Maybe he can read my thoughts on my face, because Lincoln shakes his head again.
“It’s not what I want to have happen, Low. But I’m not letting you throw yourself on Savannah’s altar to protect my father. He’s a grown man. He made his own shitty decisions, and he’ll live with the shitty consequences if he has to.” He lifts one hand to run his fingers down the side of my face, tracing the line of my jaw. “I’m on your side. I choose you.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away so I can see him clearly, trying to read his face. “But… he’s your dad.”
“Yeah.” Linc nods. “And I love him—although sometimes I hate him too. But I don’t have to protect him from this. When he slept with those fucking housekeepers, he wasn’t protecting me or my mom. When he knocked one of them up, he wasn’t taking care of us. He was doing what he wanted, for himself.”
His gaze softens, his eyes warming as some of the pain bleeds out of them. “He got himself into this mess because he didn’t choose Audrey. When he had a choice between her and someone else, he didn’t choose her. But I don’t want to be like him, Low. I choose you. And I’ll keep choosing you.”
Holy fuck.
His face blurs in my vision as the tears I was blinking back spill out anyway. He wipes away the drops as they fall, brushing his thumbs over my cheeks.
“I’ve had shitty examples of relationships,” Linc continues. His voice is soft. Open. Raw. “I guess you have too, with your dad splitting before you were even born. But I don’t want that. I want ours to be stronger than that.”
“Me too.”
My heart surges in my chest as my fingers glide up the back of his neck, sliding through the soft strands of his hair. He’s so fucking beautiful, hard edges covering a softness that not everyone gets to see.
“Do you think it can be?” I murmur. “Even if it’s shared? Even if it’s between all five of us?”
“Hey.” A flicker of anger lights in his eyes, but I know it’s not directed at me. It’s directed outward at the world, a protective sort of anger. “No one gets to tell us what ‘we’ should look like. No one gets to decide that but us.”
I grin, biting my lip. “Yeah. You’re right. I like that.”
A smile blooms on his face. It’s different than any smile I’ve ever seen him wear before, and I swear I feel it in my heart like it’s physically connected to me.
“Good.” He traces the line of my cheekbone with his knuckle. “I want you, Harlow. I choose you. And watching my best friends fall for you? It makes me fall harder right along with them.”
Then he drops his head and kisses me, and the whole world disappears.
13
The week moves by at the speed of a slug inching its way across a rock.
I was tempted to find Savannah immediately after my conversation with Lincoln and tell her she could go fuck herself. But even though he was adamant about me not going along with her petty games just to protect his dad, it seems stupid to start an all-out war with her. We’ve got more than enough shit to deal with right now as it is; I don’t need to add to our problems.
So instead, I just do what I can to ignore the redheaded bitch and stay out of her way.
Scott Parsons calls me on Wednesday with an update on mom’s trial preparations. He sounds upbeat, but nothing he says gives me any confidence that it’s actually going well. So either he’s just being overly optimistic, or he’s so clueless that he truly believes he’s kicking ass at this.
On Thursday, the twins and I drop River back off at his place after school as usual. It snowed again, and the fresh blanket of white makes the world look pristine and untouched.
“I think this is the one thing I like about winter,” I say absently, gazing out the window at Dax pulls up the drive to their house.
“What’s that?” He glances over at me.
“Fresh snow. It’s like a new start, a blank canvas. It’s pretty.” Then I snort under my breath. “As long as I don’t have to drive in it.”
Chase laughs as we roll into the garage and Dax cuts the engine. “Yeah, you and snow and cars don’t mix.”
We all pile out and head into the house. I’m thinking about what homework I need to get done to keep from falling even further behind, but we’re interrupted on the way to the stairs by the twins’ mom, Evelyn.
“Boys,” she calls, stepping out of the large living room. “We’re having a dinner party tonight, so I’ll need you downstairs at six o’clock sharp. Dinner will be served at seven.” Her gaze flicks to me. “You’re welcome to join us too, Harlow.”
“Um, okay.”
That wasn’t at all what I wanted to spend my evening doing, but it seems very unwise to reject the offer of a woman whose house I’m currently crashing at. The twins’ parents have been amazingly blasé about me staying here, but I don’t want to get on their bad sides.