23. Devon
23
DEVON
I didn’t remember the drive back to Lincoln’s, only the way his breathing shook with every inhale and exhale. How his hands trembled, even when he tried to hide it from me. The way his posture was rigid as he fought demons I couldn’t begin to comprehend.
Thankfully, Lincoln’s truck wasn’t hit during the accident, and I was able to get us back to his apartment safely. I’d never seen anything like I did on that highway, and I’d seen a lot of injuries on the ice. Sounds I hoped I’d never see or hear again. But that car accident was awful.
Lincoln stepped in, did what he had to so the person could breathe. Whatever he asked me to do, I was there. I wasn’t squeamish normally, but it was hard not to turn away. Lincoln needed my help and I’d been there for him.
I was glad he let me drive us back. He was in no shape to do so, even if he wanted me to believe he was. What he didn’t realize was I saw more than he let on. I’d been with him long enough. A regular friend might have missed the things I picked up on.
When I parked the truck and shut it off, I was about to get out and open his door for him, but he beat me to it. I had to race to keep up with him, getting into the elevator before the doors could shut.
Lincoln didn’t meet my eyes. “You should probably go home, Devon. I won’t be much company for the rest of the day.”
I wanted to bring him into my arms, to hold him. “I have nowhere to be. I want to be here for you.”
He let out a shaky breath but didn’t respond. His eyes stayed trained on the closed elevator doors. Ones he was out of fast when they opened. It was like he was still running from the accident scene, only this time the image wasn’t right in front of him. I had no doubt it was replaying in his mind, triggering him back to that day when he got hurt and lost people he cared about.
Lincoln left the door to his apartment open after he was through it. At least he didn’t shut me out of his place. I closed and locked it behind me. Lincoln was in his bedroom and then in the bathroom. I heard the shower turn on. I understood his need to get the blood off him. PTSD or not, it was a good idea to get clean after that.
I went into the kitchen, trying to find something to occupy myself with. I didn’t know what to do for him. He’d told me about his PTSD, said he got panic attacks, but he never told me how to help him through them. What things he did to center himself and find his way back from the hell he was in.
Eventually, I ended up taking a seat on the couch and waited until the shower turned off. But it didn’t. It kept going. My worry overruled his need for privacy.
I knocked on the door. “Linc, are you okay?”
No sounds other than the water running.
“I’m coming in.”
I tried the door, thankful it was unlocked and I didn’t need to fight it. I stepped into the room. The vent fan was off, steam filled the space. I flipped it on to help draw some of the humidity out.
“Linc, unless you tell me to, I’m going to open the curtain and help you.”
That must have been enough to cut through his thoughts. “Go, Dev. I can do this myself.” His voice wasn’t harsh or angry. But flat, not much emotion to it whatsoever.
“Okay, I’ll be just outside the door if you need anything.”
I left the room and closed the door behind me. I leaned heavily on the wall as if all the energy I had drained out of me. I could only imagine how tired Lincoln must be.
It was a few minutes before the water shut off and a minute or two after before the door opened. Lincoln was in a pair of light gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. I didn’t miss the way his eyes stayed trained on the floor as he walked by.
He went to his bed and sat on the edge of it. I’d never felt so useless in my life. I didn’t know what to do for him. How to make this better.
So, I sat on the bed beside him, careful not to touch him. I wasn’t sure if he’d welcome that or not. The silence in the room threatened to choke me. When the forced air heat kicked on, I almost jumped at the noise, even though it was whisper quiet.
“You should go home, Devon.” More of that flat tone. “Get some rest. I know you have a game tomorrow.” I reached for his hand on his lap, but he pulled it closer to himself. It still shook, though not as badly as before. “I’ll be fine. Go.”
“I’m not leaving you, but I’ll give you some space. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”
I didn’t know what else to do. Walking out of the apartment would have felt like ripping my heart from my chest. Even leaving the room had me slightly stumbling to the door, as if my body was being pulled back to him by a force I couldn’t see. I shut it behind me.
I dropped back down onto the couch and raked my fingers through my hair. I was so far out of my element. I wasn’t sure what I should or shouldn’t be doing. I needed someone to help guide me through this.
I didn’t know Lincoln’s brother and sister or his parents. I couldn’t remember his therapist’s name. But I did know a doctor.
Pulling out my phone, I hit the contact button for my mom. I hoped Lincoln wouldn’t get mad at me for calling her.
It rang twice before she answered. “Did you change your mind about spending some time with me today?”
“Mom…” my voice cracked. I was able to hold it steady when I was with Lincoln. Now everything was crashing back into me.
Her tone went from happy to serious. “Devon, what’s going on?”
“Lincoln and I went out and were almost in an accident. We’re fine,” I rushed to say or else she would be in her car on her way over to check us both for injuries. “Lincoln… he saved someone. I’d never seen anything like it. How he just went into this mode and did what needed to be done.”
“He was a Navy medic before he became a nurse at the urgent care. That kind of training doesn’t go away. It’s ingrained in him.”
