“I heard you scream. No one’s imagination works that well. ”
He grabs a dish towel and dries off the pot before placing it back on the hook on the wall. Lincoln’s so efficient, especially for a guy who “bends rules. ” With a scrape against the tile floor, he pulls out the chair next to mine and angles it so he’s facing me. “Just so we’re clear, a stalker suggests multiple run-ins over a period of time. I think this is more of a prank. ”
The skin between my eyes squishes together. “A prank? Really?”
Lincoln relaxes into the chair, his long legs kicked out, an arm resting on the table. I feel like a dwarf next to him. He drums his fingers once against the table, causing me to focus on his hands. The skin is tough, rougher than the hands of most of the guys I’ve dated. It’s not an imperfection, but a reminder of how he dangles from rock walls.
I wonder if he’d ever let me watch him climb or if he’d teach me. My stomach tickles as if fuzzy bunnies are jumping around. Would he catch me with those strong hands if I fell?
“You’re the CSI dictionary,” he answers. “Didn’t an episode talk about how stalkers have patterns or some crap like that?”
“You started watching CSI?” I’m grinning from ear to ear, and his cheeks redden in response. The big, strong rock-climbing guy folds his hands across his chest and switches his gaze to the floor. It’s my favorite show ever, and I’ve written a few letters to him detailing certain episodes.
He sloppily shrugs one shoulder. “I caught a few shows here and there. ”
I don’t know why, but the fact that he showed interest in something I like creates giddiness. I swirl the hot chocolate in my mug and blow on it in order to hide the glee. “What makes you think it’s a prank?”
“You said it yourself. If someone wanted to hurt you, you’d be hurt. Your parents are gone, and I’d bet someone thinks it would be funny to scare you. ”
My forehead furrows with the idea that anyone would want to freak me out. “Why?” I ask again.
“Because people can be stupid. ”
True. Tired of thinking about it, I change the subject. “Hot chocolate?”
“I made it for Meg every night after she found out she was pregnant. It seemed to help calm her down when she’d get all worked up. ”
Translation? He believes I’m about to crack. My heart beats a little faster when I replay the image of the shadow walking toward me. Maybe he’s not wrong. “Has she held the baby yet?”
Lincoln subtly shakes his head. “I keep wondering how jacked up the kid will become because his mother can’t get her shit together. ”
The way his blue eyes darken into hurt causes a sharp pain in my chest. I reach out and claim one of the hands resting against his crossed arms. Lincoln weaves his with mine and we hold hands on the table, both of us staring at our combined fingers. God, his hands are warm—strong—and I swallow as I imagine him caressing my face.
“How’s Echo?” he asks.
“Good. She’s in Kansas or Iowa or someplace. ” Not here with me, and that sucks. She no longer needs me now that she has. . . “She’s with Noah. ”
“So she’s moved on,” he says almost as a whisper.
From me? Yes. But she hasn’t moved on the way Lincoln suggests. Sadness envelops me like a cloud. I’ve witnessed Echo grieve for her brother. Hell, I’m still grieving for Aires. He was like my older brother too. “She’s living. Not forgetting. ”
Lincoln removes his hand to rub his face. I leave my hand on the table for a second, hoping he’ll wrap his back around mine. When he lowers it into his lap instead, I curl my arm into my own body—hating the rejection, missing his warmth. But I’m not mad at him. I can see I’ve lost him to memory. Echo has done this mental retreat several times herself.
We lapse into silence, I guess both of us processing the past couple of hours. The silence feels comfortable, like an old quilt, and I revel in it. But then my eyes dart to him. What if he’s not comfortable? What if the written connection in our letters is all we possess? What if we don’t ignite a real life spark?
What does it matter since he lied to me? We need to talk about it, but not now. Not when I’ve barely slept in almost two days and my mind’s a disoriented mess. He could explain basic addition and I’d drool like an idiot.
Sleep—I crave it, but can I have it? My thoughts shift back to the idea of someone pranking me. “Who would want to scare me?”
“You tell me. ” He kneads his eyes, and for the first time I notice the dark circles beneath them. He’s tired and as I sip the warm drink, I realize my exhaustion is contagious.
“I have no idea. ” And the unknown terrifies me.
Lincoln
It’s crazy how you brought up feeling alone. I feel alone a lot. Oddly enough, I feel the most alone when I’m in a room full of people. Everyone I know is changing. Echo’s distant. Grace wants new friends. Even Natalie is spreading her wings.
To be fair, I’m changing too. At times I feel like my skin is too tight on me. All the time, I fight the urge to cut my hair and buy new clothes. I mean, who exactly am I going to change into? I’m still me, but not.