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Reeling in the Years	By : Flagg1991 Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 5080 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House or its characters and I am not profiting from this story in any way.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Lynn Loud loved football. He loved all sports, sure, but football was his favorite, and had been since his dad took him to a college ball game when he was six: It was September 1950, and the University of Michigan won over the University of Virginia in overtime. Michigan's starting quarterback was Joe Nazareth, number 28, who would go onto play for the Philadelphia Eagles from 1953 to 1959, and he scored five touchdowns in a row, running so fast that none of the guys on the other team could come close to getting him. To Lynn, Joe Nazareth was the biggest, strongest, coolest guy to ever live, and as he left the stadium that day, buzzing with excitement and prattling about how much he liked football, he decided that he wanted to be just like him.
Since that day, he made every effort to make good on that decision. He ran fast, hit hard, and threw as far as he could. When he didn't feel like running, he ran twice; when he didn't feel like throwing, he threw and then threw again; when he got depressed because he wasn't the greatest – or even great – he went out and practiced, because a guy like Joe Nazareth wouldn't give up like a pansy, and neither would Lynn Loud. No pain, no gain.
He played on every football team that would have him, from elementary school to high school: He had been captain of the Royal High Raptors since his sophomore year and in every game he played, he gave it everything he had. His picture had been in the paper a dozen times since freshman year, and high school football players across the state trembled at the mention of his name. When he wasn't playing football, he was thinking about football. It was his life and his love. Without it, his existence was meaningless.
As high school drew to an end, however, Lynn began to come to the slow realization that he couldn't play football forever. If he went pro, sure, and that was his plan, but when he sat down and thought about it too hard, the chance of him actually landing a spot on one of the National Football League's fourteen teams seemed small. America's a big place, and it's filled with high schools where guys just like him lived, breathed, and slept football, and all of them had the same thought on their mind: I'm going to go pro.
Jocks have a reputation for being stupid, but Lynn wasn't stupid. The thought that he would never go pro hadn't occurred to him not because he was dumb, but because he had tunnel vision. At the end of that tunnel was a QB position...and that's all he could see. Seventeen now and a few weeks from graduating – from entering the adult world – Lynn was terrified because the end of that tunnel had been steadily expanding since the school year started, and now that QB spot was a tiny blip. When it really hit him that he might wind up like some of the guys who came to watch their sons play on Friday night – fat, bald, and still bragging about that game winning touchdown they scored in 1941, panic clenched his heart and cold horror filled his stomach.
He didn't want to be like that.
Starting in October, he began applying to colleges and hoping for a football scholarship. He wouldn't get by on just football, though. He would get a major in something that he actually planned to use. What, he didn't know, because football was all he had known for so long, but something.
During the autumn of 1960 season, scouts from colleges across the country came to see him play, and some of them really wanted him to play for them. In December, he decided that he wanted to go to the University of Arizona: He liked westerns, and had always wanted to visit the desert. Their football program was top-notch, and they were pretty swell on academics, too.
He started the application process in January, and spent the second half of winter and the first half of spring waiting to hear back. He got a few letters in the mail from other colleges: Rejection after rejection. By the middle of May, he was starting to worry. He was a good student and he was a great ball player, surely he'd get a spot somewhere, if not at Arizona. Right?
On May 18, he left school at 3pm and walked home, his hands shoved into the pockets of his letterman jacket. He saw Lincoln and Ronnie Anne walking toward Flip's, and for a second he considered tagging along because at home there was nothing to do but sit and stress: Since Lincoln started working, they rarely had time to play football or train the way they used to (not that they had a boatload of time before, since Lincoln was always with Ronnie Anne), and, truth be told, Lynn really missed playing with his little brother.
Things were changing...childhood was ending...and that scared him. It kind of felt like the world was coming to an end, and in a way, it was.
When he got home, he checked the mailbox. Junk, junk, bill...at the bottom of the stack was an envelope from the University of Arizona, and his breath caught when he saw it. For as moment he was too chicken to open it.
Alright, Loud, moment of truth.
He took a deep breath, ripped it open, and read it.
