She didn’t think; she lunged. Sara grabbed his arm, tugging. “No, Lincoln. Don’t. Please don’t.”
He couldn’t go into her bedroom. He couldn’t put his touch on the room; mask the room’s scent with his. Lincoln would change it. Lincoln would take over it, like he did with everything. She could see it happening; Lincoln was sweeping all that was him away and replacing it with himself, whether it was his intention or not.
Lincoln swung his head around to pierce her with his gaze. Sara’s hands slowly fell away. His nostrils slightly flared with the force of his breaths. “You didn’t die. You’re not dying. You don’t get to die, Sara,” he ground out. “Start living.” Lincoln grabbed the door handle and swung the door open.
She didn’t know what she expected to happen when he opened the door. Her breath hiccupped at the view of the room. It was normal, nothing to mark it as a room filled with ghosts. It smelled faintly of the vanilla lotion Sara favored. The room was cast in shadows. The king-sized bed was to the left, under a set of windows. The dressers were against the wall and a full-length mirror was along another wall. The walls were painted a marshmallow white; the bedding was lavender with brown accents.
He walked inside and Sara’s heart cried a little. Lincoln stood in the middle of the room, his back to her. The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Sara hovered by the door, unable to walk into the room, not with Lincoln in it.
“You moved it in already.”
She frowned, not knowing what he meant. Sara followed the direction he looked and saw the hope chest at the foot of the bed. “Yes.”
“You walked into the room you never sleep in to put the chest I made you in front of the bed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” he demanded, his broad shoulders tense.
Sara stared at the back of his head, scrutinizing a wayward lock of hair that curled up on the nape of his neck. His shaggier, unkempt hairstyle fit him better than the shorter one had.
“It had to have been hard to move it. Why do all that?” Lincoln turned, his features swathed in nothingness. His face was perfectly neutral.
“Because…” She searched her brain for the right words.
“Because?”
“Because…” Sara looked at the bed she hadn’t slept in for over a year. “Because the room isn’t so lonely with it in here. It’s not so sad, with that…with what you made me in here. I know that sounds dumb, but…” She shrugged.
Lincoln approached her, the blank expression shattering and sadness and ferocity; a strange combination, bursting through the shield he tried so hard to keep erected. “It doesn’t sound dumb. It sounds…”
He swallowed, looking like he was struggling for words. “It sounds fucking beautiful.” Lincoln rubbed his eyes, sighing. “I can’t believe I just said that. I swear I’m turning wimpier the longer I hang out with you.”
“Adding the swear word made it sound more masculine.”
He dropped his hands from his eyes, a grin forming on his lips. “Ya think?”
“Definitely.”
“Good ‘cause that’s what I was aiming for.”
“Spot on,” she murmured.
He laughed and Sara realized no one had laughed in this room since him, the night of the accident. Lincoln said her name and her head jerked up, a question in her eyes. He held out his hand and motioned her forward.
“No.”
“Come on, Sara. I’ll help you. You know I will. Take my hand. Take it.”
Sara blinked her eyes, turning away.
“You’ll never heal if you don’t face what hurts you.”
She whirled around. “How can I heal when I know he’s about to die, Lincoln?” Sara hissed, storming toward him. “I can’t heal from that. It’s like he’s dying all over again, twice.”
His eyes darkened with grief and anger. “He left a long time ago, Sara. You know that.” A muscle jumped under Lincoln’s eye. “It pisses me off that he did what he did.”
Sara jerked back. “What?”
“It wasn’t fair what he did, giving you a countdown, dragging it out for a year. You’re stuck in limbo. You can’t go back, you can’t go forward. And…there he lies on that bed, a shell of himself, a piece of who he used to be, but not him. It’s not him.”
“He did it—” Teardrops fell from her eyes and her throat tightened, making it hard to talk. “He did it to give us time, to give him a chance to come back.”
“But he hasn’t. And he’s not.” Lincoln’s eyes watered and he took a ragged breath. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s gotten better. He would have shown improvement by now if he was going to. I understand why Cole had his will set up that way. I understand the hope he had that if anything like this would happen, he would somehow recover.
“It wasn’t fair of him to do that to you though. It was selfish of him, making you wait, making you watch him die. You can’t heal from the loss of him when he’s lingering, not really alive, and not really dead. And you have to heal. You can’t live like this. You’re…you’re…” Lincoln closed his eyes, rubbing his face.
“I’m in the room,” she whispered. It was unbearable to see Lincoln in such pain. He hid it so well. Take it away, Sara, somehow take it away.
He opened his eyes, showing Sara his sorrow even when he smiled faintly. “That you are, Sara,” Lincoln said quietly, not reaching out a hand this time.
Sara reached for his instead, linking them. The room wasn’t so overwhelming with Lincoln in it. The world wasn’t so tragic with him before her, holding her hands. Sara even thought maybe she could get through anything if Lincoln were with her. Their eyes connected, and in the strength of his gaze, she found hers.
“What has the last few days been like?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Yes, you do. Tell me. Did you have fun at all?”
“I guess.”
“Did you forget to be sad, did you laugh, did you smile?”
“Maybe.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “You can still miss him; you can still mourn him, without giving up your life. You just have to have a reason to keep going.”
Sara stared at him, her brows furrowing at the truth of his words; at the fact that Lincoln was the reason she had to not give up. She turned away, not wanting it to be true and unable to deny it. He was it for her. It was Lincoln. How had that happened? Maybe it couldn’t have been anyone else, or any other way. Maybe it had to be him.
“Sara?”
“Thank you, Lincoln,” she said quietly, facing him once more.
He looked down. “I’d do anything for you, Sara.” Lincoln’s head lifted. “You have to know that.”
She did. Sara closed her eyes, nodding. “I know.”
“I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. Even when you don’t want me to be. Even when you don’t think you need me to be, or you don’t think you deserve me to be. I’ll never leave you.”
Sara touched a wayward lock of his, surprised by how soft his hair was. He went still, his gaze locked with hers. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. But Sara smiled. It was enough.
“Come here,” Lincoln said in a gruff voice, moving toward the bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked warily, watching him as he sat down on the bed.
“I’m not trying to seduce you, if that’s what you think. As much as your blue rag turns me on, I will somehow manage to restrain myself.” Lincoln patted the bed, his eyebrows raised.
“I don’t—I can’t…” Sara shook her head, her chest tightening painfully. It was all wrong; Lincoln on their bed. It would be ever more wrong if she joined him on it.
“Just come here. Please.”
Sara closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and gingerly sat down on the bed as far away from Lincoln as she could get without falling off it.
“See? Not so bad, right?” He stretched his long-limbed body out and put his hands behind his head. “Your turn.”
It was too intimate. Sara couldn’t do it. She couldn’t even lie down on the bed by herself, let alone with a man other than her husband next to her.