittles. My best friend may not be quite so encouraging if she knew I was asking her because I needed her to push me—was counting on the fact. Then again, she probably would. She’d just start pulling down these smoke screens I’ve been hanging like art in a dark hallway, distracting from the cold darkness that is actually there.

  “I’ll help do your makeup. What time?”

  “I have to be ready by five-thirty.”

  She nods. “We should do your nails. Do you know what you’re going to wear?”

  I feel my heart beating in my stomach. “I have no idea. I don’t know how fancy it is.”

  “I’m guessing fancy.”

  I expel a deep breath, but before my mind can start panicking, Poppy’s gripping my hand. “It’s going to be so busy. I doubt you’ll have to do much except smile. Just find this doctor guy, flash that killer smile that makes people bend to your will, and boom. Done.”

  “What smile? This one?” I scrunch my nose and stick out my tongue.

  Poppy rolls her eyes.

  “Or is it this one?” I pull on my ears and cross my eyes.

  She puts her hand on my face, pushing me back into my seat. “Thank God, the game’s about to start.”

  Laughter again finds its way out of me, making me feel lighter and happier than I have since before Maggie left.

  “Rae!” Mom yells from downstairs. “I’m leaving!”

  I pry one eye open to look at the alarm clock. It’s barely after ten. I close my eyes, lying back and snuggling deeper into my blankets. Last night another crane was on my windshield, this one like the others, filled with angry words that kept me up, questioning too much.

  “Rae!” Mom yells again, this time louder, echoed by the hallway. “Did you hear me call for you?”

  “I didn’t realize you were expecting a response.” I sit up again, wiping the sleep from my eyes. Most days, my parents come and go without telling me. Perhaps it’s because Grandpa watched me from a young age, and then Maggie and Pax shared the task, and before this pattern was established, I was already capable of taking care of myself.

  The door opens, light from the hallway pouring in before Mom flips on the light in the corner. “This came for you.” She drops a large box at the end of my bed. “Did you order something?”

  I squint, my eyes struggling to adjust to the light. I have no idea what’s in the box, but I nod, recalling Lincoln telling me something would be arriving today. “Yeah. It’s just something for school,” I tell her. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m meeting a few people this morning to discuss the current superintendent retiring.” The superintendent role has been my mom’s ultimate goal for as long as I can remember.

  “Really? It’s becoming available?”

  Mom sits next to the box, her red manicured nails grazing the top. “It wasn’t planned. His wife is sick, and she requires a lot of extra help. It’s a sad situation.” Her gaze is unfocussed with thought as silence comfortably settles, allowing me to notice how tight her jaw is.

  The edge of that hammer that has been waiting to fall comes into view. My gut twists as I wonder if this is it, if she now knows Dad’s secret. “Are you okay?”

  She blinks a few times before meeting my gaze. “Yeah. I just always thought if I got the opportunity to work in the role of superintendent, I’d do it for a public school where I could do the most good.” She rolls her eyes, chuckling at herself. “I’m getting way ahead of myself. I’m not even sure this is a job offer. They might just be asking for my professional opinions. Plus, why am I complaining? This would still be a huge honor.”

  I nod, reaching forward, resting my hand on one of hers. She smiles, her eyes which are greener than blue focus on mine. “You okay? You seem a little jumpy?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m fine.” I smile to assure her.

  Her smile grows wider. “Do I look okay?” She sighs as she stands, spinning in a circle. “I was doing so good, and my pants were starting to feel baggy, and now they all feel tight.” She pulls the navy-blue blazer tighter as though to cover her body.

  “You look beautiful, Mom.”

  “I don’t look like I have six chins?” She lifts her chin higher.

  “No. Right now, you don’t even have one.”

  She laughs. “It’s probably going to be a long day. I’ll be home late. Do you have any plans?”

  “I’m going to a party tonight.”

  “With Poppy?”

  I nod because it’s easier to lie t
han explain it’s for Lincoln’s dad and explain it’s not a date. Or how I’m hoping to impress a scientist who leads an independently funded team here in the Pacific Northwest who studies orcas, a dream of mine.

  “Be careful, okay?”

  “You be careful,” I tell her.

  She exhales deeply, glancing at the ornate mirror beside my closet. “There’s coffee downstairs and some of those banana muffins Camilla made.” She walks to my door before turning around. “And, Rae?”

  I’m already looking at her, trying to understand her apparent nerves when Mom so rarely has any when it comes to her work. Mom has worked tirelessly to earn her position, and though she frets over tough decisions, she has a nearly unmatched confidence.

  “I’m sorry for being so distant lately. I appreciate you talking to me, and I love you.”

  “Love you, Mom.”

  I eye the box as Mom disappears. It’s massive—the size that, if found under a Christmas tree, would have anyone itching with anticipation. I climb out of bed, ignoring the cold that attacks my bare flesh as I cross to my desk to retrieve a pair of scissors. Careful to not slice too deeply, I cut the tape and pull back the flaps, revealing a mass of tissue paper that crinkles and creases under the slightest pressure. I set the scissors down, using both hands to peel back the layers until cool, sleek fabric is revealed. It’s a pale, blush pink, a color I generally avoid because of my light complexion. With gentle fingers, I lift it out of the box, revealing a floor-length dress, the bodice a deeper shade of pink, embroidered with intricately patterned beads sewn to the floor in a darker shade. The pale pink is a train attached to the back of the sleeveless dress that is the most beautiful and heaviest piece of clothing I’ve ever held. I stare at the shimmering beads, the rich gloss of the fabrics, the sleek lines—it’s stunning, something out of a fairytale.

  I grab my phone, thinking of what to say, how to thank Lincoln for a dress that likely cost a small fortune. I consider how much Poppy is going to freak out, and how I feel overdressed just looking at the gorgeous piece.