When he came through the door, he was smiling. "I got in," he said. His mother was sitting on the couch between Lori and Leni. She looked up.
"The University of Arizona," he said, "full scholarship."
"Oh, honey, that's wonderful," Mom said.
"Way to go," Lori said.
"Good job!" Leni grinned and gave him a thumbs up.
"I'm really excited," he said.
And he was; he now had four years before he had to worry about entering the real world, four years to put off thinking about what he would do with his life. And who knows, if he worked really hard and distinguished himself on the football field, maybe he would go pro. It has to happen to somebody, so why not to him?
Lincoln met Ronnie Anne at the sidewalk: He was leaning against a street sign and smoking a cigarette when she walked up; as she approached, he had to wonder if she was really getting more beautiful every day, or if he was just falling more deeply in love with her every day.
She grinned, yanked the cigarette out of his mouth, and took a drag. "So, what are we doing?" she asked.
"I know a house down the street that just got painted," he said, "wanna check it out?"
She squinted her eyes and bobbed her head from side to side in thought. "I'm kinda hungry. Can we eat something first?"
Lincoln shrugged. "I guess. What are you in the mood for?"
"How about Flip's?"
Lincoln's shoulders sagged, and she laughed. "What?"
"I was hoping to stay away from that place today."
"Oh, come on. You're not going in the kitchen, you're going in the dining room." She handed him the cigarette and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. They started to walk into town; Lincoln finished and threw the Camel away.
He was partially joking about wanting to stay away from Flip's today; he liked hanging out there, but lately when he went there off the clock, it felt more like he was hanging out at work than working where he hung out. Not that it mattered, he guessed; when he was with Ronnie Anne she was the only thing he looked at anyway. Flip's, like anywhere else, would just be background noise.
They go there ten minutes after setting out. Being a Thursday afternoon, it was fairly empty, save for a few old men sitting at the counter and a group of teenagers at a booth. When they walked through the door, Flip was at the register counting on his fingers, his lips silently moving and his brow crinkled. He looked up, and rolled his eyes. "You two are worse than clap; I can't get rid of you."
"Coming here wasn't my idea," Lincoln said, "I was enjoying not seeing you."
"Yeah, I was enjoying you not seeing me either. All we need is her brother and it's a regular party."
"Oh, shut up and feed us," Ronnie Anne said, sitting on one of the stools. Lincoln sat next to her: They held hands under the counter.
Flip leaned against the edge. "Let me guess: An order of French fries and one chocolate milkshake."
"Yeah, we'll take that," Ronnie Anne said.
"Surprise, surprise," Flip said, grabbing an order pad, slipping a pencil from behind his ear, and jotting down their request. "You two are worse than my grandmother. Now that woman was a creature of habit. Every day she did exactly the same thing she did the day before at exactly the same time and in exactly the same way. Surprised she didn't wind up in a nuthouse." He ripped the ticket from the pad, turned, and stuck it in the window. Ernie's face appeared, and he smiled.
"Hey, Linc!"
"Hey, Ernie!"
Ernie picked up the ticket and looked at it, his eyes squinting. "Flip, I either need glasses or you need to stop writing so sloppy. What the hell does this say?"
"You know damn well what it says," Flip grumbled, "it's Loud and Santiago. French fries."
Ernie shook his head. "I thought you was writin' Russian. I was about to call Joe McCarthy on you."
"What do you wanna do after this?" Ronnie Anne asked, squeezing Lincoln's hand.
Lincoln didn't reply for a moment. He had an idea what he wanted to do, but he needed the sun to set first, and sunset wouldn't be for a little while yet. "We can walk to the park," he said, "hang out for a little while. Or see a movie."
Ronnie Anne smiled. "A movie sounds good. What's playing?"
"I don't know," he said, then, when Flip came up, "you have a newspaper?"
"That'll be a quarter," Flip said.
"Damn, Flip, that's highway robbery," Ronnie Anne said. "You can buy two papers with that."
