Page 52 of Safety Net
Isat in the stands, going back and forth on how to bring up what I saw in Lincoln's eyes. I'd been worried all day about what he had to say about our kiss. But the moment I saw him, all that 'what if' fear dissipated, replaced with concern.
Lincoln's practice hadn't gone well. But there was something more than disappointment in his tone when I spoke to him. Something so familiar, my heart ached when I recognized it.
I never could have predicted looking at Lincoln would be like looking in a mirror. Tonight, I'd seen a part of myself I'd known in my deepest isolation.
It's not your business. Don't put a spotlight on something that's obviously bothering him. Don't make him uncomfortable.
I almost listened to the warning, but then I remembered how light my chest was while I laughed with him in the theatre. How comfortably lost I got while listening to him explain the tabs in his worn Carter paperbacks. Whenever I found his gaze already on me, offering an encouraging smile at rehearsals, the knots in my stomach loosened long enough for me to breathe again.
Lincoln gave me comfort. Safety.
I couldn't gloss over how he looked. Wouldn't, because now, it was my turn to offer that safety.
Lincoln buried himself like I did. He'd done it far more successfully and with far more grace than I ever could. But that didn't mean it made him feel any less lonely.
When he came out of the locker rooms, I was quick on my feet, meeting him at the bottom of the stands. He smelled as fresh as the pine of the mountains. The shower had washed away his worried brow.
"When you're out there," I nudged my chin to the ice, starting the conversation immediately because I knew if I didn't get it out soon, it'd stay trapped in my throat forever. "What are you thinking about?"
"Today? Every single rise and fall in your finale," he said without missing a beat.
I smiled. "Now, for real this time."
"I wouldn't joke about that," he promised.
I'm still not used to flattery, but I resisted the urge to dip my gaze. I wanted to stay connected with him.
"Why?" I asked.
"Was I thinking about it? Or why I'd never joke about it?"
"Former."
"Because it helps me feel close to you," he said. "And when I'm overwhelmed and don't want to be somewhere, I distract myself with something comforting."
How am I supposed to keep talking to him without stammering? Without feeling completely undone and put back together all at once?
"When you were out there," I said, quilling the buzzing warmth of his compliment by picking at my bag's strap. "I noticed you held back whenever it came time to…do anything really."
I didn't know hockey, but I knew what it looked like to hide and hesitate. It was in the simple adjustment of his hands, the way he pulled them to his sides too prematurely. He stoppedtrying before the puck even reached him. He assessed the situation, yet he didn't take any action to influence the outcome.
Lincoln tilted his head to the side, studying me. "What do you mean?"
I shrugged. "You've always seemed like a full steam ahead kind of guy. But not out there. It's unlike you."
"Just because we've been hanging out all summer doesn't mean you've seen every part of me, Celeste."
The response gave me pause. I swallowed, fighting the urge to retreat into the shelter anxiety provided.
"No, no, of course not." I shook my head, cheeks aflame. "I know I don't know every part of you…I just thought I saw some small part that I could understand. It was…almost like self-sabotage. Like you purposefully trying to hold back."
I wanted to be there for him like he'd been there for me. Iwouldbe there for him. Anxiety could have a lot of things, but I refused to let it have this.
Lincoln's smile faded, turned into a ghost that haunted the rest of our exchange. "It's not that deep, I promise you. I'm not that deep."
"Everyone's that deep," I whispered. I've been bullied, overlooked, and underestimated since I was a kid who decided to remain silent for years. I believed in multitudes, had to. I believed in a person's ability to be more than the surface-level version they presented to the public. I couldn't fathom someone made of stardust not containing beautiful secrets. And if, for some reason, they held no secrets, then I assumed someone or thing burned them out.
"What you see is what you get, Celeste," Lincoln said.
