Chapter 16
Lincoln
Later that evening, I go downstairs to check on Harper.
She’s not on the couch anymore, and I feel a flash of worry at that.
She’s not supposed to be walking around, putting weight on her ankle, according to Everett, but she’s stubborn enough that she would do it instead of asking for help with something.
I hear her voice from the back porch, calling for Cora to stay near the lit up area of the yard, and I follow it to see her sitting at least, on the bench out there.
Her eyes are locked on Cora, and even from this distance, I can see the love shining in them.
There’s so much proof there that she’d do anything for that little girl, and it makes my chest ache to see it.
I have a close connection with Cash and Everett, but something like this, this love and bond, is what I’ve been afraid to want since losing Taylor.
This connection seems so strong, but I know it can be ripped away in an instant.
All it takes is one bad call, one moment of hesitation, one accident that spirals out of control, and it can all be gone like that.
Taylor and I had each other’s backs for years.
We were always there for each other. I knew if I looked up, needing something, he would be there.
The kind of connections you build with your fellow firefighters are strong.
They have to be so you can trust that someone’s going to have your back when you have to walk through flames and risk your life every day.
I still think about what happened to him, even now.
Sometimes when I close my eyes, I see the fire. I can feel the heat on my skin and the fear choking me. I tried so fucking hard to reach him. I knew he was trapped, knew there was no way he was going to be able to make it out of there on his own, but in the end, I failed him. I couldn’t save him.
Just like I told Harper, that guilt has never gone away. It eats at me, and it makes it so hard to trust that other people I care about won’t get taken away. Cash and Everett know, and I know I can trust them to watch their own backs, but still.
It’s hard to wonder how long it’ll be before everyone else I care about is gone.
But I don’t want to think about that right now. Instead, I move to settle beside Harper on the bench, maintaining a careful distance. Her scent is in the air, muted but still enticing, and the sight of her curves draw me in, making me want to move closer. I stay put, though.
“I know it’s not the outcome you wanted,” I say. “But I’m glad you’re staying.”
Harper snorts, not taking her eyes off Cora. “I don’t know why, since Cora and I are pretty much just a burden to you and your pack.”
My brow furrows at that. She’s joking, in her way, but there’s a nugget of truth there too. Like she really does think that.
“That’s not true,” I tell her, going for quiet sincerity. “You might not see it, but you brighten up the town, Harper.”
Her cheeks flush pink, and there’s a part of me that wants so badly to reach out, catch her chin with my fingers and tilt her head to make her look at me. It would be so easy to do, and then dip my head and—
I clear my throat, not letting those thoughts run away with me. It’s easier to look out at the yard as the shadows grow longer and the last bits of daylight start to slip away.
“I didn’t know what to think of this place when I first got here,” she says softly after a bit.
“Silver Falls, or our house?”
She snorts at that. “Either. Both. I didn’t expect everyone to be so nice. Small towns can either go one way or the other, from what I’ve seen.”
“That’s definitely true.”
“Your house was kind of a surprise too. I thought it would be somewhere nice, and it is, but it’s so warm and beautiful here.
Idyllic.” She gazes out at the lush grass as she talks.
In the distance, the horses make their noises as they get ready to bed down for the night, already fed and watered by Cash.
“I’m guessing you’re not from a place like this,” I say.
She laughs, shaking her head. “Not even close. I always wanted a garden of my own and a place where there was a yard and space to do stuff with it, but I never lived anywhere that would be possible.”
“City girl?” I ask, teasing a little.
“Pretty much. I fit all the stereotypes you’re probably imagining too.
Lived in a tiny, cramped apartment, worked in an office.
I walked where I could and took the train everywhere else.
The most greenery I got to see was stopping at a park on the way home from work in the evenings.
I always dreamed of a big garden, though. ”
“This must be a hell of a change from that.”
“No kidding. It’s so much quieter out here. No traffic sounds, no one yelling on the streets at night. Just crickets and frogs and animals. It’s been an interesting change.”
“Good interesting?”
Harper chuckles. “Not bad interesting, that’s for sure.”
“You know,” I say. “If you want to garden while you’re here, we can clear a plot for you. You can grow whatever you want. We have tons of space.”
Her face lights up when she smiles, beautiful and bright.
It lasts for a while, until a yawn takes over, splitting her face until she covers her mouth.
When I look closer at her, I can tell she’s exhausted.
It’s gotten dark around us, but there’s no mistaking the way she holds herself, like she might keel over from the long day she’s had at any minute.
“You should get some rest,” I tell her. “You must be in pain.”
“A little,” she admits. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
“I can put Cora to bed if you want. So you can just go get some rest.”
Harper hesitates, clearly debating that with herself in her head. I don’t take it personally. Any guardian of a kid should think long and hard about who they let watch them. So I just wait for her to come to a decision.
A few seconds later, she calls to Cora, and the little girl comes running over.
“I need to get some rest,” she says. “Is it okay if Lincoln puts you to bed? You can say no if you’re not comfortable with it.”
