Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KRISTIN
The rawness of the day and the fact that he was once again putting himself in danger made me anxious. When people start caring too much about me, that’s when I run. Well, if this wasn’t caring too much, I didn’t know what would be.
“You and the guys don’t have to do this,” I said quietly as the truck bumped over the snow drifts and the moon shone high in the night sky.
“We do, you’re one of us, Kristin, you always have been.”
“But I left,” I almost whispered as we pulled up in front of the house. Linc put the truck in park and got out. I followed him to the house. He hadn’t said another word, but as soon as he closed the door, he turned to look at me, his eyes filled with pain.
I’d known this conversation was coming. For three years, it sat between us like a locked trunk.
He never asked, and I never offered, and it was easier that way, easier to pretend that walking away from him had been a closed chapter.
But tonight, something in his eyes told me the lid wasn’t staying shut anymore.
“You think I forgot?” Lincoln’s voice was low, dangerous in its restraint.
He stood across the room, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders coiled tight.
“You think I don’t remember waking up one morning and you were just gone?
Mrs. Johnstone was looking at me with such sad eyes that someone might as well have been dead.
That engagement ring was in my pocket because I was tired of the back-and-forth. I just wanted you.”
My chest tightened. “Linc.”
“No.” His voice snapped like a whip. “Don’t say my name like that. You want to explain? Then explain. Because three years, Kristin. I drank and fucked it away but nothing helped. Nothing eased the pain of losing you and I’ve still got no damn idea why you walked out without a word.”
The weight of his stare pinned me in place. My throat felt raw before I even spoke.
“I left because I was scared,” I whispered.
“Scared of what? Me?”
“No!” The word burst out of me too fast, too sharp. I forced myself to breathe, to steady. “I wasn’t afraid of you. I was afraid of what you made me feel.”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak.
“I didn’t know how to be that close to someone,” I said, voice shaking. “I didn’t know how to need anyone. Throughout my life, people have left, or worse, stayed just long enough to prove I wasn’t worth their time. And then there was you.” He flinched, just barely, but I saw it.
“You were steady and sure and, everything I didn’t believe I deserved.
And that terrified me. Because the longer I stayed, the more I could picture a whole future with you.
Marriage. Family. A life I didn’t think I was built for.
And the second I saw that, all I could think was, I’ll ruin this. I’ll ruin him.”
Lincoln’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
“So, I ran,” I whispered. “Not because I didn’t love you. God, Linc, I left because I did. And because I was so damn sure I wasn’t enough for you.”
Silence. Heavy. Crushing.
Lincoln finally moved, shoving a hand through his hair, pacing once across the room before whipping back to face me. His eyes burned like coals.
“Do you have any idea what that did to me?” His voice cracked under the anger, under the hurt. “I thought you just decided I wasn’t worth the trouble. That you didn’t love me enough to stay. And I had to live with that, every damn day.”
My eyes blurred, tears spilling before I could stop them. “I did love you. I never stopped.”
He shook his head, bitter laughter scraping out of his chest. “You’ve got a hell of a way of showing it.”
The words cut deep, but I didn’t look away. “I was wrong. And if you never forgive me for that, I’ll understand. But you need to know it wasn’t because I didn’t want you. It was because I didn’t believe I could be enough for you.”
Lincoln’s chest rose and fell like he’d just gone ten rounds in the ring. For a moment, I thought he might walk out the door. For a moment, I thought I’d lost him all over again.
Then he said, voice raw and gutted, “You broke me, Kristin.” The truth of it split me wide open.
Lincoln’s words hit like a blade, sharp, unrelenting, true.
My knees felt weak. “I know,” I whispered, tears burning hot down my cheeks. “And I hate myself for it.”
He dragged both hands down his face, like he was trying to scrape the years of hurt off his skin, then dropped them to his sides.
“Do you get what it felt like? Three years of silence. Every damn day, wondering why I wasn’t worth a fight.
I would’ve fought for you, Kristin. I would’ve died for you. But you didn’t give me the chance.”
My chest seized. “I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”
“You think I did?” His voice cracked, raw and desperate now. He stepped closer, crowding the space between us until I could feel the heat rolling off him. “You think I wasn’t scared out of my mind, too? But I was ready to try. And you, you ran.”
