Chapter 22 Lincoln
Lincoln
Nina killed it. I wasn’t surprised. I’d seen her brain work amazing strategies with much less to work with than BrightMark’s social presence. She even excelled with the on-the-spot questions. Confident but humble. I’d get her a list of dimple-free graphic designers by the end of the day.
Her shoulders loosened when she’d realized they were done with questions.
Someone clapped on my back, and I got pulled into several conversations with acquaintances from one firm or other.
It couldn’t have been longer than a few minutes, but when I returned my gaze to Nina, the viper was next to her.
To anyone, it’d looked collegial, almost friendly—Natasha’s posture loose, her smirk small enough to pass as a smile.
I knew it wasn’t. A coffee stain bloomed across Nina’s white blouse, and she jerked back, dragging shallow breaths that didn’t reach her lungs.
Why aren’t you using your inhaler, Nina?
Nina flinched, her shoulders jerking, breath starting to come in shallow bursts, her chest rising too fast.
“Move,” I barked, shoving past two people blocking the aisle. A chair I pushed screeched behind me, but I didn’t care who stared.
Nina’s whole torso shook now—not just shivering but rattling, small convulsions from the inside out.
My pulse spiked, and I reached for the extra rescue inhaler in the inside pocket of my blazer.
Every muscle in my body screamed to get to her faster.
I shoved another person out of the way, ignoring everything but Nina’s worsening reactions.
Almost there. Just a few more feet.
“Nina!” I roared her name, fear and fury packed into it.
Nina lay crumpled on the floor, her blouse damp, her chest barely rising. As I kneeled next to her, all I heard was the whooshing of my own blood behind my ears—no side conversations, no hum of the projector.
I yanked the inhaler from my pocket and pressed it to her lips. “Come on, Nina,” I begged, thumb hitting the canister. The hiss sounded too small. I tilted her chin, trying again. “Breathe, babe. Please. Just breathe.”
Nothing. Last time, she’d reacted immediately. Now, the only response was the tiniest hitch in her chest. It felt more like she was slipping away rather than coming back to me.
Natasha stood frozen above us, hand half raised, wipe dangling from her fingers. I smelled it: overpowering disinfectant. Abrasive scents could trigger asthma attacks. My rage flared hot enough to burn through my fear. “Someone get her the hell back!” I snarled.
Carmen dropped to her knees beside me, wide eyes, lacking all the control and composure I’d known her for. “Lincoln—”
“She’s not responding,” I bit out. My voice sounded foreign, too loud in my own ears. “Nine, one, one. Now.”
Carmen fumbled for her phone while I tried again, praying, pressing the inhaler once, twice, willing air back into her lungs. Why wasn’t it working? Last time, she’d been fully okay within minutes.
Not this time.
“Stay with me,” I muttered, dropping my forehead to hers for half a second. Her skin felt too clammy. Her lips too pale.
Somewhere behind me, someone said the paramedics were on their way. It barely registered. I couldn’t think beyond the next second—her next breath.
I gave her another puff, forced myself to count the seconds, tilting her head back to keep her airway open the way I’d watched a dozen times online. When she gave the smallest gasp, relief surged through me so hard I nearly collapsed.
“Good,” I whispered, my thumb trembling as I pressed the inhaler again. “That’s it. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
The on-site response arrived then, kneeling beside us, taking over with quiet efficiency. The paramedics arrived shortly after. I stayed close enough to see her chest rising a little steadier, color creeping back into her face.
Only then did I look up. Natasha stood nearby, arms crossed tight, eyes defiant. My hands curled into fists. If I hadn’t been on the floor beside Nina, I might’ve done something I wouldn’t regret.
Instead, I stayed kneeling, one hand in Nina’s hair as the paramedics worked.
“Sir”—a paramedic put his hand on my shoulder—“we need you to step back so we can help her.”
I would have. I really would have gone against everything in me and complied, but Nina’s finger gave the gentlest twitch around my knees. No one would pull me away from her if she wanted me with her.
“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m leaving her.” I shifted sideways but stayed close enough to keep my hand in her hair as they fitted her in a mask, then lifted her onto a stretcher.
