Chapter 5 - Lincoln
LINCOLN
How am I going to make it home?
I sat in the driver’s seat with my trembling hands gripping the wheel.
Bronson was my mate. I’d scented him before I sat down because the breeze was blowing in my direction.
Go back and claim him.
Can’t. Right now he thinks I’m lying to him.
If Bronson was a shifter, we’d have been mated, marked, and cuddled together in bed by now. Instead, he was wary of me, and my heart and my beast longed to take him captive until he agreed to be mine.
My head was so full of Bronson sipping coffee, Bronson with a cappuccino mustache, Bronson’s gravelly voice, Bronson this and that, that I arrived home with no memory of how I got here.
Pulling into the driveway too fast, I narrowly avoided knocking over the mailbox. I rested my head on the wheel, wishing I could click my fingers and make everything all right.
Though Bronson hadn’t called the cops or tossed pepper spray at me, he left our date that wasn’t a date thinking I was lying. To be fair, he’d had that same opinion before we met, and I’d confirmed it by refusing to tell him the truth.
I thought back to his scent that cut through the coffee and danish aromas and smacked me in the face. It’d taken all my strength not to blurt out that I loved him with every molecule in my body.
Huh? My beast sneered at me trying and failing to sound profound. Molecules aren’t romantic, whatever they are.
I’d doubled down on that ridiculous wildlife photographer story. Damn, I took pics with my phone and wouldn’t know which way was up with a camera. I’d ducked and weaved and lied rather than telling Bronson the truth.
He’d leaned back and crossed his arms while peppering me with questions. He looked at me as though he was trying to decide if I was dangerous or just sad.
But he’d agreed to meet again, though he might be accompanied by a posse, one with badges and guns and handcuffs.
My panther insisted I make this right. But how?
I was out of ideas and went inside and made more coffee. Caffeine would get the creative juices flowing and I’d come up with a plan.
How many cups have you drunk since you woke up?
I’d lost count, but there was a thunk from the spare room, and I snapped my fingers. The plan was to ask for advice, and the only person I could talk to was my younger brother.
Really? Dale?
My beast wasn’t impressed, but he and I hadn’t come up with a solution, so Dale it was.
Tearing into the room, I ripped the bedding off my little brother as he lay splayed on the mattress. He grunted and fumbled for the quilt, but I opened the curtains and flipped the window open, letting in the sunshine and a cool breeze.
“What… what the what?” He opened one bloodshot eye. “I remember you. You’re the guy who ruined what I had with Mike. Go away and let me sleep.” He rolled over and faced the wall. “And turn off the light.” He pulled a pillow over his head.
“Can’t. Do. That.” I plonked myself on the mattress and jumped up and down, something Dale used to do when he was nine and I was nineteen and had a similar hangover.
“Go away, Linc.”
“I met my mate.”
He shot out of bed, wearing only his boxers, and stood in the middle of the room with his eyes wide open. “That’s huge. Congratulations. We should celebrate.”
I shoved him back on the mattress, and his panther appeared at the forefront of his gaze. “There’s a huge problem.” Heading out of the room, I said over my shoulder, “I’ll get coffee and we can talk. I need your help.”
Dale staggered into the living room with the quilt wrapped around his shoulders and lay on the sofa. But immediately sat up again. “Please tell me the universe doesn’t have an F-ed up sense of humor and it’s Mike.”
I side-eyed him, and my beast snarled. Dale plopped on his back again.
“Okay, great, because he’s a dipshit.”
At least I’d accomplished something good last night.
After handing him a coffee, I sat on the coffee table, the warm mug clasped in both hands.
“Do you remember my dare from last night?” I was easing into the situation rather than dumping it on him because he was still hungover.
He screwed up his nose. “The thing with Lenny?” He shot up again and the coffee slopped out, but I grabbed the mug, and as gravity forced the liquid down, I caught it. “No. But you were together for ages. How did you not pick up on his scent? Maybe you need to see a healer.”
“No, not freaking Lenny.”
Dale downed half his coffee and squinted at me. “Talk to me like I’m five.”
I sighed and gave him a brief rundown. He sat with the information, put the mug on the table, and burst out laughing. “You? A wildlife photographer?”
He held his belly and rolled around on the couch. His cheeks were laced with tears when he sat up and wiped them with the back of his hand.
“How are you going to get out of that?”
“That’s why I got you up, so you could offer advice.” I was beginning to regret my decision.
“He thinks you’re a criminal and you could be arrested at any second?” He scrunched over and scooted to the window, before peering between the curtains. “If they’re here, they’re well camouflaged.”
“Stop it.” I stormed into the kitchen and put bread in the toaster. “If you’re not going to help, leave.”
Dale grabbed one piece of bread from the toaster before it was done, and I slapped his hand.
“There’s only one thing for you to do.” He peered into the fridge and took out leftovers.
“Tell him about shifters?”
“No, go study photography, and in a couple of years you can come back and show him your portfolio, wow him with stories of you in the wild when you were almost eaten by a lion.” He sniggered and put the food in the microwave.
I wasn’t getting any help from my brother, and I’d have to shift and run and clear my head.
“The solution isn’t difficult. You said it yourself. Tell him the truth.”
I threw up my hands. “And he’ll run and probably call a reporter and say he’s got the story of the century. They’ll go on all the talk shows and make millions, and we’ll be put in cages and studied.”
“Wow, and I thought I was a mess.” He tapped my brow. “What’s going on in there, Bro?”
I braced myself against the kitchen island. “Not sure, but meeting Bronson has befuddled me. I can’t think straight.”
Dale put a hand on my shoulder. “This is your fated mate, Linc. You want to be with him, don’t you?”
“More than anything.”
“There’s no way around it.”
He suggested I find a shifter mated to a human and ask how they broached the subject. But I didn’t know anyone that fit that category—Ron didn’t count—and it would take too long to suss one out. I could be in jail or on the run by then.
“Even if you bluffed your way through the whole you’re-a-professional-photographer issue, you can’t start a life with someone when it’s built on a lie.”
When did my little brother get so smart?
“And if he reports me anyway?”
Dale smirked, and I prepared for a smartass answer. “I’ll bake a file in a cake and bring it to you in prison.” He giggled. “But you will have tried to tell him who you really are.”
The microwave dinged.
“I guess you’re right.” I gave him a noogie, and he shoved me away.
“I was going to thank you for rescuing me from Mike.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I knew he was wrong and probably a cheater, but I was lonely and needed a good fuck.”
Ewww. I didn’t want to hear that, and I put my hands over my ears. But Dale removed one and added, “But I didn’t. We didn’t.”
But he’d put that image in my head which had temporarily removed the ones of Bronson. Gross.
Dale picked at the leftovers and grabbed a bottle of water. “Now we’ve solved your dilemma, can I go back to bed, please?”
“Yeah, and thanks.”
It sounded easy. Tell Bronson, shift in front of him, and I wouldn’t be in danger of going to prison. And if he stuck around after the history and biology lesson and reveal, maybe we could date.
One text to set up a meeting would be the first step. That was the easy part. But what if Dale was wrong? I scrolled through photography classes, looking for the shortest one.
Tell him before we lose him, my panther begged.