Chapter 10
Standing at 1,014 Miles
“I can’t do this, Lincoln.”
“Yes, you can.”
We pull into a structure that resembles a hotel and is overpopulated with lots of college students. Groups of them flock around the pool talking, sunning, and some are even already in the water.
I try to talk myself into believing the more people, the less I get noticed. The easier it will be for me to blend into the crowd.
Lincoln reaches for me. “Stop overthinking this, Oakley. I’m here, I have you, and I’m fucking jacked to show you off to all my teammates.”
His hand pulls me up into his lap, I wrap my arms around his neck, and we meet nose to nose.
“Pizza.”
“It’s just pizza, Oakley.”
I think about the swimsuit – or swimsuits – stashed in the truck. “I’m not sure about swimming.”
“That’s fine, just no running.”
“No running,” I promise.
A loud slamming noise jolts our attention toward the window. A swarm of massive men are huddled around the passenger door. And when I say massive, I mean gigantic, tall, wide, and very big.
“What are those?” I yelp.
Lincoln lets out a loud laugh and replies, “Those are my boys. The ones who try to fuck up the QB, so I can catch an interception.”
“So, they’re safe?” I’m skeptical.
“Very, baby. C’mon let’s go.”
I watch as Lincoln opens the door, and I want to puke, shit, and then run. Three feelings I’ve never had at the same time. So many strange faces, and they are all staring right at me. I’m nearing fight-or-flight mode when Lincoln whirls me around and places me on the ground right in front of him. I’m a dwarf compared to the crowd standing before me. Man hugs all around, fist bumping, and head nods everywhere. You’d think royalty just pulled in the way the men react to Lincoln.
In a sudden swoop, I’m wrapped up in the arms of one of the biggest men.
“This must be her. Any girl good enough to steal away our boy every night deserves a big ol’ hug.”
“Put her down, dammit,” I hear Lincoln order.
Stepping back from the giant, all I can see is huge grin through his mountain of a beard.
“Hi,” I manage to squeak out, and wave.
“Guys, this is Oakley,” Lincoln announces cheerfully, then adds, “Touch her and die.”
“She is as hot as you’ve gone on and on about. We’ve had to hear lover boy gush over you for days, so it’s nice to finally put a face to the name. I’m Jerrod. Everyone calls me Tank.” The other men all introduce themselves, and my head spins.
I recognize Tank’s, Grant’s, and Aidan’s names from Lincoln’s stories. The three are his very best friends on and off the field, along with Tiny, but I don’t think I’ve met him yet. I always ask Lincoln to talk football to me. I want to learn it all from the ground up, because when Lincoln speaks of the game he’s truly an overcharged, elated being, and I want to know every part of it. He breathes, eats, and lives football, and specifically defense and picking off the ball.
“Let’s go get a drink,” Lincoln whispers in my ear.
Nodding, I say to the rest of the men, “Nice meeting all of you.”
Lincoln grabs my hand, and we walk toward the pool and the larger crowd of people. Music is blaring, and the smell of grilled burgers fills the air. It’s like a party straight from a movie scene. The kind I always dreamed about as a little girl.
“They’re huge,” I say looking up to Lincoln.
“They need to be.”
“Trust me, I know. I remember exactly why. They have to be huge brutes to break the offensive line and get to the quarterback.”
He gives my hand a squeeze. “Damn, my little student does listen to me.”
“I soak up every word you speak.”
“I see, little grasshopper.”
Clutching his hand tighter, I beg, “Lincoln, don’t leave my side tonight.”
He stops us from going any further. “Oakley, I promise you that I’m not leaving your side tonight.”
“Okay.” His words calm me a bit, but I’m still nervous as hell.
We make our way up to a very large crowd. Lincoln has no problems making his way to the front. Everyone parts ways as he walks through, and as promised, he doesn’t let go of me.
“Lincoln,” a voice yells.
“’Sup, Monica,” he coolly replies, and instantly I despise her from her looks down to her annoying voice.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll take a Coke,” he answers and then turns to me. “What do you want, Oakley?”
“Water is fine.”
A brunette standing next to this Monica broad pipes up, “You’re not a player, hun. You can drink whatever you want. Beer or whisky, what do you want?”
“Um, water is still fine. Thank you.”
