“It’s just a house, Sara.”
Just a house filled with him in every way imaginable. That was all. What did Lincoln think and feel every time he walked inside the door?
“Is it just a house to you?” she asked softly.
Their eyes met and in his, Sara saw pain, and she felt horrible. It was always about her. Lincoln was always trying to make her feel better, always trying to drag her away from the edge of desolation. What about him? He’d lost his best friend, the older brother he’d looked up to growing up, because of Sara. She owed it to him to let him know his brother’s wishes. Sara owed him so much.
“What is it?”
Sara opened her mouth to confess the secret locked inside her. Her pulse was careening madly, her heart pounded so fast and hard she felt faint. “Your…I…” She stared at him in helplessness and misery.
His features tightened and then his face closed. It went completely blank. “Tell me.”
“He—“
“Say his name, Sara,” Lincoln interrupted sharply. “He’s a person, your husband, say his fucking name.”
She flinched at his harsh tone and words, stumbling back a step. If he’d slapped her she wouldn’t have felt the sting more.
He cursed again, yanking his gloves from his hands and flinging them to the ground. “I’m sorry, but…this is over, Sara. You can’t pretend anymore. I’m not letting you. So say his name, and stop acting like your world has fallen apart and mine hasn’t and…fuck.” Lincoln turned away, showing Sara his granite profile. “Just say his name, all right?” His throat convulsed as he swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. Sara reached for his arm and Lincoln shrugged her off. “I’m doing what Spencer did, only in a different way. I didn’t…I didn’t realize. And I know better. I’m so sorry, Lincoln.” A wave of sorrow hit her, but this time it wasn’t for her or her husband. This time, it was for Lincoln.
He whirled around, his jaw clenched. “I don’t want you to be sorry, Sara. I want you to live. I want you to stop blaming yourself and acting like a martyr waiting for her execution. I want you to smile and laugh and not give up. Because I’m not giving up and Cole wouldn’t want you to give up. Do you know how pissed he would be, right now, if he knew the way you’re living? He would be furious.” Lincoln glared down at her, his hands fisted at his sides.
She was suffocating. Sara gasped for air that didn’t come. She had to tell him. She had to tell Lincoln and face his wrath. “You don’t understand, Lincoln. I don’t know how. I can’t.” The pressure built, in her chest, in her throat.
Lincoln strode toward her, his gaze locked on Sara’s. He stopped when only an inch separated them. “Find a way.”
“He wrote a living will,” she blurted out. Her words ran together until they were jumbled and hard to understand. But once Sara started, she couldn’t stop. “He wrote a will stating that if he was ever put on life support, that once a year had come with no change in his health, he…the machine is supposed to be shut off.” Saying it out loud made it true and she sucked in a ragged breath, pain lacerating her heart.
Lincoln’s face; his face was stone as he stared at her, saying nothing.
Sara swallowed thickly, the words like cement in her throat. It was too late to stop. She had to finish; she had to get them all out. “I’m supposed to approve it. He stated in the will I’m to approve it. I have….they want me to sign the papers. It’s been over a year, Lincoln.”
Everything in her dimmed; shut done, as she studied his expression. It was dead. His eyes were dead. Those stormy gray eyes usually so full of life were flat. He didn’t move; he didn’t appear to breathe. He just stared at her, as though he hadn’t heard her words or couldn’t accept them. The world turned gray, listless, it disappeared as she watched him stand there, too hurt to even move; and she wanted to erase his sorrow. Sara would take it from him if she could.
She was back in time; back to that horrible day the doctors told them the prognosis wasn’t good; the day they were told the head trauma he suffered from was most likely irrevocable and unfixable. His brain was damaged too much. Sara was back to that day when Lincoln was broken right along with her. He’d had the same look on his face then as he did now. Only then there’d been reason to have a little hope; now there was none. A small part of her hoped anyway.
When Lincoln spoke, she knew it was the same for him.
“Maybe…” He swallowed. “Maybe he’ll be okay.” Lincoln’s voice was rough, his eyes downcast.
“Maybe,” she agreed, nodding her head as she reached for him. It felt like a lie and that caused an ache in her chest. Sara cupped Lincoln’s face with her hands. He looked at her, his brows lowered, his jaw tight. His unshaven jaw shifted against her palms, gently abrading the sensitive flesh.
Sara smiled. She smiled for Lincoln and she hugged him, knowing in that place inside a person where the truth was always heard, no matter how hard it didn’t want to be, that she was lying to Lincoln; they were lying to each other, but a lie was all she could handle at the moment. Lincoln too.
Lincoln’s arms slowly enclosed her, stiff and loose at first, but eventually squeezing her so close and hard it was an effort for Sara to suck air through her lungs, but she didn’t mind. At least she was breathing, for a little while. Lincoln’s warmth cocooned her along with his arms, his scent of mint and lemon filling her with peace, the sound of his stable, strong heartbeat soothing. Sara let her eyes close, and though her heart was torn and possibly irreparable, like Lincoln’s, with the two ruined pieces there was one whole heart.
9
“He taught me how to ride a bike. How to tie my shoes. How to bait a hook.” Lincoln laughed gruffly. “He taught me a lot of things.”
Sara sipped from the red and blue striped coffee mug, the mint and chocolate mix coating her tongue with pleasure. The mug heated her cold fingers. They sat on opposite sides of the couch, though their bodies were turned toward one another. The room was dim with only one lamp on to offer light. A fire crackled in the fireplace across the room, the yellows and oranges hypnotic as they flickered and danced.
“Like what?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard this all before.” Lincoln set his mug down on an end table and rubbed his face. He looked tired and worn down, his features tight with repressed pain. Lincoln’s shoulders were slouched with the grief he tried to keep inside. It would crack one day; that barrier he kept up, and Sara wanted to be there for him when it did, like he’d been there for her countless times. If he’d let her.
“Tell me again,” she offered softly, knowing Lincoln needed to talk about his brother. He needed to relive their shared history, make him real again so he didn’t completely fade. Seeing him in that bed, it was a punch to the senses. That wasn’t him. It shouldn’t be him. Yet it was.
He glanced at her, sighing loudly. “Cole was quiet growing up. He didn’t have to say a lot to get his point across. Me, I was always the more belligerent, loud-mouthed one. It wasn’t that Cole was shy; he just said what he had to say and then shut up. He didn’t have the time to waste on words. He said so himself.” Lincoln grinned, sadness tingeing it.
“He had better things to do than talk,” Sara agreed.
“Yeah.” He stared at the fire, showing her his profile. “I got in a fight with a kid at school. I was, oh, maybe fifteen. He was making fun of another kid and I intervened. Then he started making fun of me. Of course I got pissed and gave it back to him, even punching him when he wouldn’t back down. I got three days out of school for that.
“Cole reamed me for it. Told me only a dumbass lets another dumbass get to him like that. Only it hadn’t seemed right not to stick up for the kid. When I told him that, he said that wasn’t what he’d meant. I asked him what he had meant then and he told me to figure it out for myself.” Lincoln shook his head and offered her a quick, sad smile.