Page 61 of Make Your Move
“Then yes, I’m okay with it,” he says slowly, his eyes staring directly at me. “Make things official with her, she’s not your fuck buddy.” Something that resembles peace washes over his expression. “My sister and her daughter deserve the goddamn universe, Lincoln. Don’t you dare think about giving either of them any less.”
“I would never,” I assure him, nodding for good measure.
“Then we’re good here,” he tells me, holding his hand out for me. I take hold of him, gripping his hand as he shakes mine. “Consider yourself forgiven.”
Relief floods me, and it feels like one piece of the puzzle of my life has clicked into place. “I’m sorry, Nash.”
“Are you losers going to kiss and make up yet?” Carson calls out to us from where he’s standing with the rest of the guys, waiting to kick a ball back and forth. “We’re waiting for you.”
Nash chuckles lightly, throwing his arm around the tops of my shoulders, pulling me flush to his side. “What do you say, bud? Should we give them what they want?”
“I mean, if you want to share with your sister.” I smirk and shrug. “Sure, why not?”
Nash makes a gagging sound, and laughter spills from my lips as he removes his arm from my shoulder in a rush and shoves me away from him. “Fuck you, man,” he mumbles under his breath before he starts to chuckle. I smile at him as the cracks in our relationship are filled with laughter.
Everything is going to be okay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
NOVA
Istare at my phone, feeling dread in the pit of my stomach as I see there’s no response from Lincoln, and my last message still wasn’t delivered. After I sent the one to ask if we could talk, I realized how anxiety inducing that may have been. A few minutes later, I sent a second one, assuring him it was nothing bad. It was something I want to talk to him about in person, rather than through a text.
We’re adults here, we can speak in person about our feelings.
Coming to the game tonight was a last-minute decision. I spent the entire day with Lincoln’s words swirling around in my brain. I should have gone after him last night. I should have at least texted or called him instead of letting my brother push him out into the cold alone.
I can’t help but feel like a complete asshole right now, and I need to make it up to him somehow.
Thankfully, my dad was more than willing to babysit Posey for me this evening. I left him at our house with her so he can put her in bed before I get home. I was lucky enough to find an empty seat in the second row, so I’ll be close enough to the glass that maybe he will see me.
I get to the stadium a few minutes after puck drop. Most of the fans are in their seats, so it’s a seamless process getting inside and getting through the concourse. I find the section my seat is in and wait at the top of the steps until the play stops and I’m able to make my way down to where I’ll be sitting.
A penalty was called on the other team for slashing, and when I get down to my seat, they’re reviewing the call. Our team is by the bench, and a few of the guys skate around. I’m in the section next to the bench, but my seat is on the far side near the aisle. I glance up at the Jumbotron, seeing the guy slashed Lincoln.
My stomach rolls as I watch the replay again, seeing Lincoln going down and then it cuts out. I catch Rowan’s gaze first as he mindlessly skates in a circle near the boards. His face lights up, and he lifts his head, nodding to me before winking. I smile, lifting my hand to wave at him as I sit down, although I’m feeling anything but calm at this point.
Rowan skates to the boards, and my eyes trail after him, scanning the area looking for Lincoln. I see my brother before him, and he smirks when we make eye contact. He spins on his skates, his gloved hand knocking into the back of another player’s shoulder. I can’t see his name or number at first, but as he turns around to look over to where I’m at, I see exactly who it is.
Lincoln Matthews.
Relief instantly floods me. A smile crests his lips, the intensity burning in his irises as he stares at me from across the ice. He moves slow and steadily, making his way from the bench over to the glass in front of me. Instinctively, I rise to my feet, stepping out into the aisle as I walk down to the boards. His lips part, and my heart drums away inside my chest. The ref blows the whistle, announcing the determination of the call.
“Fucking loser!! Get off the ice!”
Lincoln’s eyebrows scrunch, his jaw set as he glances right behind me. I look over my shoulder at the man wearing a jersey for the other team giving Lincoln the middle finger. His beer sloshes around in his cup, spilling over the sides as he lets out another string of curses.
I look back at Lincoln, seeing the anger washing over his bourbon-colored irises. His nostrils flare, jaw set as he looks back at me. His gaze doesn’t leave mine until he’s called back to the bench. I head back to my seat, sitting down as they announce their determination. The penalty stands, and the other player heads into the box while our team has a power play. They’re full strength while the other team is down a guy.
The power play ends quickly as I watch Lincoln racing down the ice with the puck on a breakaway and sends it up into the top left corner of the net. The horn sounds throughout the arena, and I jump to my feet, clapping as everyone cheering for the home team starts giving high fives to the people around them.
Something bumps into my back, throwing me off balance, but I quickly recover and stop myself before falling into the fans in front of me. Turning my head, I look behind me, seeing the same belligerent man with his arms in the air, middle fingers up.
“The Archers fucking suck!” His wild eyes move to the Jumbotron where they show who scored and who got the assist. “Fuck you, Matthews!”
Lincoln skates down the line of the guys on the bench, his glove bumping into each other theirs before he skates over past the glass in front of my seat. His gaze meets mine through the transparent divider, and he taps his stick against the glass directly in front of me. He winks at me, blowing me a kiss as he starts to skate backward.
The people in front of me turn around to look at me with shocked looks on their faces. Heat creeps up my neck, spreading across my cheeks as we all sit back down, and they turn backaround to watch the game. I try to ignore the man behind me who continues to rattle on, bitching about the game.