“Hey, I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Nah,” Diego responded. “You’re too stubborn not to get this right.” He paused. “Come on, it’ll be low key. My friends will be there.”
Carmen took the phone from me. “Hey, Diego,” she said, calling him an idiot brother in Spanish. “She’ll be there, yes.” She rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not getting you drinks.” Diego complained at the other end of the conversation. “No, I don’t have time for this, you can call her later.” Carmen hung up the phone.
Carmen rolled her eyes again, muttering in Spanish. “Don’t look at me like that. Lynnie, you want to join us?”
Lynnie perked up. I tried not to smile. I’d somehow ended up with two almost friends who’d make sure I’d have plans and have fun. This wascare.
Lynnie hesitated. “Actually, I may already have plans. I’ll let you know.”
Lynnie left to check with the baristas, and Carmen rested her elbows on the counter, casual, almost lazy, but she flicked her gaze to me with a calculating glint.
“You know, Nins, it’s kind of amazing how you’ve always just… made things work. Even back in school.” She tossed the thought away after she tapped her fingers once. Her head tilted, lips quirking as if she was testing me. “Your family made you work and cover your own expenses, right?”
My smile faltered. It shouldn’t hurt this much. “Something like that.” It wasn’t a topic I wanted to discuss.
Carmen wasn’t one to tiptoe around discomfort. “Have you ever wondered why you’ve always been so broke? Why your parents didn’t leave anything to fall back on?”
Her tone was light, but the question landed heavy, rippling through me as if she’d lobbed a stone into still water. Heat flushed my chest; my parents did nothing wrong. “They did,” I stated. “My aunt paid off their car, which I got when I turnedeighteen, and about thirty thousand. It was enough to keep me healthy and keep student loans manageable.”
Carmen’s expression flickered—nostrils flaring slightly before her mouth tugged sideways in a half-smirk that didn’t reach her eyes. Disbelief. Judgment. Maybe even pity.
I didn’t know and I didn’t care. “You have no right to judge my parents. They did what they could.”
Her lips pressed together, then curved downward, regret smoothing out the edges of her face. Her eyes softened, brows drawn tight. “You misunderstand, Nina, I?—”
“Don’t.” I stood up too fast, chair scraping. I’d seen pity and admonishment of my parents for leaving me so little a hundred times, and I didn’t need to see it again. “My parents were good. They cared about me. They didn’t live within their means, sure, but they made me happy.” My voice rose sharper than I intended, anger I’d caged for years spilling out.
Carmen lifted her palms, a defensive gesture, her gaze dropping as if she couldn’t quite hold mine. “I get it, Nina. I’m sorry it came out that way, but I promise—I’m not against you.”
I exhaled hard. She sounded sincere. Some of the fight in me loosened, though the ache stayed. Everything crashed into me at once: the judgment, the mess, the chaos, and Lincoln—always, somehow, Lincoln. He would’ve understood. My chest knotted tight with the thought, and I shook my head, forcing myself to hold onto the thrill of the pitch opportunity, because it was easier than holding onto the knot of Lincoln-shaped confusion tightening my chest.
18
Lincoln
Isank into the mustard-colored couch. Dr. Ross sat across from me, legs crossed with the ease of someone who owned whatever room she walked into. Her dark hair was pulled high, severe but elegant. She wagged her finger at me, reprimanding my last comment while seeing into my fucking soul.
Val, she insisted I call her that, didn’t bother with small talk. I’d lost count of our sessions. Apparently, I was an “interesting case study.” And if I heard her say words along the lines ofavoidant patternsorrepressed emotionsone more time, I wasn’t sure if I’d bolt or give her the blow-up she seemed to be orchestrating.
“Not true.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and hit me straight on. “You bullied Nina.”
My jaw locked so tight it ached. “Yeah, we’ve been over that.”
“We haven’t gone over why.” Her pen tapped against her pad, sharp little clicks that made my teeth grind. “And don’t give me that spiel about how she was just there. That’s surface. Your mother died when you were a kid. Your father broke youevery chance he got. Don’t you think it’s worth asking why you perpetuated a pattern of abuse?”
My stomach knotted. I stared at the corner of her rug, the threads blurring as my vision tunneled. “You make it sound like some math problem. Mom dies, Dad hits, I pick a girl and ruin her life. Congratulations, you’ve solved me.”
“No douche-bag energy, Lincoln. Of course it isn’t math, it’s pain. Yours.”
I huffed a laugh under my breath, sharp and bitter. “Pain makes people drink. Gamble. Screw up their marriages. Not… do what I did to her. It doesn’t have to be a big revelation about who I am.”
Her expression didn’t change. “But it does. You were relentless. That kind of focus takes fuel. Anger. Hurt. Obsession.”
I folded my arms tight across my chest, nails digging into my biceps. “Or maybe I was just an asshole.”
She leaned in, sharp yet calm. “You were made, Lincoln. Not born.”
