Chapter 7
It’s the day of Lincoln’s discharge. I’ve been keeping up to date with the nurses on how he’s doing, and he seems to be okay, funny enough.
Even though he’s able to walk and do everything very slowly, he’s still going to feel sick when he comes home.
People don’t just bounce back after sepsis.
He’s going to be weak, tired, and probably sleep half the day.
He’ll need antibiotics for another week or so, hydration, light foods until his appetite comes back, and definitely no work.
They told me he’s supposed to take time off, at least a week, maybe two, because his immune system basically crashed.
So I already know he’s going to need help. And apparently Sarah knows too, because she’s the one dropping him off.
It’s very awkward. The entire time Sarah is babying him and trying to be there for him. And when I even offered Lincoln some food, Sarah claimed she had her own food.
Right now, Sarah is staying here in Lincoln’s house while I’m here too. The only thing that gives me any real joy right now is Morris. The cat stays by my side, and I’ve noticed he doesn’t even like Sarah all that much. He basically hisses at her and runs away.
The cat has a good eye for people, probably why he chose Lincoln, because despite everything, Lincoln is a decent human being. Sarah clearly isn’t. How can this person who’s supposedly a great mind behind tech be so sociopathic? The insecurity rolling off her is so bizarre.
But anyway, I keep to myself, and when we all happen to be in the living room together, Sarah looks up.
“Don’t you have somewhere to go? Don’t you have a house or something? Or parents to stay with? Oh wait, never mind, I forgot,” Sarah starts to say.
Lincoln looks tired as he sits there on the couch, rolling his eyes.
“Sarah, shut the fuck up,” he yells at her.
Her eyes go wide, surprised, as if she forgot that Lincoln was a human being who could speak.
“Excuse me?” she asks him. “I’m sitting here taking care of you, you’re gonna—”
But he cuts her off quickly.
“I don’t know who this person is that you’ve become, but I didn’t take you for the piece of shit that would insult someone who lost a family member. I lost a family member too, you gonna insult me?” he asks, challenging her.
Sarah’s face softens. “I’m sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t do that. It’s just that—”
Lincoln pinches the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb while closing his eyes and says, “You know what, thank you for taking care of me, but you can go.”
Sarah’s eyes widen slightly, almost as though she’s hurt.
A smile starts to bubble up in my stomach. I can’t help it. This is so freaking funny.
I turn my back so I can fix up the counters and stuff. But I can tell Sarah’s staring at me.
“Look, I’m sorry about being an asshole, but seriously, can you blame me after what your precious Gabrielle did to me? At the restaurant?”
Lincoln says nothing at first.
“You're seriously gonna take her side after what she did to you?” Sarah pushes.
And for the love of God, I want so badly to turn around and set the record straight, but I don’t need to.
“Sarah, you don’t really know much about our relationship. And granted, I take fault for that because—”
He hesitates. I don’t even have to look at him to know this is uncomfortable for him. But he continues anyway.
“I probably painted the wrong picture about my married life. There was a lot about Gabrielle that you didn’t know. And there was a lot that I did to hurt her.”
Sarah huffs. “Yes, I know you told me all of that, Lincoln, but you’re acting as though you’re the only person in the marriage that did the wrong thing,” she says.
“Regardless, it’s no longer any of your business. As a matter of fact, it was never your business. That was my mistake. And I’m asking you to please leave.”
I chance a look over my shoulder. Sarah is breathing hard.
“You still need to be taken care of, and I’m sorry I don’t trust you around her.”
Lincoln stands slowly. “I promise you I’m fine. Gabrielle and I have known each other for over a decade, and she’s taken very good care of me.”
“Clearly not enough, or else you wouldn’t have gone diving in my pussy, would you?!” Sarah yells out.
And that’s the last straw.
Licking my lips, I decide to leave and go to my room. Before I do, I catch the look on Lincoln’s face as he closes his eyes in embarrassment. Then I hear them, muffled arguments from the living room. Lincoln yelling.
This isn’t good for him. This isn’t healthy.
But it’s his house, and I don’t want any part of the drama. What I do want is to go out there and slap the taste out of Sarah’s mouth.
But that’s probably what she wants too.
So I stay in my room.