“But then…” I went on to tell her about the tire popping. How Lincoln reacted and how he’d been since we got back. “I don’t know what to do,” I whispered. Not because I was afraid Lincoln would hear me. It was all I could get out without the tears pooling in my eyes overflowing.
“Everyone deals with anxiety, panic attacks, and PTSD differently. I’ve had patients who’ve tried medication, only to find other ways of coping like self-hypnosis or group therapy. They don’t like how the medication makes them feel so they seek alternatives. Others rely on the medication to help them through each day. Did you look in his medicine cabinet to see if he has anything? He might not be thinking of taking it at the moment.”
“No, hold on.”
I placed the phone on the couch and went back to the bedroom door. The only bathroom in the apartment was through the door in front of me. I knocked lightly before opening it. Lincoln was curled up on the bed, eyes open, staring at the wall. I wanted nothing more than to go to him, to hold him. He didn’t want that though.
“I’m just going to use the bathroom quick,” I said. I went inside and shut the door behind me.
I felt like I was violating his trust. I shook my head and told myself if I didn’t find anything in here, I wouldn’t look further. Wouldn’t I have done the same thing if he had a headache? Came in here to look for something to help?
I quickly searched the cabinet and the drawers but didn’t see anything, then flushed the toilet and washed my hands to keep up with what I said to him.
Quietly, I left the bedroom again, closing the door behind me.
I grabbed the phone off the couch. “Nothing,” I told my mom.
“He might have them elsewhere. I’m not sure. He’s been dealing with his PTSD for a while now, Dev. Maybe do as he asks and give him time to get through it.”
I sat on the couch and dropped my head. “I want to help him.”
“I know you do but not everyone wants that help or is able to open up enough to reach for it. You said he seemed less shaky after the shower?”
“Yes, his hands still trembled a little, but his voice was steadier, even if it was hollow.”
“Okay, it sounds like he’s started coming down from it. I don’t think you need to call anyone or do anything else right now. I know Lincoln. He’s a proud man. He’s been through a lot and handling this himself is probably how he deals with it, since he doesn’t have family in the city.”
“He has a therapist.”
“That’s good.” I wondered if Mom already knew that. I wasn’t sure how much Lincoln had told her about himself.
“I want him to be able to lean on me. To feel comfortable to do so.”
“I know you do, but you can’t force someone to do that. You just have to let him know you’re there if he needs you. Whether that’s in his apartment or at your house.”
“I don’t want to leave.” Saying the words had emotion clogging my throat.
“You’re a good man. You have a big heart. And I think you and Lincoln are a great match, but try not to push him too hard. Let him come to you when he’s ready.”
“Okay.” I’d try, but it went against everything I was feeling. I wanted to be in there with him. Feel him against me so I knew by the beat of his heart if he was getting out of the grip of his panic.
“I love you, Dev. Call me back if you need me.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
We hung up and I stayed on the couch, not sure what to do for Lincoln. I started researching PTSD on my phone which I should have done sooner. The sound of the bedroom door opening had me standing.
Lincoln was there with his hair still slightly damp, and his clothes wrinkled. His eyes briefly met mine before moving away. The muscle in his jaw ticked. “I thought you’d left.” At least he wasn’t yelling at me.
“No, I wanted to stay here for you.”
“You really should go home.”
I took hesitant steps toward him. “I don’t want to do that. Can I… can I hold you?” Fuck, I wanted to bring him into my arms and show him how much I cared about him.
He shook his head. “Go.”
Those tears were back in my eyes. I noticed Lincoln was still struggling, even though he tried to put a wall up. As far as I was concerned, that wall was made of glass. I was an outsider looking in, but I could clearly see the struggle on the other side.
When I didn’t make a move toward the door, Lincoln turned and this time his eyes held mine. He tried so hard to fight the war raging inside himself. “This isn’t working.”
“I know but I don’t know what else to do.”
“Not that. This.” He motioned between the two of us. “I need some time alone. Time without you in it.”
“What? You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not with Lincoln.
“But you love me, and I love you.” Desperation bled from my voice.
“Love isn’t always enough. I need you to go.” He turned away, putting his back to me.
My voice shook with the fear of us ending. “Lincoln, please.”
He didn’t respond verbally this time. He simply went back into his bedroom and closed the door, effectively shutting himself away from me in more ways than one.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there. At some point I realized I did need to leave.
I gave one last look around the apartment where only this morning we’d been so happy. Where we fooled around, had breakfast, and even shared a nice moment in the park before everything went downhill.
This was all my fault. I should have never suggested us spending the day out. We should have stayed in bed and locked ourselves away from the world then none of this would have happened.
Fuck!
At some point my feet carried me out of the apartment, down the flights of stairs because I had no desire to see anyone in the elevator, and out to my truck. I wanted to rewind time and get a do-over. I wanted the man I loved back in my arms.
I drove home on autopilot. Thoughts ran rampant in my mind. I showered, changed, and crawled into bed where I let my emotions take over and mourned the loss of the man who held my heart.