“Looks good, doesn’t it?”
I jump, pressing a hand to my heart. “You didn’t need to follow me.” I quickly wipe away the tears before I turn around.
“I have your suitcase.”
Lincoln stands behind me, both of his muscled arms folded in front of his chest, my suitcase on the ground beside him. My stomach twists, the pounding of my heart an indication of the effect he still has on me. It’s bullshit, I’m over this. I have to be over this. I can’t go through that pain again—I don’t know that I’ll survive another fall.
“Thanks for delivering it,” I say and walk down the sidewalk. “You can go now.”
“Actually,” he says, leaning down to lift my suitcase before I can grab it. “I’m staying here too.”
He might as well have just told me he was Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. I gape at him, eyes wide, mouth actually hanging open, as I process what he just said. “There’s no way.”
“There is a way. I’m renovating the apartment above the café, and Gram said I could stay here in the spare room while I do.”
“The spare room—there is no spare room.”
He grins, showing white teeth in a smile that was more carnal than amused. “I know. Welcome home, roomie. Maybe later we can give each other manicures. I’ve been working on my French braid.”
Walking past me, Lincoln pulls out a set of keys and slips one into the lock before pushing the bright door open and waiting for me to walk inside.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I can’t stop myself. “You just thought you could immerse yourself in my life? Do you not have one of your own? What happened to Patricia?” I ask, immediately regretting it.
All traces of amusement disappear from his face as he glares at me. I know it was a low blow. I’ve heard all about how his high school sweetheart left him in California to run off with some wannabe musician.
His divorce was the frontline of gossip for our small town when he returned. I also happen to know just how broken up he was about it, how depressed he was when he came back. My friend Charlie had told me all of it.
Lincoln loved Patricia. I never understood it, but I could see it every time I saw them. Which, unfortunately for me, had been all the damned time. It was impossible to escape anyone when it only takes five minutes to get from one side of Main to the other.
“Lin—”
Hurt flashes in his beautiful eyes then dissipates like smoke in the wind, no residue left behind. He lifts the corner of his mouth in a lopsided grin that turns my insides to mush. “Still jealous after all these years, sweetheart?”
“Jealous? Are you fucking kidding me?” I seethe and take a step closer, jamming a finger into his hard chest. “You’re accusing me of being jealous?”
He shrugs, fueling the fire inside of me. “If the shoe fits.” Turning on his heel, he throws up a hand in a quick wave before heading back to his truck.
“You have no right!” I yell back at him, ready to give him an ear full. But by the time I process what I want to say, he fires up the engine of his truck, and the sound blocks out my voice.
He pulls away from the curb and disappears down the street, leaving me pissed the hell off and feeling incredibly guilty.
Dammit.
Lincoln
Patricia. Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in quite some time. For the most part, everyone avoids that particular conversation as if it might make me regress back into the dickwad I’d been before California. Back before my heart was ripped from my chest and crushed in the perfectly manicured fingers of my high school sweetheart.
Apparently, perfect Macey fucking Romano didn’t get the memo that Patricia was not an on the table conversation in this town.
Voices buzz around me, other patrons in our town’s local watering hole—The Lone Wolf—having a much better time than I am. I can’t make myself zero in on a single one though as I angrily recount the look on Macey’s face when she realized where I was currently living. I lift my hand, signaling to Hoyt that I want another Coke.
He nods and sets one in front of me before turning away to help someone else.
Carbonation pops on my tongue as I take a sip and shake the fury from my skull. I wish I could say I was honestly surprised at what a shit afternoon it turned out to be, but I knew Macey was going to still be pissed. How could she not be?
I shut my eyes tightly as the memory tries to flash to the front of my mind. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, burned a lot of bridges, and hurt a lot of people. But I regret none of them the way I regret breaking Macey’s heart all those years ago.
“Linc, man, you’re here early.”
I nod but don’t turn around. Dilbert Mason, one of my father’s closest friends, slides onto the barstool beside me.
“What can I get you, Dill?” Hoyt asks, setting a coaster bearing The Lone Wolf’s logo—a white wolf head that’s tilted up, howling at the moon—on the top.
“My usual,” he says, and Hoyt nods, heading for the chiller at the other end of the bar. “How ya doing?”
“Fantastic,” I grunt.
“Thanks, Hoyt,” Dill says as his beer is placed in front of him. “You go see your dad yet?”
I nearly choke on my drink, and I turn to face him. Grease stains the navy-blue fabric of his coveralls, and a streak of motor oil mixes into his heavy brow. His lips quirk in a sarcastic grin.
“Fuck, Dill. I’m already having a shit afternoon.”
He shrugs innocently. “I was over with him and Candice last night. I know they’d love to see you.”
“Ahh yes, Candy Mills. I remember her. Pretty sure we sat together during graduation.”
Dill chuckles. “She makes your dad happy.”
“I’m sure she does. If I recall, she made nearly every member of the football team happy back in high school.”
Laughter booms from Dill for a moment before he grows silent and takes a nursing sip from his beer. “You’re going to have to see him at some point. I’m honestly surprised it’s taken this long.”
“I’m excellent at evading, and I’d rather spend another week in a prison cell then spend one moment in that asshole’s company.”
“It was a long time ago. He was grieving.”
“Macey Romano is back in town,” I spit out, more than ready for a topic change even if that one hurts even worse.
Fact is, I hate my dad for what he did to me after my mom died, and I’m pretty damn sure he hates me too.
“Oh? When did she get back?”
“I picked her up from the airport.”
“How was that?”
“Peachy.” The sarcasm in my voice does nothing but make him laugh.
“You two were close before.”
“Yeah. Before I humiliated her in front of damn near every kid in high school. She was my best friend—the only person who’d ever been there for me—and I pushed her aside for a set of double D’s.”
“That the only reason?”
I shake my head. “I was a mess, Dill. My dad was an asshole who’d convinced me I’d never amount to a damn thing. Hell, by senior year, I drank more than you do during an Icedogs game. I would have been bad for her, dragged her down into my hell and swallowed up every ounce of potential. I couldn’t do that to her.”