The fury in his eyes softened just enough for me to see the wound underneath. He wasn’t just angry, he was devastated. Still carrying it, even now.
“I’m sorry,” I choked, reaching for him before I could stop myself. “I swear to God, if I could go back.”
“But you can’t.” He caught my wrists, not rough, but firm enough to make me meet his gaze. His voice dropped, low and trembling. “You can’t undo it. You can’t erase what those three years did. But what you can do, Kristin, is decide if you’re going to run again.”
“I don’t want to,” I breathed.
“Wanting and choosing aren’t the same thing.” His hands slid down to lace with mine, tight, anchoring. “So, choose. Right here, right now. Are you in this with me, or are you just waiting for the next excuse to bolt?”
The air between us throbbed with tension, heavy and suffocating. He wasn’t giving me an out, wasn’t letting me hide behind excuses or fear. Lincoln never did.
I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering. “I’m in. I’m terrified I’ll let you down, but I’m in.”
His jaw flexed, like he was testing the truth of my words against every scar I’d left him with. Then, slowly, he let out a breath and pulled me into his chest.
I collapsed against him, shaking, tears soaking his shirt. For a long moment, he just held me, his heartbeat pounding under my ear, his arms banded tight like he was daring me to try and slip away again.
“You break me again, Kristin,” he murmured into my hair, voice raw steel, “and I swear I won’t survive it.”
“I won’t,” I whispered. “I won’t.” And for the first time in years, I believed it.
His mouth was still on mine, rough and desperate, when I felt him spin us around. My back hit the wall, his palms framing my face like he couldn’t decide whether to hold me together or tear me apart.
“You left me,” he rasped against my lips. “Three years, Kristin. Three damn years.”
“I know.” My voice broke on the words. “I know, and I hated myself every day for it.”
He cursed under his breath, low and guttural, then kissed me again, deeper, hungrier. His hands slid down my hips, gripping tight. The sound I made wasn’t a sob and wasn’t a moan, but something tangled between the two.
“I thought you were done with me,” I whispered.
“I was never done.” He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard. We started to move, and instead of guiding me up the stairs, he turned me to the bedroom that still looked brand new, still smelled like fresh paint.
That stopped me cold. “This bedroom?”
His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, trembling. “It’s ours. I couldn’t be in it without you.” He swallowed, jaw working. “I couldn’t sleep there knowing it was half empty.”
Something inside me cracked all the way open. I rose onto my toes, kissed him softer this time, slower, a silent apology. “Then take me in there, now,” I whispered against his mouth.
His breath caught. His eyes searched mine, raw, dark, unsure. And then something shifted. He nodded once, jaw tight, and without another word, he took my hand.
We moved through the hall like a current was pulling us, his fingers locked around mine, his steps sure. He pushed the bedroom door open, and the scent of cedar and dust hit me. The bed was still perfectly made, untouched, a museum of a life we’d both walked away from.
Lincoln stopped at the threshold, chest rising and falling like he’d run a mile.
“Linc,” I said softly, squeezing his hand.
He turned to me, eyes blazing. “I’m done waiting.”
And then he was on me again, mouth crashing down on mine, hands everywhere at once. Years of restraint snapped like a dry branch. He walked me backward until my knees hit the bed and we tumbled onto it together, breaking the careful symmetry of the covers.
I gasped when his weight settled over me, solid and warm. His hands slid under my shirt, calloused palms dragging up my ribs, over my breasts, teasing a shiver out of me. He pulled back just long enough to look at me, really look, like he was memorizing every detail.
“You sure?” he asked, voice rough.
I cupped his face, thumbs tracing the lines of his jaw. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Whatever was left between us, anger, guilt, years of missing, ignited into something hotter. He stripped my shirt off in one motion, his eyes dark as they skimmed over me. He bent, mouth closing over the sensitive skin at my throat, sucking lightly until I arched up against him.
I tugged his shirt over his head, needing to feel skin on skin, to erase the distance with touch. His muscles flexed under my palms as I ran my hands down his back.
He kissed me again, slower now, deeper, tasting me like a man starved. His hands found my hips, thumbs circling, then slipping under the waistband of my jeans. I lifted my hips to help him slide them off, trembling with anticipation.
“God, Tin,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to mine. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, every night.”
“Then take me,” I whispered. “Please.”