Chapter 18 Lincoln #3
The cheer rippled through the group, but all I could focus on was her smile: bashful, yes, but real.
I choked on a puff of air that wouldn’t come.
I’d done the opposite. I’d made her small, chipped away at her successes.
Seeing her now, open and lit from the outside, only reminded me of every success I’d taken away from her.
And yes, being around her was fucking suffocating with everything I’d done. But I’d be damned if I didn’t do everything I could to ensure no other opportunity slipped away from her.
Diego grabbed a pitcher and poured everyone a new drink, his arm momentarily falling away from Nina. I took my chance, stood up, and moved to her side.
Her smile faltered for half a breath. The last time we spoke, I’d been grabbing everything I could and asked her to stay at my place. Alone. Too embarrassed and guilt ridden to face her with my memories.
“Hey,” I said, my throat tight.
Her laugh was soft, awkward, but not unkind. “Hey, Linc.”
I managed a crooked smile. “Anything you need at the house?”
Something crossed her features. Her eyes shifted down, and she finally shook her head.
I leaned in a little so she’d hear me over the loud music.
“Congrats on the opportunity. I know you can land this with no help, but—let me help you get ready. I’d love for you to know someone’s got your back for this pitch. ”
Her expression shifted, softening. “Thanks, Lincoln. Really. But I’ve got it handled.”
“Come on, Nina.” I just wanted to do something, anything. I held up my empty hands, palms out, as if there was something I could offer. “Graphics aren’t your strong suit—I can back you up.”
Her brows lifted, the smile slipping off her face. She crossed her arms, weight shifting to one hip, chin tilting in that way that told me she was done humoring me. Fuck.
“No, Lincoln. First of all, you can’t. Legally, you can’t—read your contract.
Second …” Her voice tightened, eyes narrowing as they locked on mine.
“I’ve seen how you’ve had my back before, and let me tell you, I can certainly do without it this time around.
Third, my graphics are just fine. So, thanks, but no thanks. ”
Her refusal landed heavily. I swallowed, walked toward the bar, and slid onto a stool. She didn’t need me to fight her battles—she could handle it herself.
Rage coiled in my chest, hot and fast. In my throat, a tightness ready to snap.
The old pattern stirred—the urge to belittle, to dictate, to force her to see things my way.
I’d done this before. She’d told me no once when all I wanted was to grieve with her, and she’d chosen to grieve alone.
I’d vowed to make her grieving fucking hell.
I wanted her to realize she couldn’t move past grief without me.
If I pushed more, maybe she’d have sought me out.
Maybe she’d have needed me. My hands clenched at my sides, every nerve screamed at me to do it again.
But then I looked up and, behind the neon sign that read DRINK UP, SUCKERS, in the mirror was asshole Lincoln, all smirk and dimples, raging at a seventeen-year-old for mourning her parents.
He’d felt connection and thought it meant ownership.
So when she’d said, “No” back then, it hollowed out every emotion but rage.
Seventeen-year-old me hadn’t cared for Nina, he wanted to control her.
My chest tightened as the heat faded into a colder, sharper awareness—shame.
To my right, Carmen smacked her shot glass on the counter. Her ashy-blonde locks bounced as she turned to face me, hands planted firmly on her hips. Her sharp gaze cut straight through me.
“If it isn’t the exclusive club of self-pity.” She blew a piece of hair out of her face. “You messed up? Big fucking deal. You’re just going to give up? What does that say about how much you want Nina?” Her hands flung without an ounce of subtlety toward Nina.
I tensed, fists clenching at my sides, jaw tight. She had no idea. I felt the surge of anger, that familiar urge to lash out, but I kept asshole Lincoln in check. Because her words left no room for excuses.
Carmen stepped closer, hoop earrings glinting, her hand landing behind my neck, pressing, so I’d lean down. “You think because she doesn’t want you doing her work for her, there’s no need for you?”
She drilled her eyes into me. “What do you think Curt’s going to do if she wins that pitch? Everyone realizing how and why he let her go.”
I clenched my fists at my sides. My mind screamed at the urge to lash out and control. But the truth cut through: that wouldn’t help her. It never had.
“What do you think Natasha’s going to do once she sees Nina’s scheduled to pitch for BrightMark?” Her voice didn’t waver, and neither could I. Old patterns—the rage, the bullying instinct— threatened to take over, but Carmen’s words forced me to see the bigger picture.
“You want to do what you’re comfortable doing? Lash out, and go all stalkery every time she sees my brother?” She let that sit for a second. “Or do you want her to trust you?” Her gaze didn’t soften, and I swallowed hard, the heat in my chest fading into something cold and precise.
I exhaled and looked up to where Nina stood, caught in the middle of Diego’s family orbit.
She moved to the music without thinking—hips swaying, hair falling loose, laughter rising from her chest so freely it almost startled me.
She glowed under the low light, spinning between hands that reached for her out of affection.
I didn’t have to know their names or hear their words to see how easily she fit among them. She could belong with them. We’d both lost that so young: she could still have it. Joy. Home. Connection.
I just sat there, watching her, feeling every inch of the distance between us and knowing that controlling Nina’s pain wouldn’t make her see me. It never had. It was time to let her have what I’d been unable to give her.
Truth was, I didn’t think I could get rid of this need to belittle, snap, control, but I could redirect it. Make everyone who’d hurt her pay, and show her it’d never be her I’d put down again.