Cora’s little face screws up in thought for a split second and then she nods, smiling at the idea.
“That settles that, I guess,” Harper murmurs. She maneuvers herself up from the bench carefully. “Thanks, Lincoln.”
“Do you need help?”
She shakes her head. “Cash found some crutches for me. It’s just going to take me a while to get upstairs.”
I keep an eye on her as she goes, and then turn my attention back to Cora.
Half an hour later, Cora’s teeth are brushed, and she’s changed into her pajamas. I’m sitting on her bed, and she’s curled into my side while I read her a story from one of the books Everett dug out when they first came to stay with us.
It’s not lost on me that this little girl who has already lost so much trusts me like this. She clings to my shirt with one hand, her eyes heavy as she listens to me read softly. Her small weight against my ribs feels precious and fragile, and it makes something protective flare up in me.
There aren’t any threats here, but if there were, nothing would touch her.
Cora tugs on my shirt and then points to one of the pictures in the book. “That’s a kangaroo,” I tell her. “She holds her babies in her pouch like that, see? Do you know what kangaroos do?”
She holds one hand up, fingers pressed in the shape of an animal’s head and then bounces it up and down.
“That’s right,” I tell her, marveling at how much she knows and how quickly she starts to understand things.
I hear shuffling in the hallway, and look up to see Harper appear in the doorway.
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a move to take over, just watches as I keep reading to Cora.
I can feel her gaze on us like a physical thing, and before I know it, the story is over.
I don’t think I retained anything that happened in the last quarter of it, but Cora looks sleepy and relaxed, and that’s what matters.
“Okay,” I tell her softly. “Ready to sleep?”
The little girl nods, and before I can move to get off her bed, she wraps her arms around me in a spontaneous hug.
I freeze, not used to being touched, especially by a little kid. But Cora doesn’t seem to notice. She just presses her face against my side, and after a beat, I squeeze her back lightly.
“Sleep well,” I murmur, brushing hair back from her face when she pulls away.
Harper has an odd expression on her face, somewhere between a smile and something wistful, and she nods at me as she steps in to say goodnight to Cora as well. I take the opportunity to go to my room.
It’s not much later when I hear Harper in the hall again, and I step out to see her walking down toward her room, wearing an old, faded t-shirt that definitely doesn’t belong to her. It’s faded, oversized, and carries scent markers from Alphas I don’t recognize.
Something about that sets my hackles up, and Harper looks at me like she can tell something’s off.
“That’s not your shirt,” I say, cursing myself for just coming out with it like that and not coming up with something less accusatory to say.
She blushes a bit, looking down at the faded design—a logo for a band I don’t know.
“It’s not,” she agrees. “It’s from. Well, it’s from the pack that rejected me.” Her hand comes up, like she’s going to self-consciously cover the marks on her neck, but she forces it back down at the last second. “It’s just another thing from my past I’m having a hard time letting go of.”
“Why?” I ask.
Harper makes a face. “I know it’s pathetic, okay? But sometimes I wear it just to remind myself that I’m not always alone. Or that I wasn’t always alone.” She wraps her arms around herself, like she needs something to hold on to. “It’s not a big deal.”
In a twisted way, it does make sense. At one point, these Alphas must have cared about her, at least a little. Enough to start the process of bonding with her. But then they threw her away, leaving her rejected and alone, and I feel like that should trump any care they ever showed her before.
“They don’t deserve it,” I tell Harper. “For you to wear anything of theirs. They don’t deserve to be on your mind. They rejected you.”
“I know that,” she says, her voice low. “You think I don’t know that?”
“No, I’m saying—” I break off with a frustrated noise. “Hold on.” An impulse strikes me all of a sudden, and I give in to it. I go to my room and rifle through my drawers until I come up with a shirt I’ve had for a while. It’s soft, faded and saturated with my scent after years of wearing it.
Harper is still standing in the hall when I come back, looking confused. When I hand the shirt over to her, she blinks down at it and then up at me, like she’s trying to make sense of the gesture.
“You can wear this instead,” I say. “So you don’t have to feel alone, and you don’t have to wear something from people who treated you like you were disposable.”
“Lincoln…” she says softly, fingering the soft material of the shirt. “You don’t have to do this.”
“It’s just a shirt. I’ve got a bunch from my time being a fire fighter. Put it on, if you want.”
She looks like she’s considering it, and then she smiles a little. “Turn around then,” she says.
I do, giving her the semblance of privacy, even though I’m very aware of the fact that she’s topless behind me.
“Okay,” she says after a bit. “I’m decent.”
I turn back around, and somehow, I’m not prepared for the sight of her in my shirt. It’s baggy on her, falling down over her thighs, but not hiding the softness of her curves. Her hair is a bit messy from changing, and she looks soft and touchable in a way that makes my palms itch.
And she’s wearing my shirt. Her scent is mingling with mine, and something possessive and fierce wants to rise up in me. I shove it back down before it can get out of hand, taking a deep breath.
“You can keep that,” I tell her, and my voice sounds rough even to my own ears. “So you can remember that you’re not alone.”