It would be all wrong in there. Everyone would be the same except for him; he would be the missing link that should be there and wasn’t. Would their eyes be full of judgment, full of contempt? Would they shun her? Or would it be even worse than that; would she see pity in each pair of eyes that met hers?
“Breathe, Sara,” Lincoln murmured.
Sara glanced at him under the cover of night, knowing his gaze was trained on her. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it like a warm caress of understanding. Sara jerked her head up and down and reached for the doorknob.
They met at the front of the truck and when he wordlessly reached his hand out to her, Sara looked down at it for one heartfelt moment, feeling as though she was making an unknown decision of some kind. She clasped it and his fingers wrapped around her smaller ones. Just his hand around hers gave her strength to make her legs move, gave her courage to walk through the front door and into a scene from her past minus one. The most important one. Sara’s throat thickened and she blinked under the bright lights of the entryway.
Music played from a stereo system in the living room. It smelled like a variety of appetizers dunked in fragrant sauces. Conversations were loud and laughter rang out through different rooms of the downstairs of the house. A card game was going on at a table to the right and people were strewn about the furniture to the left of her in the living room. The interior of Spencer’s house was simple and uncluttered. Every room had the same theme. The walls were beige, the floors wood, and the furniture a forest green.
Sara became flushed as her eyes glanced over person after person. There were so many people. She felt dizzy, like she was suffocating. Lincoln squeezed her hand, his fingers interlaced with hers, and moved toward the kitchen, never once loosening his grip from her hand. Sara stared at his broad-shouldered back as she followed him, focusing on that.
“Lincoln!” Spencer jerked Sara’s anchor from her, causing his fingers to slide through hers and away. He slapped a hand on Lincoln’s back. “You made it. Where’s Sara?”
“Probably hiding behind me.”
Spencer’s head popped around Lincoln’s arm. His eyes were unfocused and bright, his face red. “Sara!” Sara was enveloped in a tight hug and panic threatened to kick in. The only other man to hold her other than her husband that didn’t completely drive her crazy had been Lincoln. Spencer was drunk. It didn’t matter. He knew she didn’t like to be touched. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Her eyes found Lincoln’s and he immediately pulled Spencer from her. “Sara’s glad you’re here too, aren’t you, Sara?” Lincoln grinned at her and she could breathe again. “I thought this was going to be a small get-together?” he asked Spencer.
“Well…” was all Spencer came up with, shrugging.
“I’m glad things are working out for you and Gracie,” Sara said. It wasn’t a lie; she was glad. But she wanted that second chance with her husband too and she’d never get it.
Spencer blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Me too. Where is she anyway?” He turned and swayed to the left, catching himself with a hand against the kitchen counter. “I’ll be back. I’m going to find her. I know she wanted to see you, Sara.”
Sara looked at Lincoln.
He shrugged. “Want a drink?”
She opened her mouth to say no, but then something grabbed ahold of her, something rebellious; something that wanted to tell the pain and self-loathing to suck it. Maybe, for one night, she could forget it all. At any rate, she could try. The thought oozed into her brain, taking over all the rational reasons why she shouldn’t drink, and guided her into saying, “Sure. Why not?”
Lincoln hesitated, obviously seeing something in her expression. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”
“For tonight, Lincoln, I’m going to pretend.”
“Pretend what?”
Sara watched the people around her having a good time and looked at him. “I’m going to pretend everything is okay.”
Lincoln moved closer, leaning down so they were at eyelevel. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to pretend. There’s no shame in being sad, Sara. We can go. Right now. I’ll take you home. We can hang out, watch a movie. We can stare at a wall. Hell, I don’t know. Don’t feel pressured to do anything, Sara. This is me. Not giving you any pressure.” He lifted his hands, palms out, and nodded at his hands. “See? Pressure free.”
Warmth trickled over her scalp and down her back as she gazed at Lincoln, feeling a little lost at the wonder of him. Sara had never noticed him before, not like this. Had he always been like this? Maybe he had. Or maybe circumstances had matured him, changed him. She broke their stare, her face heating up.
“If I need to go, Lincoln, I’ll tell you,” she said in a soft voice, playing with a button on the bottom of her vest.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
He slowly nodded. “All right. I’ll be right back.”
Sara watched people interact as she waited, her eyes landing on, and going back to, Mason Wells. Even though Spencer had mentioned him being there, she was still surprised to see him. He stood with his profile to her, talking to a pretty blond leaning against the wall near the bathroom. In his hand he held a glass containing clear liquid, sipping from it as he talked.
As though feeling her gaze on him, he looked up, catching her eye, and saluted her with his glass before continuing his conversation with the woman he was with. The lady laughed and Mason leaned down to kiss her. Sara swallowed, feeling…something. It wasn’t jealousy. Maybe envy? He’d moved on enough to be normal, something there was no logical way for her to accomplish. Well—Sara cocked her head as she watched him brush hair out of the woman’s eye—she wasn’t sure how normal he was; given the fact he talked to his deceased brother on a regular basis, but at least he’d managed to move on.
She turned away, feeling intrusive, feeling like she had no room to talk. The things Sara thought she heard and saw clearly made her no one to judge someone’s lucidity. The pull of the woman’s tinkling laughter was too much to ignore and she found herself staring at them once more. Was she it? The reason Mason had had to get past the guilt and pain and drugs. Would Sara’s redemption not be something, but someone, as well?
“What’s got you frowning so intently?”
Sara glanced at Lincoln. “That’s Mason. Over there.” She nodded toward the pair.
“The cross-dressing grief counselor?” Lincoln handed her an uncapped Leinenkugel Berry Weiss. The bottle was cold and had a layer of perspiration on it, chilling her hands.
She turned away from Mason, not wanting to think about her reality. The temptation to lose her truth in a haze of falsehood, if only briefly, was strong. Maybe one night of reprieve wasn’t too much to hope for.
“Yep. I don’t want to talk about him. Or any of it.”
“Then we won’t.”
Sara raised the bottle to her lips. The cold beer with a hint of fruit washed over her taste buds, and she was surprised by how good it tasted.
Lincoln watched her, saying after a while, “You aren’t going to get drunk and pass out from one beer and make me carry you out of here, are you? ‘Cause, I don’t know, you look pretty heavy.”
“Or, I don’t know, you’re weak,” she retorted, gulping down the beer. “It tastes good.” Sara shrugged.
“Touché. What do you want to do?”
Sara watched the card games and people interacting around them as she finished her beer. They stood in the middle of it all and yet were somehow on the outside of it. A horrible sound came from the direction of the living room and Sara realized someone had turned on the karaoke machine and was doing their version of singing.
Her eyes collided with his.
Lincoln’s face lit up and he laughed, nodding. “Yeah. That’s what we need to do. You wanna?”
Sara swallowed, taking in the way his gray eyes crinkled at the corners, the flash of straight, even teeth, the deep timbre of his laughter slamming into her like a bolt of life. Lincoln was becoming alive to her when no one else had since that night. Why? Why him? She frowned, averting her eyes from where they continually seemed to want to go.