She shivered in the cold car, ready to turn around and head back home when she saw something in the window. At first she thought it was merely the Christmas lights on the Charlie Brown tree twinkling, but no, it was a shape; large and masculine. And it was outside on the deck. That’s what had caught her attention; the lights had blinked out for a moment when the figure had shifted. She had the passing thought that it was odd the Christmas tree was still up when it was April, but it disappeared as soon as it formed. Apprehension followed her as she got out of the car, looming over her in a dark mass of unease. Why was he outside, in the dark? Had something happened to him? Pressure built in her chest at the thought, hurrying her steps.
“Lincoln?” she called as she walked up the deck stairs, her tennis shoes thudding on the wood as she went. She jerked to a stop, blinking at the murky form before her. Sara’s voice was slightly breathless as she asked, “What are you doing? Are you okay?”
Lincoln lifted his head, his features in shadow. “Define ‘okay’.”
“Are you injured? Do you need to go to the doctor?” Sara took a step closer to him, her heart beating a little too fast.
“Nope. Must be okay. What are your thoughts on alcohol?” he asked evenly.
“What?” she asked, dumbfounded by such a question.
He sat back in the chair, clanking something on the table next to him. Sara squinted her eyes at the clear bottle that looked disturbingly empty and then looked at him again. He wore a white tee shirt that glowed in the dark and jeans. He had to be cold, but he was strangely still.
“Are you drunk?”
“What does that mean, Sara? Drunk? What signifies one as drunk? Slurring of words? Imbalance? Large consumptions of alcohol? If so, I am one for three.” He smirked. Sara didn’t know how she knew Lincoln was smirking with it being so dark out, but she did. It was in his voice; slightly mocking and low. “You didn’t answer me.”
Sara frowned at him, crossing her arms. “What are my thoughts on alcohol? It’s okay. In moderation. I think you overachieved on the whole moderation thing.”
“I moderate. I moderate my hand going up to my mouth and my hand going back to my lap. Tell me that isn’t moderation.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
She gestured toward the bottle. “This. Drinking. You don’t drink.”
“Clearly…I do.” Lincoln grabbed the bottle and tipped it up to his lips, tilting his head back to finish it off.
Sara stared at him, knowing he was hurting and she was hurting because of it. “You don’t have to do this.”
Lincoln stood, carefully and slowly. “Yes. I do. I’m drinking my sorrows away. Isn’t that what people do?”
“Not you.”
“Not usually,” he corrected, leaning his hips against the wood railing of the deck and crossing his arms.
Sara’s arms dropped to her sides. A burning need began inside her—no, that wasn’t true—the burning need already inside her grew. Her arms ached to wrap around him, her heart pounded at the thought of him being close to her. Lincoln was too far away; physically and mentally. Sara wanted to bring him back to her, but she didn’t have the right.
“I never was a big drinker. I think I’ve found the error of my ways.”
“Going to turn into an alcoholic now, are you?” she asked quietly, her stomach knotting. Everything was wrong; his words, his behavior. None of it was Lincoln.
“Why not? What have I got to lose?” His eyes, previously hidden in the dark, sparked with silver fire as they trailed up and down her face. Not you, those eyes said.
Sara’s skin chilled more than it already was and she rubbed her arms. “Lincoln, this isn’t you.”
“Do you know the term ‘broken record’?” he softly mocked.
Her face flushed. “Yes. I do,” she said stiffly. “Are you implying something?”
“I don’t think implying is necessary. It’s pretty obvious. You’ve been saying the same things over and over since you got here. By the way, why are you here?”
“I wanted to check on you,” she said, sounding lame and feeling lame. I missed you. I need you.
“Well, here I am.” Lincoln lifted his arms out, his movement raising his shirt and exposing his hard stomach. “You did your civic duty. You’re not obligated to hover. I’m a big boy.”
“Lincoln, what you said—“
“Which time?” he interrupted.
Sara walked over to him, close enough to feel his heat, close enough to smell the undetectable vodka scent. It was sharp, like frozen air, or ice. Not really anything, but different from Lincoln’s normal citrus scent. It didn’t belong on him.
“About your feelings for me…” Sara trailed off, not knowing how to continue.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said softly, halting her from taking another step or speaking another word. “I was an idiot to say anything. I was an idiot to think it would matter. I was an idiot to think it would change anything, make any difference. I was an idiot to think maybe you had the same feelings for me I have for you. It was wrong of me. Cole is my brother. I never should have—anyway…forget it. Pretend I never said it, any of it.”
Sara tried to breathe, but it was stolen from her with the weight of his words. Pain pierced her heart, welled inside it, and broke it. “What?” she dumbly asked.
Lincoln turned his head away and she could see his jaw clench and unclench. “I don’t know why I thought anything I said would matter. You’re still in love with my brother. Maybe you always will be. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I’m going to leave you alone now, Sara.” He looked at her then and Sara’s stomach dipped from the force of his gaze no darkness could hide. “My first mistake was thinking I could pretend I didn’t feel the way I do about you, my second mistake was thinking things could go back to the way they were after I told you how I feel, but…they can’t. I see you and I’m just, I’m so angry and I hurt and…”
Lincoln ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in spots. Her fingers itched to smooth it down. “Or maybe my first mistake was letting myself fall in love with you. Not that I had any choice, not really.” Lincoln exhaled loudly. “Forget about me. Forget what I said. I don’t think you can move on with me bothering you, which is what you need to do. So I won’t. I’ll stay away.” His throat worked and he said in a voice that sounded like gravel, “You should go.”
She didn’t want to go. Sara wanted to enfold Lincoln in her arms and make his sorrow go away, but what he wanted, what he was asking for; she couldn’t give it to him. Not now. Maybe not ever. So she left, leaving a piece of her behind with Lincoln. The more time she spent with him, the more he took of her. Pretty soon there would be nothing left of Sara; it would all be with Lincoln. That thought scared her, hurried her feet as she made her way to the car. He scared her.
15
Sara put the car in park, and turned the key. The engine went silent. She stared at the log-sided building with apprehension. The house was a house that held memories and pain and love. It held Lincoln too. Her pulse tripped and her heart raced, making Sara dizzy from them overworking.
It had been two weeks and one day since she’d last seen Lincoln, and every day she’d picked up the phone to call him and instead had hung it back up. Sara was a mess. Her thoughts, her feelings…she didn’t even know if what she felt was real. That was what bothered her the most. What if he was the replacement brother? What if none of it was real and one day Sara would realize it? She’d end up hurting Lincoln and that thought killed her. It literally made her chest ache. Sara didn’t even know what she felt for Lincoln. It was all jumbled together and indiscernible. She only knew she thought of him every day and there was hollowness inside her the sight of him could fill.