Chapter 5
Chapter five
Lincoln
I’ve handled worse than this.
Or so I thought.
I tell myself that over and over again, like it’s a fact, like it’s something I can prove with numbers and logic and memory.
I’ve been the calm one when I should have panicked.
I’ve stood in hospital hallways that smelled like antiseptic and fear, staring at the doors that held my entire future behind them.
Or so I thought.
I’ve waited before.
I’ve done this.
So this shouldn’t feel like it’s breaking me apart from the inside out.
And yet…
Every second that passes with Abigail still asleep feels like a test I don’t know how to pass.
Dinner sits heavy in my stomach, untouched by appetite, eaten only because Lawson practically made us, insisting that we needed the fuel.
We sat around the table like ghosts pretending to be men, the same fear threatening to swallow us whole.
Jasper barely spoke. Beau kept glancing toward the stairs.
And Lawson ate like he does everything else—steady and deliberate—but I know my big brother well enough to see the tension in his shoulders.
He keeps saying the same thing. “She needs rest. Her body went through hell. This is normal.”
I believe him.
I do.
Because it’s the same thing our dad once said when one of the ranch hands fell into that very same river.
But belief doesn’t stop my hands from shaking when I sit back down beside her bed and take her hand gently, like even that might be too much. Her fingers are warm now. Warm and pink but still somehow so, so fragile.
My thumb moves automatically, brushing slow circles along the back of her hand. “I’m here,” I murmur, my voice low and steady. Because that’s what I need to be for her. Steady. Always for her. “You did so good, Sweetheart. We’ve got you now.”
I’ve said variations of the same thing over and over again. And I’ll keep saying it until she wakes.
Or until I break.
The truth settles into me quietly, without warning.
I have never felt like this before.
Not even when Melissa hit a sheet of black ice one night, driving home from a night out with her friends.
Her car slid until the front end of it hit a telephone pole.
I didn’t know about it until an ambulance had already brought her to the hospital after a passerby spotted her car in the ditch.
When all was said and done, she was fine, just a minor concussion.
But for hours, I had no idea how bad it was.
All I did from the time it took Lawson to drive me from the ranch to the hospital was come up with every worst-case scenario in the book.
Everything was uncertain. All I could do was wait until I had my own eyes on her.
Wait until I spoke to the doctor. Just… wait.
I’ve waited before.
I’ve done this before.
At the time, I thought it shattered me. I thought that fear of the unknown—that ache in my chest—was the worst thing I’d ever feel.
God, what an idiot.
That fear was sharp. Immediate. Loud.
But this… this is different.
This is slow and suffocating. This is the kind of terror that sinks into your bones and rewrites you while you’re too busy holding your breath to even notice. This is the realization that if she doesn’t wake up, the world won’t just hurt…
It will be wrong.
And I don’t care what that says about the man I was when I was married.
I know what it says about the man I am now.
I thought I knew true fear then. But now, staring down at her, I know I wasn’t even close.
Leaning forward, I rest my forehead briefly against the mattress near her shoulder, my grip tightening just a fraction. “Come back,” I whisper as I look back at her, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “Please. Just—open your eyes, Sweetheart. I need to see you look at me.”
And then—
Her lashes flutter, and I freeze.
For one horrifying second, I think I imagined it. My breath stutters in my chest, heart slamming so hard it almost makes me dizzy.
But then her fingers curl weakly around mine.
“Abbie?” My voice breaks, and I don’t even try to hide it. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Her eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, glassy with exhaustion and confusion. She blinks, brows pinching together as she tries to make sense of where she is.
Then her gaze lands on me.
“Linc,” she whispers.
The sound of my name on her lips rips the air from my lungs.
I let out a ragged exhale that feels like it’s been trapped inside me for days. Leaning down without thinking, without permission, without an ounce of restraint, I kiss her.
Deep.
Careless.
Desperate.
Her lips are soft. Real. Warm.
She makes a quiet sound of surprise against my mouth, then relaxes into it. When I pull back, my forehead rests against hers, and my hand frames her face as if she might disappear if I let go. “You scared us,” I breathe, brushing my thumbs beneath her eyes. “You scared the hell out of me.”
She gives me the softest smile as a small tear rolls down her cheek, much like the one I feel falling down my own. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” I say immediately. “Don’t you ever apologize.”
Her eyes search my face, slow and tender. “You’re here.”
“Always,” I answer without hesitation. “All of us were. We took turns watching you.”
She swallows, her fingers tightening slightly in mine. “I knew you’d find me.”
My chest feels like it cracks open as she whispers those words.
“We found you.”
I press a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, unable to stop myself. Unable to pretend I’m still the man who keeps everything locked neatly behind his ribs.
Abigail exhales softly, her gaze drifting for a moment before snapping back to mine, confusion flickering there like a shadow passing over the sun. “Linc?”
“Yeah, Sweetheart?”
Her voice trembles when she speaks again. “Where’s Kat?”