The Game (That Girl, #2)(4)
Dad was always there to advance my career and make sure I followed his footsteps in the Hall of Fame, and, well, Mom was always in the shadows applying the polishing touches on our family. We had to be the best and look the best at any given time.
It wasn’t until she hired out Lynlee’s murder that we all saw how far she would really go to make our family look its best from the curb. It’s still a hard pill to swallow, and more of me wants to believe it’s not true, but the evidence is there. Hell, she even admitted to it in front of the whole court, even if the only reason was the plea offer, ten years served, with the option of parole in five with good behavior.
I’m not sure how Lincoln does it. Every time I look at Lynlee, she only reminds of how truly wicked our own mother is. I know she doesn’t portray any of those elements, but it’s still there every time she smiles, speaks, or rests her head on my brother’s shoulder. Her bright presence exposes the nastiness behind my mom’s plan. Don’t get me wrong, it has nothing to do with her, but everything to do with my mother. The one person who created me, held me in her womb for nine months, fed me and raised me…yes, it’s that person who hired someone to kill an innocent girl because she didn’t approve of her social class. This monster truly believed the girl wasn’t fit for her son. The son who didn’t give a shit what his parents thought.
At least Lincoln has Dad to look up to since the trial. Obviously, the day he almost lost the love of his life, he also lost the person who brought him into this world. In a chain reaction, Lincoln grew close to Dad. All his rebellious actions as a child and teen were washed away that day.
Anyone could read the gratefulness in Dad’s eyes. He was plumb tickled to have Lincoln back. He also had years and years of making up to do. He was horrible to Lincoln with his harsh words of disapproval and absences at games in high school and college. And you can bet your sweet ass he was at my side when he missed those games. The son who allowed the man to mold him. Dad is a legendary quarterback and had only one dream—to raise another legendary quarterback. He always called us two boys his dream team, destined to reign the record books and fill the NFL Hall of Fame. Dad soon realized Lincoln wanted nothing to do with this plan. The boy was energetic and athletic, but was going to do it on his own terms. That only left Dad one willing victim, and I was there to please.
Lynlee’s presence always seems to start this vicious thinking cycle within me. Not her fault, but it leads to thoughts of my awful mom, * dad, and what I could have been. I’d never tell her any of this. I love her like my own sister and need to deal with my demons on my own.
“Earth to Levi.” A pillow beans me in the head, snapping me from my thoughts. “Where did you go?”
“Ouch! Holy shit, Lynlee, that f*cking hurt my neck.”
“Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” Lynlee clutches her stomach. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Fuck, I’m a dumbass.”
Unable to hold in my laughter anymore, I howl. The look on Lynlee’s face is priceless, and I almost feel bad because I can see the tears forming in her eyes. Why don’t I record shit like this?
“You *! Were you kidding? Did I hurt you?”
“No, Lynlee, you didn’t hurt me, but it’s probably not a good idea to throw a pillow at the quarterback who just had neck surgery.”
“I swear you can be such a dickwad.”
“Dickwad? Damn, haven’t heard that word in years,” I say.
“So, how are you handling not playing? I know you act tough for Lincoln.”
“You don’t know shit, Lynlee. Tell me about your house guest.”
“Nice subject change. So smooth I barely noticed it, Captain Obvious.”
“What’s her story? Your first friend you made at college?”
Something is seriously bothering Lynlee. The telltale sign of her chewing her nails is a dead giveaway. There is something she doesn’t want to discuss, and she’s about to pull a complete and abrupt subject change.
“What, ol’ Lincoln wanted a sister-wife, or what? Shit, it can’t be that bad, Lynlee.”
“You’re an *. You’re never going to find a nice girl, get married, and start a family.”
“I don’t want any of that, as long as there is enough * for me to sink in…”
Another pillow comes flying for my head.
“Stop, shut the hell up now.” Lynlee yanks her bottle of water off the counter.
“So, just tell me this. What are my odds of sinking into your friend?”
“I’m going to start throwing heavier things at your injured neck if you don’t shut up right now, Levi Ann Wilks.” Now she’s waving the bottle of water at me.
Lynlee always calls me Levi Ann. She thinks it’s one of the funniest jokes ever made, and she only came up with it when Lincoln and I wouldn’t tell her my middle name.
“Your chances are f*cking null and void.” A new voice joins in on our conversation. “A zero percent chance of your big ol’ cock sinking into my sweet, little, tight *.”
Jazzy rounds the corner, and damn if she doesn’t look f*cking stunning straight from bed. Her pale skin is peppered with signs of sleep, and her long, wild, blonde hair is pulled up on the top her head. Last night her hair was down, and it nearly touched the top of her ass. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it—her ass, that is. A couple of times I almost cursed her hair out loud for skewing my view, but then easily fantasized gripping onto it and pulling.