Flip snorted. "That's to rent it. If you wanna buy it, it's a buck. But for you kids, it's a buck-fifty." He went down the counter, then came back with a newspaper. He sat it in front of Lincoln and pointed in his face. "Don't smudge the ink. I'm not done with it."
Lincoln waved him off and opened it. He found the showings, and Ronnie Anne leaned in close, the warm, clean smell of her hair filling his nostrils. He pecked her forehead then looked back down at the paper. "I don't see anything good," she said after a minute.
Neither did he. "What about this?" he asked, tapping a picture. "It sounds like something you'd like."
"The Young Savages," she muttered, then read the synopsis: Street gangs, murder, police detectives. "Sure," she said, "it does sound pretty cool."
Flip came over with their milkshake and sat it between them, jabbing a straw into either side. "There, now you can gaze longingly into each other's eyes while you share a milkshake like a couple in a Rockwell picture."
Ronnie Anne slipped her straw into her mouth and looked at Flip. Lincoln did the same. The old man snickered. "Now what if one of you has mono?"
"Then the other already has it," Ronnie Anne said around her straw. Flip opened his mouth to reply, but Ernie cut him off. "Fries!" Flip grabbed the basket and sat it in front of Lincoln.
Taking his advice, they gazed longingly into each other's eyes as they shared a milkshake like a couple in a Rockwell painting, pausing only to eat fries. When they were done, Lincoln took a five dollar bill out of his pocket and slapped it on the counter. Flip looked at it and frowned. He took the pencil from behind his ear and used it to slide the money back. "I don't want your mono, Loud. Get lost."
Hand-in-hand, they walked to the Palace across town. Shadows were beginning to grow long and the streets were busy with people coming home from work, some driving and others walking, lunch pails in their hands. At the Palace, Lincoln bought two tickets to The Young Savages and then, at the concession stand, a bag of popcorn and two sodas. They sat in one of the middle rows, and Lincoln slipped his arm around Ronnie Anne's shoulders.
The movie was alright, at least what he saw of it: Halfway through, they started to kiss, and everything else kind of stop mattering. He traced the curve of her jaw with his fingers, and she ran her finger though his hair; he caressed her slender throat; she slipped her hands under his shirt and laid her palms on his warm, quivering stomach. They teetered on the brink of passion, and though neither wanted to, they pried themselves away from the other before lest they tumble over. They panted, their hearts raced, and fever spread across their flesh. Shaking with desire, they held each other even as the movie ended and the theater emptied, held each other until the tide receded and the embers cooled.
"Come on," Ronnie Anne said, her voice not entirely steady. The theater was beginning to fill for the next showing, and an usher was coming down the aisle with a flashlight. When he went to stand, Lincoln's knees buckled, and Ronnie Anne kept him from falling with a giggle. "Gee, lame-o, forget how to walk?"
"I'm fine," he said and flashed a nervous grin, "see?"
She squeezed his hand. "Yeah, I see." She dragged him up the aisle and into the lobby, which was empty. Outside, night had fallen, and the lamps along the sidewalks cast pools of illumination on the pavement.
They started toward his house; when Ronnie Anne went to cross the street, Lincoln pulled her back. "There's one more thing I want to do," he said, "it won't take long."
She cocked her head. "Oh?"
He blushed. "It's nothing like that."
"We'll see," she said.
A few blocks later, he tugged her hand. "This way."
"Royal Woods Middle?" she asked. "Haven't been here in a while."
"We're taking a trip down memory lane," he said as they crossed to the athletic field. Bleachers flanked either side, and the big floodlights that lit Friday football games were dark: The only light was the silvery glow of the moon, which washed the world in a thin, white radiance. In the middle of the field, Lincoln let go of Ronnie Anne's hand, shrugged out of his jacket, and laid it on the grass. "Sit," he said, and hunched down. Ronnie Anne followed, stretching out next to him. He pulled a pack of Camels from his breast pocket, stuck one into his mouth, and lit it. He took a puff and handed it to her.
"So you have me alone...in the dark..." she said, and took a drag, the cherry brightening, "how is this nothing like that?"
He took a cigarette back and puffed. "Shut up, lay down, and see."
