The Relationship Pact(16)

“Haven’t we all?” Lincoln says with an amused tone.

I laugh.

“When are you coming into town?” he asks.

“I’m here. I’m early, I know, but I figured why not come down and relax a little before my last semester starts? And your people hooked me up with this hotel, by the way. Thank you for that.”

“Those people aren’t my people. My people are always less organized and not as professional. My people are oversized children like their boss. You’ve been talking to my wife’s people. She’s much more professional about shit than me.”

I laugh again. “Well, thank her for me then.”

“Hey,” he says, his voice rising. “If you’re in town, why don’t you come by for dinner one night? Thank her yourself.”

My eyes grow wide as I watch myself in the mirror above the dresser.

“Really? That’s … very cool of you, Mr. Landry—”

“Lincoln. Please. Mr. Landry is my dad. Trust me when I tell you that the differences between us are massive.”

“Well, that’s a very nice offer, Lincoln, but it’s totally unnecessary. Covering the hotel was way more than enough.”

“I agree. But you don’t know my wife. She won’t agree. As a matter of fact, when I tell her I talked to you and that you’re in town, she’s going to insist you come to dinner. It’s just how she rolls. And, like it or not, you’ll end up at dinner because she doesn’t take no for an answer. If I didn’t love her so much, it would be very fucking annoying.”

I try to process the fact that I’m being invited somewhere with Lincoln fucking Landry.

What the heck is happening here?

What do I do? Do I just say yes because this is the coolest thing to ever happen to me? Or do I say no because why would a guy like this invite me to dinner?

“How about our house tonight at seven?” he asks.

“I …”

He laughs. “Just say yes. Unless you have other plans and really just can’t, you don’t have a choice. Trust me. I only golf once a week now. Before you know it, Danielle has you doing what she wants, and you’re happy about it. It’s fucked up.”

“I mean, I don’t have plans, so if you’re sure …”

“I am. I’ll text you the address in a little while. It’s totally casual, so don’t feel like you have to dress up or anything. Hell, I might even order pizza. You like pizza?”

I grin. “Who doesn’t?”

He just laughs. “Okay. Great. And bring whoever you’re traveling with—bring them all. We’re cutting into your holiday the way it is, so we’ll just make this a family affair.”

Fucking great.

Forcing a smile, I nod even though he can’t see me. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Cool. Well, I’ll see you and your guest or guests tonight.”

“Thank you, Lincoln. I appreciate the call and the dinner offer.”

“Not a problem. See you soon.”

“Goodbye,” I say.

I sit on the edge of the bed. My brain tries to process the conversation but fires too quickly from one talking point to another. Ultimately, though, it lands on the boiled-down fact that I’m going to dinner tonight at Lincoln Landry’s house.

Bring whoever you’re traveling with—bring them all.

I scrub a hand down my face.

“Can I show up alone?” I ask out loud, hoping a voice will sound out of nowhere and answer me.

The idea of arriving at Lincoln’s house by myself makes me want to puke. I’m used to either having an entire football team or at least River and Crew with me for all important events. If it’s not a football thing, I usually just don’t go. It’s a survival skill I learned early on in life—opt out of everything you can. If you’re not available, people can’t invade your shit. It’s preventative protection at its best. A life condom, if you will.

This was one of the biggest reasons I wanted to turn down the Catching-A-Care thing to start with. I only agreed after a spirited argument to accept from Coach Herbert.

But now I’m not even sure if I can show up by myself. Will I seem like some kind of weirdo who comes by himself when he was instructed to bring his whole damn family?

Fuck.

My head hangs, the muscle pulling at the base of my skull. I have no idea what to do. All I know is that I wouldn’t be here if Coach hadn’t nominated me to start with.

I pick up my phone again and find Coach’s number.



Me: Why didn’t you tell me you nominated me?



It takes a few minutes of me staring at the screen before he responds.



Coach: I didn’t want to hear you complain or argue with me. How are you doing, kid?

Me: Okay, I guess.

Coach: Need anything?



My chest sinks a little.

I need a lot of things, but nothing I can ask him for. He can’t help me with it anyway.



Me: Nah, I’m good. Thanks.

Coach: Hit me up if you need anything, Hudson. I mean it.



I set the phone beside me and stare at the wall.

Over the past four years, Coach has been the guy to help me figure shit out. If he didn’t have an answer, he made sure he found someone who did. Coach always did things in a way that didn’t strip my confidence or self-respect, and I appreciated that more than I could ever tell him.