I looked up at Carmen. Her face was pale but set, eyes already cutting to Natasha.
“You make sure there’s something in place for her.” My voice low and shaking with fury, as my gaze darted to Natasha.
Carmen’s jaw tightened. “Damn right.”
They wheeled Nina out, and I climbed into the ambulance before anyone could tell me not to.
Inside it, the world narrowed to the steady hiss of oxygen, the paramedic calling out numbers, and the rise and fall of Nina’s chest. My hands were still shaking as I held her wrist, counting each beat because it was the only thing tethering me to sanity.
She’s stabilized in the ambulance, but ER personnel shouted orders and tests to run the second she was wheeled through the doors.
Her hair was matted to her face from sweat, her ponytail had gotten loose, her russet-colored eyes fluttered open and close.
Her chest, though, rose and fell, her breathing soundless, telling me she was safe.
A brunette nurse tried to pull the gurney out of my grasp. “I’m not leaving her.” My voice was closer to a snarl than anything resembling politeness.
“Sir,” one of the nurses said, steering me back, “we need to get her on BiPAP and—”
“I don’t care what you need. I’m not leaving her.”
Nina caught my gaze then, mask over her face, and managed the tiniest shake of her head. My chest tightened, my throat dried. She was better, I could let go.
Physically, I did, but my eyes stayed glued to the gurney carrying her away along with fragments of myself. I should have kissed her. At some point in my fucking life, I should have kissed her.
They disappeared through a set of double doors and left me in the hallway with tight fists and pacing.
She could have died, and I would have never truly told her why I’d done anything.
My heart continued hammering, even as I sat on the hard plastic chair in the ER.
The cold air from the vents did nothing to stop me from sweating.
The smell of bleach on the linoleum floor made bile gather in my stomach, threatening to rise, reminding me of Natasha.
The attack Nina had today was totally different from the one I’d seen before. This one—this took calculated effort.
Natasha’s.
I wasn’t worth all of this. Natasha wanted something else. And if this was all about a career bump she didn’t deserve … I wouldn’t stop until I ripped it away from her.
The smell of cheap coffee dripping in the waiting room hit me. The fluorescent lights above me buzzed faintly. Every sound from beyond the doors made me twitch—metal clattering, a monitor beeping, someone calling for respiratory therapy. Fuck.
I checked my watch. Twelve minutes. Twenty. Thirty-three.
“What the hell is taking so long?” I snapped at the nurses. No one even looked up.
I pressed the heel of my hand to my eye.
Flashes of my mom plagued me, withering away, at yet another ER visit where they’d do nothing but offer palliative care.
I hated helplessness. I hated it then; I hated it now.
Hated that she was back there fighting for breath without me. At least I’d held my mom’s hand.
When a nurse finally stepped out, I was already in motion toward her. “Is she breathing? Is she better? What are you doing back there?”
“She’s on BiPAP, her oxygen is improving.” She wore the calm detachment of someone who watched loved ones collapse for a living. “You can wait in the family room—”
“I’ll wait right here.”
She hesitated, then gave a small shrug and went back through the doors.
I planted myself against the wall, trying to calm myself by focusing on the fact that she was behind me, a wall away, with no doctors rushing toward her room. People in scrubs rushing was bad. I knew it firsthand.
“Hello,” the same brunette nurse approached me. “You’re here for Nina Reyes, yes?”
I nodded, anxiety thickening my blood in anticipation.
“She’s ready for the step-down room,” a nurse said, gesturing toward a door opening and the sound of a curtain being drawn.
I was right at her side before anyone could stop me. The nasal cannula sat just under her nose, tiny tubes trailing to the oxygen tank. Her face was pale, her lashes dark against her cheeks, and her chest rose and fell faster than normal but steady. No wheezing. Fucking music to my ears.
The nurse gave me a polite nod. “You can walk with us, sir, but we’ll need space while we move her.”
Space. No. That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. I walked alongside the gurney, matching the rhythm, counting heartbeats in my head, every beep of the portable monitor hammering against my ribs.