“Ladies, I want to introduce you to someone.”
The five or six girls behind the makeshift bar turn to look at me. Their stares bore holes into me, and the same thought plasters all their faces. “She can’t be his.”
Lincoln is oblivious to their hostility. “This is my girl, Oakley. Oakley this is Monica, Heather, Sarah, Carrie, and Jamie, and that’s Jessica, Abby, and Lisa on the other end, serving.”
“Hi.” I wave.
“Hey,” they all repeat in unison.
I notice the one he called Monica definitely looks beyond pissed off at the announcement.
“Here’s your water,” Carrie says.
Reaching out, I grab the bottle of water from her and watch as her eyes glimpse my scarred palm.
“What’s that?” she sneers.
My hearts stops, and memories of torture and jokes being made about the hideous scar come flooding back to me. I drop the bottle of water, turning to run. Lincoln tightens his grip on my hand and swings me straight in front of him. He’s making me face them with him solid against my back.
“Where the fuck is my drink?” he growls, grabbing me a fresh bottle of water.
The girls sense his anger and don’t dare question him. A blonde passes over his drink. By this time all their names have escaped me, except Monica’s. She seems to be on a down and dirty mission to be cruel.
She has no idea how easily adaptable I am to mean girls like her. They can wield knives, shovels, and the cruelest words and not affect me an ounce.
“You okay?” Lincoln asks as we walk closer to the pool.
“Fine.”
“Stop.”
I try to keep walking, trying like hell to avoid my feelings.
“I said stop,” Lincoln says, pulling me to a complete halt.
“Are. You. Okay?” he says very slowly, emphasizing each word.
“I’m fine. Please don’t make a big deal of it.”
“I won’t, but you seem pissed. I’m sorry she asked you that.”
“I just don’t belong here, and I’m trying because I want to be with you, Lincoln, but it’s not working…”
His hands grab each side of my face, and he forces me to look up at him. “Oakley Ann, knock it off. I’ll haul your ass to the truck right now if you don’t want to be here. We’ll order Chinese and eat in your room. Your choice.”
I giggle at the mention of Ann. Lincoln gave me a middle name the other night. He’d asked if I had one, and I lied and said I didn’t. He was mystified and said it wasn’t fair, because he wouldn’t have a good name to holler at me when he was pissed.
“I’m trying, and does this mean you’re pissed because you just dropped my fake middle name?”
“No, it means I’m trying to get your damn attention,” he says, leaning down and placing a kiss on the tip of my nose.
“You have my complete attention. I just don’t belong, nor am I enough for you. I’m not running. I’m here,” I reply, and then kiss the tip of his nose.
“Oakley Ann, I love you,” Lincoln says, and then immediately clenches my face tight.
Panic covers his face at the words that just escaped his lips.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, so sorry. I know you’re not ready for that, but Jesus Christ, I do love you. Shit, I said it again, and I...”
“Lincoln, stop. Pizza. I’m here and not running. Stop.”
My lips cover his before he has a chance to respond, and I take lead with my lips like he has taught me. We’ve had lots of practice lately, and Lincoln is a damn good teacher.
The noise from the crowd goes wild when I lay one on Lincoln, and I tense up a bit and cut the kiss short.
“So, fake middle names are used when professing love, too?” I ask.
“Yes, they are, Oakley Ann.”
We stand in the middle of the crowd swaying to a Luke Bryan song blasting over the speakers. The only reason I know the song and the name of the artist is because I love listening to Lincoln’s iPod at night. I found it in his truck the other night when we were driving for pizza. He was embarrassed by all the sweat stains on the ear buds. Secretly, I fucking love those stains and the faint smell of him on the rubberized cord. The iPod is filled with tons and tons of songs, from bang your head death jam rock to the sweetest romantic country tunes. Lincoln must have gotten the clue, because the other night he brought the iPod to the door, and I instantly nabbed it out of his hands. So now every night he brings it, and we listen to music in the background. I noticed last night he has a playlist titled Oakley, but I haven’t been brave enough to click on it.
Lincoln steps forward and points to another group of people, and I recognize pretty boy standing in the middle providing the entertainment. When Lincoln talks about his friends, he refers to them as the wolf pack, and my gut tells me I’m about to walk into their den.
“Wolf pack?”
