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“Quarterback.”
“I was a wide receiver.”
The boy glanced sideways at him. “Were you any good?”
“I did all right. When do you start practice for the fall?”
“I’ve got camps and shit in July. Regular practice starts in August.” He swiped the phone screen. “Unless I fail that stupid class.”
“Miss Berry wants you to earn a passing grade.”
“Fuck her.”
A surge of anger caught Lincoln off guard. “Don’t insult her. You know she’s trying to help you, and your response is to be a dick?”
The kid laughed. “You call me a dick? I could report you.”
“Go ahead.”
“Look, man, what do you want?” Todd grabbed his backpack and shoved to his feet. “You gonna give me an inspiring speech about how I can achieve all my dreams if I just apply myself? Well, save it. I don’t need more bullshit.”
He stalked off, his shoulders hunched. Lincoln watched him go.
The boy reminded him of Sam back when he’d been in high school. Similar defiance and anger at the world, though no one had expected anything from Sam. Not even their parents. By contrast, everyone—parents, teachers, coaches—had expected everything from Lincoln.
He turned and went to the auditorium. The doors were open, and he slipped into a seat in the back row. Onstage, a group of students were standing in various positions as Grace, script in hand, called out instructions.
He watched for the next hour. She was as engaging and enthusiastic a director as she was a teacher—encouraging the students, patiently withstanding their occasional snickers or rude jokes whenever someone said “Bottom,” and providing gentle corrections and guidance.
At one point, she caught sight of him. Her quick wave and smile hit him like a shot of concentrated sunlight.
Though he was tempted to wait and ask her what she was doing for the rest of the evening—maybe they could grab dinner at the Mousehole, you know, as friends—Lincoln left before the rehearsal ended.
He went back to the motel, changed into a T-shirt and track pants, and headed out for a run along the beach.
He was restless. Not a surprise, given that he’d never intended to stay in Bliss Cove for more than a couple of days—and now he was still facing more than a month. He was used to feeling like he needed to move, to learn something about a part of the world he didn’t know anything about, to discover why people did what they did.
Butthiswasn’t the usual seething disquiet that would be eased when he plunged into other peoples’ lives and crafted them into a story.
No. This unease had to do with Grace Berry, and it was starting to piss him off that he didn’t know why.
Yeah, he wanted her badly. He couldn’t stop looking at her. His heart beat faster every time she played her ukulele and sang a Renaissance folk song. He wanted to be near her, whether he was watching her lecture or eating lunch with her in the teacher’s lounge.
Still, he couldn’t chalk his restlessness up to his feelings for Grace. He’d experienced similar feelings for women before—maybe not so fast and so hard, butlusthad never made him feel as if he were about to burst out of his own skin.
Maybe he was just impatient. He’d been frustrated by the delay in his clearance for Afghanistan. He wanted to get back into the thick of things, rediscover his story, prove the blast hadn’t broken him.
He ran faster. The ocean wind whipped against his face. His muscles worked. He ran until his breath scorched his lungs and his legs throbbed. Slowly, he came to a halt and bent to grasp his knees. His chest heaved.
Running wasn’t enough. He needed weights and resistance. He’d ask Sam about the best local gym—if his brother would even talk to him. Sam hadn’t responded to Lincoln’s texts over the past few days. No wonder, given what an asshole he’d been at the dinner with Jake Ryan.
Lincoln was sensing a theme in his behavior. He also owed Jake an apology.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted the other man. By the time he’d returned to the motel, showered, and changed, Jake had responded. Lincoln went to the Mousehole and found him at the bar.
“Hey, man.” Jake extended a hand. “Good to see you.”
“You too.” Lincoln shook his hand and sat at an empty stool. “I wanted to apologize for being an ass the other night. I had…something on my mind. Not that that’s an excuse. Anyway, I’m sorry.”
