21. Lillian
Something wakes me up.Judging by the heavy set of my eyes and the pitch black of my window, it’s only an hour or two after Lincoln got here and we both fell asleep.
Light filters in from my bedroom door as Grace shuffles in, rubbing sleepy eyes and hugging her stuffy to her chest.
Shit.
I run my hand around under the covers where I threw my T-shirt last night. Miraculously, I find it quickly and toss it on as Grace walks around to my side of the bed. Lincoln is still naked, too, and still fast asleep.
“Hey, Grace. What’s wrong?” I ask as I kick Lincoln under the covers. He jolts awake and sees Grace standing next to me. The warm smile on his face lasts about two seconds before he realizes he doesn’t have any clothes on and then his head drops over the side as he searches for where he threw his own last night.
“I’m scared,” Grace whispers and crawls up on the bed next to me as Lincoln grabs up his boxers. The covers move as he pulls them on under the blankets.
I try to pull her onto the bed beside me, but she rolls over until she’s cuddled between me and Lincoln both. I meet his gaze over Grace’s head, and his mouth is kicked up in a grin as he settles down onto the pillows to lay with my daughter.
The sight makes my throat tight, but I follow Lincoln’s lead, throw my arm around Grace, and close my eyes again.
Birds chirping outside my window is the next thing that wakes me up. That and a delicious smell wafting in from the kitchen.
I let out a big stretch and turn to see I’m alone in bed. Frowning, I roll off, grab a pair of shorts from my dresser, and go hunting for my daughter.
I don’t have to look far. She’s lounging on the couch with her pajamas still on, crazy bedhead, and her leg kicked up in the air as she watches cartoons. She’s got a sippy cup in her hand that looks like chocolate milk, judging by the color.
“Hey, sweetie. Did Lincoln make you chocolate milk?” I ask her as I walk over and kiss her forehead. As I pull back, I frown at my toddler. She nods her head yes to my question but seems otherwise perfectly happy. But my lips still feel the heat from her forehead. “Are you hot, Gracie?” A shake of her head.
There does seem to be a bit of a fever going on, but I’ll take her temperature later and keep an eye on her.
Lincoln is standing over my stovetop with his sweatpants and T-shirt back on, and I watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he jerks the pan up in a quick motion to flip the pancake without a spatula.
On quiet feet, I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his stomach, leaning my head on his back. “Morning.”
He turns and pulls me under his arm to give me a quick kiss. “Morning, Frasier.”
“What’s for breakfast?” I wonder, considering I don’t have a ton of food here right now. The grocery store is on my to-do list.
“I whipped together some pancake batter and found these frozen sausages in the back of your freezer.”
“Um, did you check the expiration date on those?” I eye the box warily, not even sure when the last time was I saw those.
Lincoln shakes his head and turns the box over to look for a date. A laugh bursts out of me when his eyes pop open, sure he found it.
“That bad, huh?” I giggle and take the box from him to throw away.
“How do you have food that is a year past the expiration date in your fridge?” Lincoln’s voice is mortified.
“Don’t judge me!” I tell him with faux indignation. “I’m a busy woman.”
“Too busy to spend the day with me?” he asks, surprising me.
“It’s Friday. You don’t have to work?”
“I’m playing hooky. I was hoping to spend some time with two of my favorite girls after my apology breakfast.” He dumps the pancake out onto a plate off to the side, pouring more batter into the pan.
“What are you apologizing for?” My brows furrow.
“For showing up so late last night. Unannounced.”
“Ahh,” is all I say. It did really surprise me, scare me, even. Lights shining through my living room after I had fallen asleep on the couch. When they woke me up, my heart was pounding, expecting either some stranger showing up on my door or my sister. Which would have been worse because only bad news is brought so late and without warning.
But then I poked my head up over the back of the couch, low enough to where they wouldn’t see me looking out the living room window, and saw Lincoln’s Lincoln.