“Damn, my girl is getting an A-plus.”
Laughing, I slap him on the ass. I gasp at my outward display of affection, and then blush a little. Lincoln notices my reaction and laughs.
“You ass, you have me acting like some stupid college girl in heat,” I accuse, trying to mask my embarrassment.
“Nothing wrong with that, Oakley.”
Mid-step, Lincoln stops, drops my hand, and moves to my other side to pick up my other hand. The scarred hand everyone loves to look at. Over the last year, I’ve had to develop thick skin while waiting tables, but then Lincoln came into my life and started wiping the ugly away one touch at a time.
“I don’t do this, Lincoln. Not one ounce of it. Not relationships, not feeling good about myself, and definitely not pizza, but here I stand with you. Thank you,” I murmur.
“I’ll do you,” he replies with a wink.
With those words, I know he heard every single one of my hidden messages. He’s become the pro at not pushing me too far and accepting everything I give him, even if it’s not enough for his desires. Call me selfish, but it’s the perfect fit for me. I know he wants all of me, but is willing to wait for all of my being to be ready to dive in with him. Again, my heart wants him and everything that comes with being Lincoln Wilks’ girl, but my brain keeps sending messages reminding me of all the hurt and pain waiting to drag me down.
Lincoln pulls me toward the wolf pack while holding my scarred hand, which now feels like the most beautiful piece of art compared to feeling like a piece of used trash ten seconds ago. Lincoln. He’s all I need to have in my life.
“Well, fuck, look who the cat dragged in.”
“He doesn’t turn into a fucking pumpkin after six o’clock practice.”
“My God, he’s out of the * cage.”
Lincoln raises his free hand in mock surrender. “Enough, you assholes. I told you’d I’d be coming and I’m here.”
“Does she have a name?” A tall brunette hollers over Rhiannon.
“Yeah, Alstott, she does. Wolf pack, this is Oakley, and Oakley this is the crew I’ve been schooling you on.”
Sink or survive. Break or bust. Dive into the deep end. Now is the moment. I take the plunge. “That must be Mike the badass fullback who runs like a freight train over any and all defenses, and you’ll never admit it, but you’re damn fucking happy you don’t have to defend against a beast like that.”
Lincoln’s chest swells with pride while the others’ jaws drop in amazement.
Turning to face my man, I ask, “Want me to continue, honey?”
“Nah, you’re good. Gentlemen, you just met my badass mother-trucking girlfriend, Oakley, and yes, she’s the one who has me magnetized to her. Any more shit you want to fling at me?” he asks while flipping his hat backward and crossing his arms.
“Nope, we give up,” Mike says and holds out a seat.
Lincoln steps forward to take the offered seat, but Mike bumps him aside. “Back off, bitch. This seat is for the queen.”
The whole wolf pack erupts in laughter and cheers. My guts turn at their praise, and my flesh doesn’t even try to flush. It’s the strangest sensation, and I can only compare it to a baby taking her first steps and feeling her wobbly legs halfway work underneath her. Sure but not steady, but absolutely willing to try for more.
“Thanks, Mike, but my king better sit first.”
Not letting go of my hand, Lincoln sits in the flimsy white plastic lawn chair and drags me into his lap.
“The perfect throne for a queen,” Lincoln announces.
That’s when all the hoots and hollers really come, and even some smartass remarks that only make Lincoln puff his chest out even further.
“Talk about * whipped,” comes from one direction.
And then, “Man, she owns your balls.”
We all laugh at the remarks and slowly blend into the crowd like the rest. I listen to the chatter and realize it’s like Lincoln talking to me in my apartment. It’s all about football, plays, and the love of the game. His brother’s name comes up a couple of times, and he just shrugs it off. Nobody in the group quite knows how painful the four-letter word is to Lincoln. It’s everything he’s not and never will be, because he refuses to mold to the expectations of his father. He refuses to be perfect just for family’s sake. Not one of his teammates picks up on that, and it hurts my heart.
In many parts of the conversation I could jump in and add a line or two, but that’s only because of everything Lincoln has shared over the past few weeks. I’m desperately dying to inform the wide receiver named Jerron Olsen he’d make a better cornerback dropping balls than a wide receiver, but internally know that would be an immediate party foul and direct marching orders from the pack.