She lifted a brow, but did as he said. He laid down too. Together, they gazed up into the star-splashed heavens, his hand creeping into hers and her fingers slipping through his. The majesty of the night sky, chips of ice scattered across black velvet, was undeniable, and Ronnie Anne smiled. "It's beautiful," she said.
"You know what it reminds me of?" he asked. He took a drag and handed it to her.
"What?" she asked and took it.
He turned his head. "Your eyes."
She giggled, a blush touching her cheeks. "You're a sap, Lincoln," she said, and handed the cigarette back, "but I like it."
He took one final puff, then threw the cigarette into the night. He scooted closer and propped himself up on one elbow. She looked up at him with adoration, and his heart crashed when he realized what he was going to do.
"Ronnie Anne?"
"Yeah?" she asked, her voice low.
Laying his hand on her face, he bent close; her eyes widened and she swallowed hard. "I love you."
Her breath hitched and she blushed furiously. "I love you too, Lincoln."
He leaned the rest of the way, and her lips met his; their tongues made slow, sensuous love as he stroked the side of her face and she slid her hand down his chest. The kiss deepened, and both were powerless to pull themselves back from the edge this time...not that they wanted to. His hands tangled in her hair and her fingers softly grazed the back of his neck; their hearts pounded in time and the tides of passion returned, sweeping them against the other. His hand trailed down her chest and across the mound of her breast; heat enveloped her, and she moaned into his mouth. She let go of him and began to unbutton the front of her dress, her hands shaking and her body quivering. He pulled back and took a deep breath, his eyes sparkling like diamonds in the light of the moon.
Her fingers worked, undoing one button after another; his breathing grew ragged and his heart raced with anticipation. She bit her bottom lip as she reached the last one, then she opened her dress like angel wings, moonbeams drenching her naked body. His breath caught and he plundered her with his eyes, from the curve of her hips to the gentle swell of her breasts to the juncture of her sex.
"Do you like it?" she asked uncertainly.
He nodded. "You're beautiful." He leaned in and they kissed again, more needily this time, his hand cupping her breast, then skipping over her stomach, scraping her feverish flesh as it went lower. Her fingers worried at his belt, and he paused to undo it for her, a tiny grin touching her lips. He pulled his underwear down just enough to free himself, and her grin turned into a wide smile. She reached out and took him in her hand, her thumb brushing his tip. An electric thrill went through him and he thrust an arm into the ground to keep from falling.
As she began to rub him, he slipped his hand between her legs: She was hot and damp against his palm, her burning flesh the softest silk he had ever touched. He shifted, and they lay together, him on his side, their hands exploring each other's bodies, their fingers questing over hot skin, their heartbeats quickening and their sighs rising as tender touches became urgent strokes. As the end approached, he leaned his forehead against hers and she bit her bottom lip. She clamped her thighs around his hand when it hit her; she rode out her orgasm with a long, protracted purr. Lincoln gasped and bucked his hips as he swelled in her hand: When his boiling climax let loose and splattered against her outer thigh, she let out a low hmmmm of pleasure, and slowed her caress, unwilling – and unable – to let him go.
He let out a shuddery breath and kissed her neck, her shoulder, and the side of her face. She smiled, and he took her in his arms; he was warm and strong and comfortable. She hoped he never let go.
"I love you," he said, and kissed the back of her head.
"I love you too," she replied, and rolled over, her bare breasts smooshing against his chest. He laid his hand on her hip and they kissed. "We better get going."
He pecked the tip of her nose. "I don't want to."
"Neither do I," she said. "And maybe one day we won't have to."
He grinned. "I'd like that."
She got to her feet and buttoned her dress, taking great pains to make sure she got each one into the correct slot. Lincoln tucked himself into his underwear and zipped his pants up, buttoning them and buckling his belt. He picked his jacket up and draped it over Ronnie Anne's shoulders. "It's not cold," she giggled, but made no move to take it off: Wearing his jacket was like a hug.
They held hands and walked into the night...and deeper into love.
- 13
- 14
- 15
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Reeling in the Years