Nina flicked her eyes toward me once, a slight curl of her lips in acknowledgment, weak but unmistakable, sending a jolt of warmth through my chest. I fisted my hands at my sides to keep from grabbing onto the bed rail.
The two nurses swung the door open and wheeled her inside. The brunette gave me that stay out look. I stepped in anyway, close enough that the wheels of the bed nearly clipped my shoes, and dared her to argue with my dimpled smile. She blushed.
The room was too bright, too clean, smelling of antiseptic and metal. Machines hummed softly, wires swaying from different attachments. The nurses lifted her from the gurney and onto the bed. Cables shuffled, monitors beeped to life, the cannula connected to a different oxygen tank with a low hiss.
I stayed out of the way, tracking every single motion. Beep. Hiss. Shuffle. Each sound pressed against my ribs until the nurses finally stepped back, satisfied.
“She’ll need stacked nebs in twenty-minute increments,” the brunette explained. “We’ll be in and out.”
I pulled a chair to the side of Nina’s bed, her eyes darkened, following my every movement.
I grabbed the hem of the thin hospital blanket, pulled it higher over her shoulders, mindful of my knuckles not rubbing her skin.
I sat down and examined the subtle motion beneath her ribs.
Normal speed, no effort. Only then did I let myself breathe.
Nina moved her hand toward me, and I stretched out my hand in offering.
This was how it started. This need of mine to burn the world down for her and make it better. With her holding my hand in a hospital room. We’d come full circle. Only now I had every memory to feed my self-hatred.
And as our fingers touched, hers fitting between mine like threads making a cocoon, I realized I owed her more than a rushed apology and an empty apartment.
Because I’d always needed to burn the world for her, but I’d burned her with it.
I threw my jacket at the foot of the bed, frustration burning a hole in my chest. Nina should know.
My stupid why that fixed nothing between us.
Her foot nudged at the coat, slow and lazy, until it flipped enough to reveal a manila envelope tucked in the inside pocket.
Her voice came out raspy, each word threaded with effort, but her tone was pure Nina—dry, cutting, with just a hint of sass. “Tell me, Lincoln,” she rasped, pausing to wet her lips. “Are you serving me divorce papers?”
I barked out a laugh despite myself. “For that, I’d have to talk you into marrying me first. And if that ever happens …” I leaned closer, meeting her tired but still-fierce eyes. “Don’t think for a second I’d ever let go.”
We let the silence stretch, the quiet hum of the machines making room for a quiet truce to settle between us.
“I think she somehow knew I’m asthmatic.” Her fingers worried at the blanket. “I think she did it on purpose.”
A cold flush worked its way through me, sharp enough that my jaw ached. My thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow and deliberate, goosebumps rising along her forearm.
“I’m horrified, but not surprised,” I said, heat threading through every word. “I’m going to find a way to put her in the reddest orange jumpsuit I can get so it clashes with her fucking hair, Nina.”
She let out a breath, her head sinking into the pillow, cannula tubing shifting against her cheek. I leaned in to check it, making sure it was still delivering the steady flow of air.
Her lips twitched, almost a smile. “Sometimes, it’s not about revenge, Lincoln,” she murmured, “it’s about how you move past hurt and injustice so you can be happy.”
I covered her hand with both of mine, my gaze flicking toward the manila envelope. My throat worked before I could speak.
“Maybe,” I said finally. “But for once, I get to give you something no one else has given you.”
Her eyelids fluttered, curiosity softening the tension in her face. “What’s that?”
“A choice.”
Then the door swung open and Vinny strode in, his usual swagger muted but still present. His eyes swept over the monitors before landing on Nina, softening with something almost tender.
“Nina—what the hell happened to you? You look awful.”
She gave a faint huff. “Love you too, Vin.”
I didn’t move my hands from hers. Didn’t flinch. Just met his look with a stare of my own.
“She’s fine,” I said before he could ask. “Get the hell out of here, Vinny.”
Vinny’s jaw ticked. “No,” he said, stepping closer to the bed. His steely eyes set on Nina’s. “She’s my cousin. And I’m going to give her what I’ve owed her for years.”