Lincoln’s love of the game has obviously influenced me. There are still several scenarios I can only describe as ‘this player got the ball and ran for a shit-load of yards, and then the ref threw the yellow flag, which is obviously wrong, and he’s an idiot.’ Yes, I’m still a rookie, but wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than the lap of the best collegiate defensive player in the nation.
“So, Oakley, where are you from?”
The question comes from left field. I was off my game and absorbing the life and surroundings. It hits hard, and it nails me straight in the gut.
“I’m from. I’m from…”
“Her freaking momma,” Lincoln jokes.
Of course, the wolf pack eats it up. I kiss Lincoln on the cheek and will a mental thank you to him. He knows I don’t discuss my past and is willing to accept it, and his comment is just one of the many gestures showing the lengths to which he’s willing to go.
He keeps the scars on my palm hidden from question, but the one across my neck shines like a diamond just taunting the onlookers to ask questions about it. Mentally zoning from the football talk, I prepare a bullshit answer for the loaded gun awaiting me.
The music stops, and everyone parts ways to get refills and some food. I watch as each person disperses and try to read their stories. Everyone has a story, though some hide it well and act as a chameleon like I do. Never really willing to openly be themselves because their true self is ugly, cruel, and worthless.
“Hungry, my girl?” Lincoln whispers into my ear.
Turning to face him, I answer, “No.”
This is when I see him. The full Lincoln Wilks in all his shining glory. Sported out in his handsome as fuck clothes, his scent infusing the air, tilted back ball cap, and all his team pride with me on his lap. This is the first time I really see Lincoln Wilks, and suddenly wonder if I fit into his life, or if this is just another pit stop.
“You’re happy,” I say.
“You have no idea, Oakley, how incredibly happy you make me. With the promise of my junior year ahead of me and you in my life, you have absolutely no fucking idea how happy I am.”
“I could guess,” I sigh into his lips.
“Try me.”
“Are you sure? I’ve had a very good teacher who has taught me well. I do believe I’m a current black belt with my lips.”
“Give it to me, ninja.”
Using my best ninja kissing skills, I give it all I have in front of everyone. My heart will never know if this is destined to be a pit stop with Lincoln, or if it will be more, so right now in this moment I’m choosing before anyone or anything does it for me. It’s going to be more. I’m all in.
All of a sudden the sun is gone, and we are in a shadow. We pull apart and look up to see the largest man I’ve met to date.
“Damn, Tiny, where ya been?” Lincoln asks.
“My fucking girl had drama at home and put us late,” he rumbles.
And by rumble I mean, his voice is so deep and baritone it makes the tiny hairs on my big toe stand up. It is the deepest voice I’ve heard and very fitting for the goliath structure. Lincoln lifts me up, and we both stand before Tiny.
“This has to be the Oakley,” Tiny says, holding out his hand.
Placing my hand in his, I understand why his name is Tiny. He makes my hand look beyond minuscule.
“Yes, I’m Oakley,” I say craning my neck to look up at him.
Tiny’s also sporting a beard, and I remember Lincoln saying it was some kind of tradition with the defensive line. I also remember him saying when he catches his first interception he lets his beard grow out. I don’t remember all the specifics, but there were some. I do remember feeling all giddy about it, because Lincoln with scruff is hot as hell, so I can’t even begin to imagine a full beard.
“Well, I’m Tiny. I’m a hell of a lot better looking than Lincoln, and I have way more talent flowing from this bod. As an added bonus, I have a keg, not a * six pack,” he says, grabbing his belly and laughing.
This is when I notice a petite blonde standing behind him. She has her hand nestled in his pocket and looks sad. I recognize that look and instantly empathize with her.
Lincoln grabs the blonde’s arm and pulls her into our midst. She flashes him a small smile and drops her head again.
“This is the better half of Tiny. Oakley, I’d like you to meet Jewels.”
“Hey,” I squeak out, and wave.
She coils into Tiny and gives me a half smile. The two men stand and talk about football for several minutes.
“Shit, let’s get some food,” Tiny finally declares, “We can talk shop while we sit on our asses and eat.”
Jewels and I both follow our men to the food. I’ve been wracking my brain for something to say to her. Everything that comes to mind makes me recoil, because I know I wouldn’t want anyone to say it to me.
