Page 12 of Safety Net
“Okay, and?”
“I kind of told them my name was Jack Whitfield.”
I blinked, still not on the same page, but this seemed to mean something to the guy.
“Things could get a little dicey when they figured out I lied,” Lincoln continued. “Can’t have them complaining about lying college students to the HOA. They’re big on neighborhood trust and whatnot. We’ve gotta keep this lease for another semester.”
“Why would you tell them you’re me? And why would they believe you? We look nothing alike.”
It was true. Jack was a white guy with gauges in his ears and wore black from head-to-toe. He had an unapproachable demeanor I doubt Lincoln could pull off even if he wanted to.
“I said they memorized names and numbers. Not faces.” Lincoln peeked through one of the blinds, ever dramatic. I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile because in, small bursts, I could ignore my nerves and appreciate his amusing overreactions.
Jack’s skin got redder. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“I don’t like the idea of people like them having my real name.” Lincoln pulled away from the blinds. “It doesn’t sit well with me. They’re up to something.”
“You can’t be serious,” Jack said. “So, you’re willing to give themmyname and not a fake one?”
“They’d know it was fake.” Lincoln scoffed like it was apparent. “Don’t worry about it. I’m forty percent sure they’re not planning to use your name in their next séance. And if they do, I’m forty-two percent sure they need to know what you look like to succeed in a hex.”
“They’re witches now?” Jack asked.
“No, unfortunately not. They’re Westbrooke fans.” Lincoln sighed. “If we miss the winning goal next season, or if you lose more teeth than usual, we’ll know why.”
“Are you fucking with me?” Jack asked.
“Time will tell. Anyway, glad to see you got up the walk okay.” Lincoln patted his friend’s (?) shoulder. “You’re a little breathy, though. Off-season not treating you well? You should hit the gym with Hen, Finn, and me. It’ll keep you competitive.”
He shrugged Lincoln’s hand off. “You’re unbelievable.”
I tried to think of a good excuse to leave. I felt like I’d interrupted something even though I was there first.
“It was just a suggestion,” Lincoln said. “If you want to lift weights in your lonesome, I won’t stop you.”
I parted my lips, getting nothing but quiet air out.
“I didn’t come here to get an invite to a workout session.” Jack shoved his phone in Lincoln’s face.
“I should probably…” I tried again. Lincoln noticed my attempt at an exit.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Jack’s just dropping by. Right, Jack? Thanks for the ‘hello.’ Bring food next time; that’s always a good way to get on someone’s good side.”
Lincoln tried to herd him to the front door, but Jack matched his strength. He wasn’t as tall as Lincoln, but he was a bit more built.
“Good side attempts are your job,” Jack said. “Since I’m getting burned alive on social media, thanks to you and your big mouth.”
Jack shoved his phone in Lincoln’s direction again, and this time, Lincoln took it.
“You told reporters you think I divided the team. Lincoln,divided?”
Lincoln frowned as he read whatever was on the screen.
“What else would you call it?” Lincoln’s voice had lost any semblance of go-lucky.
My back straightened as I tried to get a better look at his face. I’d never heard Lincoln speak so low or seen his shoulders sag as if he harbored regret. I wasn’t sure I liked Jack and how he barged in here, disrupting the atmosphere.
“I’d call it complicated,” Jack said.
