He spoke frankly about what’d happened to him and how football was a dream that turned into a death sentence years after he retired. And he was one of Lincoln’s oldest friends. Based on his withdrawn mood, I couldn’t imagine the visit was a pleasant one. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not right now.” Linc turned, holding out his arm. I stepped into his embrace, allowing him to hold me tightly, feeling his body shake with pent-up emotion. This was one of those times I should probably push him to talk, but I understood the need to lock it all away. Linc wasn’t me; he’d open up when he was ready. “I missed you.”
I squirmed a bit, still trying to get used to not coming home to an empty house. Having a man in my life who so freely admitted what he was feeling. Wishing I could express the same. Instead, I kissed his shoulder, conveying my emotions with my body rather than my words.
I slid my hands under his shirt, soaking in the warmth of his skin under mine. At some point, we started moving, him forward, me backing through the house. He stopped at the base of the stairs to the top floor. “Is that a hint you’re ready for bed?”
“Didn’t think it was much of a hint,” he responded. I reached up and ran my thumb over the crease at the side of his mouth. He moaned softly. We broke apart long enough to get to the bedroom and strip for bed. Linc held up the sheets for me, inviting me to join him, even though it was my bed. I curled up against him, head on his chest and my hand over his heart. Linc reached out to flip off the light, sinking us into darkness.
His strong hand ran along my hip, but unlike almost every other night we spent together, his touch didn’t feel sexual tonight. Combined with the tension I could feel in his body and the heavy sighs breaking the silence, it felt more like he was trying to reassure himself I was real and here with him.
I debated again whether I should ask him what happened with Patrick. It was obvious something was eating away at him. He curled up and kissed the top of my head and ran his fingers through my hair. Eventually, the movement slowed and Linc drifted off to sleep.
Every morning that week, Linc was still dead to the world when I got out of the shower. He slept straight through the alarm, which was unusual since most mornings he was the one bitching for me to get out of bed. I didn’t think too much of it since he’d had an emotionally trying weekend.
By the following Tuesday, I’d reached my breaking point. He was, yet again, lying on the couch with a thousand-yard stare. I doubted he could even tell me what show was playing, much less what was going on. This was completely out of character for Linc and no way in hell was I going to let him withdraw.
That was my MO, which was why I knew how counterproductive it was.
“Get showered and dressed,” I ordered.
“I showered this morning,” Linc protested.
“Fine, then get some real clothes on.” I stepped up behind him, draping my arms over his shoulders. “You need to get out of the house. Too much time in your own head isn’t a good thing.”
Lincoln let out a bark of laughter. “That’s rich coming from you. No offense, Nix, but you’re the master of bottling everything up.”
“Right,” I agreed. “Which is why I can say with authority that it’s no way to live. Now, I’m not going to tie you up and force you to tell me what in the hell happened, but I am going to make you stop obsessing over it for a few hours. Get your ass dressed.”
“Where are we going?” Linc asked, leaning against the banister for support.
“You need to take whatever it is you’re feeling and put that energy into a good workout,” I told him. I rounded the couch and kneeled on the cushion next to him, my arms hugging him close. “I love you, Linc, but whatever it is, you have to let it go. If this mood is because you need to go home, I’ll understand.”
“How could you even think it’s that?” he asked sharply. “All I could think about when I was there was wanting to get back to you. God, Nix, what’s it going to take for you to realize I’m here because it’s where I want to be? When will you stop questioning whether or not this is real?”
“I don’t know,” I shot back, my words heavily laced with sarcasm. My resolve to let him talk when he was good and ready flew out the window. “Maybe the day I walk through the door and you don’t look absolutely miserable. All I know is you went home and everything was fine. You came back and you’re like a totally different person. If I don’t know why that is, what else can I do other than draw my own conclusions?”
“Fine.” He shoved off the couch and stomped to the bottom of the stairs. My heart sank, terrified I’d pushed too hard, pushed him away. I pinched the bridge of my nose, promising myself I’d take whatever came next, even if that was the sight of his suitcases next to the door while he waited for a cab.
Maybe it’d be for the best for him to head back to Alabama. Not forever, but long enough to handle whatever had been left unresolved down there and for us to cool down. Linc turned on his heel, leaning against the banister for support. His breaths were ragged and he looked on the verge of tears.
“You want to know what’s been eating at me? Fine. I’ll tell you. Patrick’s giving up. He’ll swear he’s not, but I can tell. And I can’t stop thinking about what he’s going through, wondering if I’ll be next. That could be any one of us. All day, I stared at my phone, trying to force myself to call and check up on him, but I can’t. I can’t do it because seeing him reminded me there’s no way to know if I have the same disease slowly eating away at my brain.”
His voice grew louder, his words clipped. He pounded his fist against the banister. “I watched his son grovel at his feet, trying to get him to keep fighting. And no matter what I tell my son, he’s bound and determined to follow in my footsteps. He’s so focused on being good enough to get paid to play that he doesn’t even consider the danger that’s out there. While I watched Tanner and Patrick, I wanted to be the one on my knees, pleading with Hunter to finish his degree and get a real job, because the sport’s gotten even more brutal in recent years. The players are bigger and stronger. They hit harder.”
Linc crumpled, coming to rest on the bottom stair, gripping one of the spindles for support. I rushed to his side, forcing his head to my chest while he fell apart. Lincoln was one of the strongest men I knew, and in that moment, I realized my view of him was based on what he allowed the world to see more than what he actually felt.
“It’s okay,” I assured him as I stroked my hand over the back of his head. “It may not mean much to you right now, but the league’s doing everything they can to keep players safe. They’ve done the research and know what’s happening to some of the retired players. No one can change what happened in the past, but Hunter doing what he loves doesn’t mean he’s going to wind up like Patrick. And neither will you.”
“How do you know that?” he shot back. The truth was, I didn’t. His fears were justified, but he couldn’t succumb to them. He was healthy now and he had to believe he’d stay that way. “Do you think Patrick knew this was coming? No. No one does.”
“Very true, but at the same time, players and coaches today know it’s a possibility,” I pointed out.
His fear was justified, but he was basing his argument on what he knew about football when he was playing. The concussion protocol was so much more advanced now than it’d been even a few years ago. Players listened to the medical staff and weren’t allowed on the field until everyone felt certain they were healthy. And players were no longer shy about walking away when they were told it was time, because they all knew the dire consequences of continuing to play.
“Hunter will be fine. You have to hold on to that, otherwise it’s going to eat away at you. Besides, you know as well as anyone that he’s not going to be dissuaded from following his dreams.”
“That’s what kills me, Nix,” he said, his words softer and more ragged now. “I wish I could get through to him. I’d give anything to make him see one year isn’t going to destroy his future. Pushing him to graduate is a way to protect him so he never has to keep playing, thinking that’s the only thing he’s good at.”