“It was a nice surprise,” I tell him so he doesn’t feel bad. “A heads up text wouldn’t have been out of line, though,” I laugh, winking at him.
The grin he gives me is sheepish. “Deal.”
“Good. So what are these plans for the day?” I walk to the counters and pull out plates for me and Lincoln and then one of Grace’s small plastic ones.
“Grace, come eat.” I look at her laying on the couch. The chocolate milk has been discarded, still half full, and she’s got her thumb in her mouth as she lays there in the same spot as before.
Warning bells are starting to ring off in my head. This isn’t like her.
“I was hoping you two would come stay the weekend with me again. There is this really cool arcade on the way home I thought we could stop at that Grace would love.”
I’m only half listening to him. Instead, I go to the medicine cabinet, grab the thermometer, and go to the living room to kneel in front of Grace.
“Here, sweetie. Open up for me really quick.” My voice is gentle, soothing.
She shakes her head at me.
“Yes, come on. Just super fast.” I tug her thumb out of her mouth, and she opens up.
I stick the thermometer under her tongue and tap underneath her chin to remind her to close.
Twenty or so seconds later, the thermometer beeps, and I pull it out.
One oh one point three.
Shit.
With the back of my hand, I brush her hair back, feeling her forehead again. It’s sticky with sweat, little baby hairs pressed to it.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Grace?” I ask again, and she just shrugs, not giving a verbal answer. “You didn’t drink all your milk. Will you come eat some pancakes?”
Another shake of her head.
Pushing up off the floor, I take the thermometer back into the kitchen and rummage around until I find a bottle of children’s berry-flavored Motrin.
“Is everything okay?” Lincoln places a hand on my back as he comes to see what I’m doing.
“I think she’s coming down with something. She’s running a fever,” I tell him as I pour out the recommended dosage for her.
“Oh no. Poor girl.” Lincoln frowns toward the living room, concern in his eyes.
“Sorry, I know you wanted to make a day of it, but I think that’s off the table now.”
“Of course, don’t worry about it,” he answers right away.
The pitter patter of tiny feet hitting the laminate has both our heads looking toward the sound. Grace walks right up to us, but instead of turning to me, she raises her arms to Lincoln, asking to be picked up.
The little twinge of hurt the spikes in me is overshadowed by the joy of seeing Grace take to Lincoln so easily. And him to her. He’s really accepted her into his life with no reservations, and it’s made falling back in love with him that much easier.
Not that I’ve told him yet…
There have been a few times where I’ve wanted to, but the words get stuck in my throat. Something stops me. Fear, maybe. Of rejection. Of the past repeating itself.
“Linc?” Grace murmurs with her head tucked into his shoulder.
He rests his cheek on the top of hers and murmurs back, “Yeah, munchkin?”
“Can I stay with you tonight?” He shoots me a questioning look.
“Oh, sweetie. I don’t think so.” I hate saying no to her, but if she’s starting to get sick, it’ll be easier to have her here with all her things and medicine. To have a routine.
“Please!” she begs me, and I can tell she’s about to get upset. There is no part of me ready to deal with a tantrum this morning.
“Yeah, please,” Lincoln copies my toddler, sticking his bottom lip out.
How am I supposed to have the strength to say no to both of them?
“If you finish your milk and eat some pancakes, we can go.”
If you feel well enough to eat and drink, I’ll worry a little bit less about the fever, I think to myself.
A pout forms on her tiny lips, but she wiggles, trying to get down. Lincoln deposits her on one of the kitchen chairs while I grab a pancake from the stack and tear it up for her to eat.
“No,” she whines and pushes the plate away when I set it down in front of her.
“You don’t want to go to Lincoln’s?” I volley.
“You cut it up!” she accuses, kicking her legs in a dramatic fashion. Lord help me…
“You always want them cut up.” I try reasoning with her.
She’s having none of reason. “Nuh uh!”
