Crazy Stupid Love (Dirty Dicks 3)

“Here.”

He handed me a gold key with a metal cowboy hat keychain attached, and I remember feeling like he’d just given me the world.

“Don’t lose it.”

I’ve never showed up unannounced before. Lincoln has always been home when I’ve popped in, or he’s known I was on my way. I’m not sure how he’s going to react when he finds me here, but Abby did say to mix things up a bit.

Shoving the key in the lock, I twist it and push the door open. Everything is the same as when I left earlier today. I shrug my coat off, hang it on the hook by the front door, and toss my book bag on the couch. Normally I’d grab a fuzzy blanket, curl up, and study, but tonight I’m here for a different reason, and my heart is racing way too fast to concentrate on differential diagnoses and med calculations.

My eyes dart across the small house. Dishes are piled up in the sink, the trash is overflowing, and there’s a laundry basket full of clothes sitting in the hallway just waiting to be washed.

Might as well go big or go home.

Nothing says I want more like washing someone’s underwear, right?

I grab the laundry basket off the floor and send up a silent prayer that I’m not overstepping any major boundaries.

Three hours later, with a bottle of water in my hand, I collapse on the couch. The dishes are done, the kitchen floor is spotless, and the laundry has been folded and put away. And I didn’t even peek in that box shoved in the back of his closet.

Okay, fine, I peeked, and I still can’t shake what I saw.

I knew Lincoln and I had kept parts of our lives from each other, but I didn’t realize how much until I opened that box. There were two file folders. One for Lincoln and one for his younger sister, Chloe, whom I’ve yet to meet. The files were from the Department of Family and Protective Services, and they were filled with pictures of the young siblings covered in cuts and bruises. And much to my heart’s dismay, there were several more pictures of Lincoln than of Chloe, leaving no doubt that he took the brunt of whatever beatings they endured.

My stomach drops as images of the kids flash through my head, and I take a drink of water. Who hurt them? Lincoln has mentioned his father only a handful of times. He’s never offered me any information about him other than he’s a recovering alcoholic.

There’s also been no mention of his mother in the five months we’ve been seeing each other, but I know from Rhett that she walked out on them years ago. The only people Lincoln talks about on a regular basis are my brother, Rhett, his trainer, Roy, and Chloe. And all I know about her is that she’s about my age and is going to school to be a teacher.

I’ve been so wrapped up in classes and my own life that I’ve never bothered to ask much more about his. I don’t know what he does when I’m not around, other than train and work at The Barn, a place he’s all but forbidden me from going to. “It’s not the safest place for a woman,” he always says. And I don’t know when he sees Chloe, but it’s not when I’m around.

There have been times over the last few months where I’ve thought I knew him well. I see now that it’s all superficial stuff. I know how he likes his eggs in the morning, what types of movies he prefers, and the sounds he makes when he’s about to come. But I don’t know the important stuff: his favorite childhood memory—or his worst, his favorite holiday, his hopes and dreams for the future.

I pick up my phone off the end table, hoping to see a missed call from Lincoln, but there’s nothing. It’s getting late, so I send him a text.

Hey there, cowboy.

Closing out of the messenger app, I pull up my email and scroll through them until his reply comes through.

You didn’t call me when you got home.

His words make me smile. I love how protective he is. I’m sorry. I forgot.

I worry about you.

It won’t happen again. And I’m home now.

Good. I would call you, but my phone is about to die.

Not necessary, big guy. Switching to the camera app, I hold it up in selfie mode and snap a picture of myself cuddled up on his couch with his favorite quilt. As soon as he sees it, he’ll know which home I’m talking about.

I load the picture, hit send, and nuzzle deeper into the sofa. Several seconds pass without a reply, and then minutes. With the phone clutched to my chest, I close my eyes and wait for him to respond. Lincoln hates it when I’m alone, so I’m sure he’ll come barreling through that door any second.

I must’ve fallen asleep because I startle awake to the sound of a loud thud. I fly up on couch to find Lincoln standing by the front door staring at me.

“What time is it?” I rub my eyes and stretch my arms over my head. I can’t believe I fell asleep.

Lincoln looks at his watch and blinks as if he’s waiting for it to come into focus. Then he looks up at me. “One o’clock in the morning. What are you doing here?”

“I texted you two hours ago and told you I was home. Sorta thought once you saw the picture you’d know I was talking about your home and not mine.” I smile, trying to go for light and easy and hoping he doesn’t freak out about me being here.