“Hungry yet?” Lincoln asks.
“No, not really.”
“You okay?”
“Great, actually.”
“Mmmm, good. You can eat off my plate.”
“I’ll just wait here while you grab your food. It’s really chaotic up there.”
Lincoln kisses the top of my head, and then pushes his way to the front of the food line with Tiny and Jewels. I’m very thankful I’m not working the buffet line, pouring drinks, or serving any food today. This feast is out of control. A huge buffet lines one side, while a grill lines the other, and in the middle there are seas of coolers filled with drinks and a table where girls are serving desserts.
I notice one of the blondes who served us drinks earlier staring at me. She looks like she’s about to suffer from heat stroke and is beyond pissed off. I try not to make eye contact with her, but I also refuse to wither away from her nasty glares.
“That’s Lincoln’s ex. He was supposed to marry her, or at least that’s what his parents wanted.”
Looking up, I see Jewels standing before me with a plate of food. It’s overflowing with beans, pasta salad, and tons of meat.
“That would explain all the nasty looks, then.”
“She’s a rotten, no-good bitch. Just saying.” Jewels shrugs.
“You’d think I drowned her kitty,” I say.
“Whose cat are we killing?” Tiny asks.
Both men stand staring at us with quizzical looks covering their faces.
“Monica’s,” Jewels replies around a mouthful of pasta.
“She’s not worth your time,” Tiny offers.
Jewels and Tiny take the lead, and we follow. I notice Lincoln’s plate is just as heaping full as Jewels’. These people really like their food.
“What did Monica do to you?” Lincoln asks from behind me.
“Don’t worry about it. Jewels told me why she was glaring at me.”
I’m stopped dead in my tracks by Lincoln’s grip on my shoulder. “What did she say to you?” he demands through gritted teeth.
“Monica said nothing, but Jewels told me she’s your ex, and rotten, and something about marriage.”
“Fuck.”
“Lincoln, it’s fine. It’s your past. Hell, I won’t even share my past with you, so why would I try to judge you for yours? Don’t worry about it.”
“She’s pure evil, Oakley. My parents love her and…”
“Stop, I don’t care,” I say.
“At all?”
“Nope. Let’s promise to keep our pasts in the past and just be with each other. This is something I don’t want to mess up. It’s something I’ve promised myself. I want you, Lincoln.”
I stretch up on my toes and lay a light kiss on his lips.
“Hey, you two horn dogs,” a deep voice bellows.
Looking to our left, I see Tiny waving and gesturing to the other half of the empty picnic table. Not waiting on Lincoln’s move, I grab his elbow and lead him over to his best friend.
“You’re not hungry?” Tiny asks.
“Not really,” I answer, shrugging.
“Okay, girl, I hear you’re catching on with the rules of the game and how fucking talented that arm candy you have is, but rule number one is always fill your damn plate. I didn’t get this big on fresh air,” Tiny says through a mouthful of food.
Jewels picks up a piece of barbecued pork and passes the remainder of her plate to Tiny.
“Fucking A, now that’s a good woman, right there,” he says, chuckling and shoveling food in his mouth.
“Noted, Tiny,” I reply.
Lincoln pipes up around a mouthful of his food, “You better remember you’re sharing food with not just one anymore, jackass.”
The table falls silent, and that familiar sad look is back on Jewels’ face. Tears build up in her eyes, and Tiny snatches her hands.
“That’s right, baby. You need to be eating for two,” he whispers to her.
His voice is so deep and gruff that his whisper is very easy to hear. Lincoln reaches under the table and squeezes my hand as we watch the uncomfortable scene before us play out.
Lincoln finally speaks up. “We love you, Jewels, and will always be here by your side.”
“I know,” she says, “I’m just scared to tell my dad and professors. I’ll never…”
“Enough,” Tiny barks.
Being the queen of swift subject change, I throw out a roadblock, “I secretly love to smell ice cream.”
All three heads abruptly swivel my way with “what the fuck” expressions across their faces.
“You know the little high you get when you smell it, and it’s so cold it sends little chills up your nose. Maple nut is the best.”
They’re still silent.
Then Tiny joins in. “I’m not gonna admit to the things I sniff, but I fucking love ice cream.”