Just as I feel myself starting to get upset, too, Lincoln swoops in. The cut up pancakes are replaced by one whole pancake with a drizzle of syrup on it. “How’s that?” he placates.
The tears dry up instantly, and she grabs her plastic fork to dig in.
“What do you say?” I prod Grace, and she mumbles a dismissive thank you to Lincoln.
Sometimes having a kid is exhausting. Guilt floods me at the thought, but then I’m wrapped up in a bear hug, a woodsy scent distracting my negative musings.
“You’re such a good mom,” he murmurs, somehow knowing exactly what to say to make me feel better.
And maybe it’s because he showed up in the middle of the night just because he missed me. Or maybe because seeing him with Grace has me feeling all kinds of emotionally vulnerable. Or maybe I just want to see his reaction, but I whisper, still buried in his chest, “I love you.”
Other than his hold tightening on me a little, he doesn’t give me any reaction. None that I feel, at least, because I’m too much of a coward to pull back and look at his face. Not until, a few seconds later, his chest starts to shake.
After a minute, I realize it’s him laughing.
I yank back to stare up at him incredulously. The mirth in his hazel eyes and sexy tilt of his lips has me on edge. “What?” I grumble. “What’s so funny?”
His head tilts back as he laughs and looks back down at me. “It’s about time.”
The swirl of fear and anxiety melts away. “You jerk,” I mumble, pinch him lightly on the side, and try to escape.
Another insufferable laugh. “I’m sorry.” He pulls me back and tilts my chin up, swooping down for a kiss. “I love you, more.” The fucker winks at me.
“I wuv wu most!” Grace garbles up at us semi-incoherently with cheeks filled to the brim and her entire pancake gone. As if that was all we were waiting on, she jumps out of her seat and jumbles a string of words out through her full mouth that sounds like, I’m ready, let’s go!
“Chew your food, Grace,” I admonish, just imagining her choking. “We still need to get bags together.”
“Okay!” She disappears off to her bedroom. Two minutes later, as I’m putting together some just-in-case medicines into a plastic ziplock bag, she sprints back into the kitchen with her backpack on, two little hands holding her straps tight.
All I can do is sigh. “Looks like we’re all playing hooky today.”
Not even half an hour into the drive, Grace fell asleep in her carseat. Transferring that to Lincoln’s car was a bitch, but he really wanted us to drive with him, insisting that he would be more than happy to drive us back Sunday.
Who was I to argue with being a passenger princess all weekend? Plus, avoiding city traffic is a huge win.
The music in the car is turned down low, so I’m able to tune it out.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Lincoln asks.
I haven’t told him yet. He had those issues with his sister this week and a lot on his mind. I didn’t want to add anything to his plate. But he’s asking now, and I’m not going to lie to him.
“Yasmine called this week. The judge reviewed Grace’s case and changed our next hearing to a change of circumstance.” Even though Grace is sleeping, I keep my voice low in case she wakes up. I don’t want her overhearing us.
“What,” Lincoln says back, shock slackening his face.
“We knew it might happen. With her mo—Talia—keeping to visitation.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” His words are low, but he doesn’t seem mad. More distraught than anything.
“You were busy with your sister,” I start, and as he looks like he’s going to argue, I cut him off. “Plus the lawyer you hired says he thinks we still have a strong case. So I didn’t want to worry you for no reason.” Even though I’m worried enough for the both of us, I don’t say.
He blows out a breath and gives me a side-eye before turning back to the road. “I get it. In the future though, I want to know these things. Everything.”
My smile is small, but I nod and look back out the window.
“When is it?” he asks.
“A week and a half from now. Not next Wednesday, but the one after,” I tell him.
“Okay, I’ll be there.” I reach over and grab his hand in thanks.
Sensing that I don’t want to talk about it anymore, he uses the steering wheel controls to turn the volume up on the radio a notch or two, and I go back to staring out the window for the rest of the drive as he brushes his thumb over the back of my hand in silent comfort.