She cupped his jaw with her warm palm. “Are you okay?”
He shrugged in response. “I just told my dad some hard truths. Didn’t go so well. It’ll blow over.”
“Maybe you should try talking to him again – it might help. I know they’re not always great at showing their love, but they really do just want what’s best for us.”
“I know you’re trying to help, Lizzy, but you don’t know my dad.” He ground out each word between gritted teeth. Squeezing down the torrent of “mind your business” bubbling up in his throat, he swallowed against the current.
“I just mean—”
He almost missed Molly’s subtle movement. She wrapped a hand around Cleo’s elbow and gave a small shake of her head.
“I really don’t want to talk about it, Cleo. Please?” He beseeched her with his eyes, hoping his thick with effort tone was enough to dissuade her from the conversation.
“But they’re your parents, Linc. You can’t just cut them off.”
Molly groaned.
Flames of anger lapped along his spine. He clenched and unclenched his hands and took a step back from her. “I feel like you missed the ‘I don’t want to have this discussion here’ memo. But one thing’s for damn sure, family can’t treat you whatever the hell way they want just ‘cause they’re family. They don’t get a hall pass to make me feel like shit just ‘cause they’re my family.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he shook his head and turned on his heel.
“Linc, what about class?”
Class. Schoolwork. Grades. They were the only things that mattered to Cleo.
He stepped away from her, forcing air into his lungs to calm himself. She didn’t know he’d applied for the art competition. She didn’t know he’d let someone outside of her see inside his soul. She had no idea his worlds were colliding.
Even if she did know, wouldn’t school still be a priority for her? Would she understand the tug of war in his chest?
She’d somehow managed to get under his skin, to convince him it wasn’t only okay for him to stop hiding who he truly was, but to own it.
A battle raged inside of him. For the moment he was Bruce Banner, but the Hulk was dangerously close to bursting out of his clothes and smashing everything in his path.
Let your freak flag fly, wasn’t that the MO of the Marvel-verse?
So what if his freak flag was a love of art? People liked all kinds of things. Nowhere did it say you could only like one thing. He could be artistic and athletic at the same time, right?
Striding towards the double doors leading outside, he paused. One thing was for sure, he had reached a point in his life where he could no longer hide his freak flag, and he was mad about that too.
As he swung a leg over his bike, he made a mental note to stop watching Marvel movies on repeat with Russell, though it wouldn’t put an end to the identity crisis consuming his every thought.
He’d applied to the art competition. He’d confronted his parents about living in his father’s shadow, and he’d let Cleo see his innermost self. The toothpaste was out of the tube and there was no putting it back.
But even if he could, would he want to?
Chapter 26
Lincoln
The one-goal advantage was the most dangerous lead in a hockey game. Considering how fast a goal could be surrendered, it was never a smart move to get too comfortable when you were ahead. Linc would have given anything to be facing a one goal lead. The Pirates were three to nothing down, and Alabama was verging on getting themselves a shutout.
Shutout. Shutout. Shutout.
Superstition said you couldn’t say the ‘S’ word,shutout, on a game night before the final buzzer, for fear of jinxing the goaltender. But the Pirates needed all the help they could get. If mentally whispering the ‘S’ word could bag them a comeback, he’d whisper it all the way to the third period.
If Jeremy Lewis came down with a terrible case of the shits during the period break, Linc wouldn’t be mad about it. Alabama’s hot-shot winger had scored two of the three goals on the board and assisted on the third. It was as though he had a turbo booster in his skates.
Linc growled as he stomped into the locker room for the second intermission. He shook off his gloves, leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, and cradled his head, hoping the fuck off vibes were rolling off him in waves, and no one would bother him.