There’s a crashing noise and the slamming of a door. But not before I make out Sarah’s harsh voice yelling at Lincoln:
“I hope that fucking bitch stabs you in your sleep! Maybe then you’ll understand the kind of caliber of person that you’ve aligned yourself with! And don’t come crying to me again when shit goes south like you did before!”
There’s quiet.
Then a knock at my door.
I blink. “Come in,” I say.
Lincoln opens the door slowly. He looks so tired and worn. I’m just lying there on the bed, kind of propped up on a pillow so my upper back is lifted a little. I offer him a tight, sarcastic smile.
“Everything okay?” I ask, dripping sarcasm.
Lincoln sighs, his head drooping slightly as he steps in. He perches on the bed's edge,and then lays back so that his upper back is across my lower legs.
My whole body wakes up.
I want to touch his hair. When he used to lie down on me like this, that’s usually what I would do; pet his hair. We used to take turns doing this for each other.
But I have no idea what we’re supposed to be anymore, and I don’t want to confuse him, no matter how much I want to touch him.
“I’m so sorry about everything,” he says quietly, staring up at the ceiling and then turning his head to look at me, hands clasped over his chest.
I say nothing.
“I put you through so much and… I dunno,” he murmurs.
“I know Sarah’s not the nicest person. And I’m so sorry.
And I’m not just talking about now, I’m talking about during our marriage.
And I should have been stronger. I was awful to you and I’m so sorry.
And honestly, I was kind of butthurt about the whole thing.
I’m not sorry that I got to make love to you again,” he says, smiling sadly at me.
I want to agree, but I’m not giving him that.
Lincoln lets out a heavy breath, then pulls in another.
“It felt really amazing and I can’t stop thinking about it and… holy shit, I think I’m getting hard right now.”
Rolling my eyes, feeling myself get worked up too, I start to push him off.
“Okay, well before that gets to that point—”
But Lincoln stops me, smiling.
“I’m joking,” he says quickly, in that sexy voice of his, the one that makes me want to slap him but fuck his face at the same time.
“You’re not joking,” I say, looking at his crotch. “I could see you. Tent-pulling right there in front of me, you fucking liar. That’s become your default thing to do, hasn’t it? Just fucking lie?” I half-joke.
Lincoln puts his arms behind his head, still lying against my legs.
“I’m sorry,” he says, looking at me from that position.
“I really am so sorry. I know that doesn’t fix anything, I know that doesn’t…
erase the past, and I know no matter how many times I say it…
it’s not gonna make you love me again, it’s not gonna make you want to be with me again, but…
I still feel like I need to say it. And I wish there was a better way that… that I could.”
There’s quiet for a while.
“Well, I’ve already said everything I need to say,” I reply.
Before I even realize it, my fingers start moving.
So soft… this bed.
Wait a minute. That’s not the bed.
I look down at my left hand and it’s cradling the crown of my ex-husband’s head, petting his hair lazily like I always used to do.
God damn it. Now I can’t stop.
It’s already too late.
I notice his eyes are closed. He moans, a soft smile on his lips.
And then he’s snoring.
Good lord.
He’s fallen asleep. Basically on my knees. Or on my lap, sort of.
I take a big inhale.
What am I going to do now? He’s still not feeling all that well.
But I’m so glad he’s alive.
“Lincoln, you have to go to your bed,” I say softly.
He shifts a little, but doesn't bother climbing off.
Instead, he pushes up quickly just to scoot down and reposition himself along the bed's full length.
His head lands right in my lap now, slotted between my legs.
He nuzzles in easy, like it's no big deal, wedging himself to nudge my thighs apart a bit, cheek planted square over my womb as he rolls onto his right side.
This was something we used to do too.
It’s not like he’s trying to impress me. I know that. This was just a default for us. Our bodies remember the patterns of behavior from living together and loving each other for so long. It’s almost impossible to break. We’re like a puzzle that snaps back together every time we get too close.
How could we not, especially living together like this?
Also… he kicked Sarah out.
Why didn’t he do all of that when we were married?
Why did this asshole wait until after he broke my heart and lost me to start doing the things that should’ve come easy to him if he loved me that much?
I might as well sleep too. Because honestly, just like with the cat, it feels unholy to move him once he’s comfortable.
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