We all laugh at his confession and comfortably settle into eating our meals. I nab a couple ribs off Lincoln’s plate, along with a bite or two of pasta salad. At one point, I felt guilty for eating off his plate after Tiny’s lessons, but Lincoln had no qualms about reaching over to Jewels’ plate to eat her food.
My heart is growing fond of the relationship the three of them have. It’s easygoing and seems very natural. It reminds me of what Jazzy and I once had.
Shake it Out by Florence and The Machines comes blaring across the speakers, and Jewels is immediately up on her feet, pulling on Tiny to dance.
“Let’s go,” Lincoln says.
And before I know it, he has me on my feet, dragging me out to the center of the dance area. Not the side or hidden in the back, nope, right in the middle.
“Lincoln,” I whisper.
“What?”
“Everyone is looking.”
“I know,” he says proudly, “You love this song. I know you have it on repeat all the time on my iPod. I wake up to it every morning, remembering the smile on your face as you listen to it.”
I feel his hands wrap around my waist, and I stand here dumbfounded. He knows this is my favorite song on his playlist. He finally grabs my arms and drapes them around his neck, and then places his hands back on my waist and starts moving me. Just like he does when he kisses me, he leads. Moving us to the song, and like a well-oiled machine, my body follows his without question.
Out of the corner of my vision, I catch Monica and her death glare set on high. Her hatred only fuels my fire to make Lincoln mine. I finally have something worth living for, his name is Lincoln Wilks, and he’s here dancing with me in front of hundreds of people. This makes me smile.
“There’s that smile.”
“What?” I ask.
“You always have the most genuine smile on your face when you listen to this song.”
Flipping around in his arms, with my back up against his chest, I wrap my arms around his neck once again and sway with his body.
“It’s not the song, it’s you,” I say, craning my neck to look into his face.
“Pizza,” he murmurs back.
My lips reach his, and we continue our steady movement to the beat. I let Lincoln lead the dance, but I take charge of the kiss again. He keeps one hand on my waist and raises the other to the long scar on my neck that’s proudly on display for the world to see. In this moment, I don’t remember the edge of the sharp coffee table or the hand that shoved me into it. No, I feel inner peace radiating out of every single one of my pores. The scar Lincoln is covering just morphed into my favorite attribute, and it’s all because of his touch.
After a few more dances, Lincoln whispers into my ear, “You ready to go?”
“Whenever you are,” I reply.
“I want to hang out a bit before I have to check in at the dorms.”
“Code for you want to make out for a few.”
“Code detected,” he says with a devilish smirk.
I stand back and watch Lincoln do all his brotherly hugs and waves to his teammates. A couple of them catch a glimpse of me, and I shoot them a little wave. When we reach Tiny and Jewels, I find myself in a full-fledged hug with her.
“I’m great at listening if you ever need anyone,” I say softly.
“Thank you.”
Tiny’s voice fills the parking lot. “Aw shit, man, looks like the loves of our lives hit it off. That may be better than the big W.”
“Big W?” I ask.
“Win. A win.”
We all start to laugh when I finally understand the meaning of his words.
Settling into Lincoln’s truck, I admit, “I really like them.”
“Yeah, Tiny is a great guy, and I love Jewels like a little sister,” Lincoln says.
“How long have you known them?”
“Actually, we all grew up together. His real name is Heath, and he’s more like a brother to me than Levi ever will be.”
“I’m glad you have him,” I say, grabbing his hand and placing it in my lap.
“I used to think I loved this truck, but when you’re in it with me, I don’t think there is any other place I would rather be, the field included.”
“What about me at one of your games?”
Lincoln doesn’t speak a word, but looks nervous and unconvinced of the idea.
“Never mind, I don’t need to go.”
Lincoln brings the truck to a screeching halt. Dust billows by outside the windows.
“Oakley, no. I want you there more than anything. I just didn’t want to push you too far, and I won’t be able to sit with you. I worry about you doing it alone.”
Placing a hand on Lincoln’s tanned and stubbled jaw line, I say, “I had fun today. Lots of fun, and I like Jewels a lot. I want to try, and I think I’d be okay if I sit with Jewels at your game. I want to see you with your teammates playing the game you love. I promise I’ll plant my feet on the ground for the whole four quarters.”
“I want that,” he replies.
“Me, too. Now let’s get back to my room. We have some business to take care of.”