Chapter 17 #2
Out there, Lincoln’s family and friends were laughing. Lincoln was smiling. A whole world of belonging existed just beyond that bathroom door.
Morgan splashed cold water on her face. Watched it drip from her chin. Arranged her expression into something that might pass for okay.
She’d spent twenty-eight years hiding her strangeness. She could hide this too.
When she returned to the table, Joy had ordered another round and was arguing with Becky about whether sweet potato fries counted as a vegetable. Bear was crowing about his victory. Theo was demanding a rematch that everyone knew he wouldn’t win.
Lincoln looked up the moment she appeared. His eyes moved across her face—not cataloging, not analyzing, just seeing. Just checking.
“You okay?” He spoke quietly enough that only she could hear.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She slid in beside him. “Just needed a minute.”
He didn’t push. But his hand found hers under the table, fingers interlacing, and Morgan held on.
The evening kept unfolding, and Morgan let it carry her. The data lurked at the edges, but she found that if she focused on what was in front of her, it stayed manageable. Almost quiet.
More pool games. More drinks. More laughter that came from somewhere genuine. Eva told a story about Theo’s first attempt at cooking that involved a fire extinguisher and a deeply traumatized smoke detector.
“Oh, but last Christmas takes the cake,” Derek said. “Literally. Linc reorganized the entire dessert table by quality. He and Marie, our second cousin, created a brave end for anything that required courage to eat.”
“Which was appropriate, given my mom’s brownies,” Theo said, nodding solemnly.
“Aunt Ray’s brownies,” Bear confirmed. “May they rest in peace.”
“Marie agreed our system was an improvement,” Lincoln said flatly, but the side of his mouth ticked. “People understood what they were getting into as soon as they got to the table.”
Joy spewed her water. “Marie is three and a half years old.”
Lincoln glared. “A very smart three and a half.”
Morgan watched them. The easy rhythm of people who’d loved one another their whole lives. The way they orbited around Lincoln—making space for his bluntness, catching his flat humor, including him in ways that felt effortless because they’d been doing it for decades.
This was what family looked like. Real family.
She’d never had this. Foster homes had been temporary by design, the connections always conditional, the belonging always borrowed. She’d learned early that staying too long meant eventual rejection. That getting attached meant getting left.
But these people had built something that held. And they’d decided, somewhere before they’d even met her, that Morgan was part of it.
The jukebox shifted and the upbeat rock song faded, replaced by something slower. A melody that sounded like it belonged in a different decade, all soft guitar and someone’s grandmother’s idea of romance.
Around the bar, couples began drifting toward the small wooden dance floor.
Eva tugged Theo’s hand, and he went willingly despite loud protests about his coordination.
Bear swept Joy up with practiced ease, rubbing her still-trim belly gently.
Derek pulled Becky close, and she pretended to complain while leaning into him.
Morgan expected Lincoln to stay seated.
Dancing seemed like everything he avoided—unscripted physical contact, public performance, social rules he couldn’t compute. He’d stay in his chair and she’d understand, and it would be fine.
But he stood.
He didn’t say anything. Just pushed out his chair and turned to face her, his hand extended, his expression carrying something she couldn’t quite read.
She stared at that hand. The calluses on his palm from rappelling cliffs and other physical activities she would’ve never expected from him. The fingers that had touched her so carefully, learned her so thoroughly, held her through nightmares she couldn’t escape.
She took it.
He led her to the dance floor, and for a moment, they just stood there. Uncertain. His hands hovered near her waist like he wasn’t sure they were allowed. Her arms didn’t know where to go.
“I should warn you,” Lincoln said quietly, “I’m not good at this.”
“Neither am I.”
“Then we’re appropriately matched.”
His hands finally settled on her waist—tentative, then firmer when she stepped closer. Her arms found his shoulders, then slid around his neck. They weren’t really dancing. More like standing together while the music happened around them.
Then she laid her head against his chest.
And everything else fell away.
His arms tightened, pulling her closer. She could feel his heartbeat under her ear—quick at first, almost nervous, then slowly settling into something steady. His chin came to rest against her hair. They swayed without trying to, their bodies finding a rhythm that had nothing to do with the song.
The bar faded. The conversation and laughter became distant noise. The coordinates and codes that had ambushed her in the bathroom went quiet, forced out by the simple physical reality of being held.
And the fact that she was falling for him.
The thought arrived without fanfare. Not a revelation—more like finally admitting something she’d known for a while.
She was falling for this man whom she’d been sharing her thoughts with for years.
Who’d decoded her SOS and driven through the night.
Who’d held her through nightmares and never once made her feel strange.
Who was standing on a dance floor he’d normally avoid because she needed this, because she needed him.
She was falling for him. And she was falling apart. The data was crowding out her memories. Her mind was betraying her. She was losing pieces of herself to make room for information she’d never wanted.
Both things existed in the same moment. The falling toward and the falling away.
The song ended.
Neither of them moved.
A wolf whistle cut through the quiet—Bear, definitely Bear—followed by laughter from the table. Someone made a comment Morgan didn’t catch.
Lincoln ignored all of it.
His arms stayed around her. His heartbeat stayed steady against her ear. He held her like the rest of the room had simply ceased to exist.
Morgan closed her eyes.
The fear was still there, underneath. The coordinates and all the other information waiting to surface. The grief of memories going soft while Randall’s data stayed razor-sharp.
But right now, she was exactly where she wanted to be.
He spread his hand flat against her back. She pressed closer.
And for as long as the moment lasted, she let it be enough.