Chapter 13
Lincoln's POV
The park is quiet.
I sit there in the cold, watching my own breath fog out in front of me while I wait for Gabby to finish her get-together with her father. The wind cuts through my jacket, but I stay anyway. It feels like the least I can do.
I had seen the way Papa Bruce used to look at me, especially right after Gabby left me. Or rather, right after I drove her away. The memory is a frayed nerve.
I recall showing up at my father-in-law’s house in tears, pacing back and forth on his porch as I banged on the door, begging and calling out for him to come to the door.
In my mind, I hear it clearly:
“UM… hey Pop… I… is Gabrielle here?”
My own tremoring voice assaults me.
Bruce had frowned, confused.
“No. What’s going on? What’s got you in that state? She do somethin’ to you?”
A weak smile pulls at my mouth now.
It had never even crossed the old man’s mind that I had done something to Gabrielle.
Understandable.
After all, I was the one who showed up looking like the hosts of hell were chasing me.
“Is she okay?” I remember Bruce asking, his face falling as if he feared something terrible had happened to her.
“I messed up. I messed up so much. I don't want to lose her. I'm so sorry please help me I don't know what to do,” my voice had rung out.
Pure desperation.
Shame.
The kind of panic that takes hold of a man only when he realizes too late that the one thing keeping him alive has left him.
I needed my wife.
And the thing is… Bruce had been strangely gentle with me. Grateful even. Maybe because at the time he hadn't heard her side yet. Even though I had told him straight up that I got involved with someone at work… that Gabby walked in on us… even then, he didn’t show me any vitriol.
He just listened.
Maybe he wanted me to calm down.
Maybe he wanted to hear both sides.
Bruce has always been a fair man.
And maybe, and it hurts to even think this, it had never even entered Bruce’s mind, despite what I confessed, that I was capable of doing something like that to his daughter.
He trusted me with her.
I made him a promise I would take care of her.
So hearing me admit the opposite probably made no sense to him.
Hell, it still doesn’t make sense to me.
My phone chimes with a text notification.
Gabby: you okay?
I smile sadly.
A strange loneliness washes over me as I start heading back to my car parked on the sidewalk.
That’s when I hear a voice behind me.
“Mr. Arnoldson? sorry excuse me. Mr. Lincoln Arnoldson?”
“Yes?” I turn around.
Who the hell is this?
A young woman, she can’t be more than 18, comes bounding up to me in a fluffy, furry light-brown coat that looks like it's made out of coyote fur. Her hair is sleek, reddish-brown, styled in two perfect buns. Prominent dark eyebrows. Big doll-like eyes.
She’s… kind of cute, honestly.
But does she know me?
My stomach sinks for a beat.
What if she’s a reporter?
The girl walks up to me and stretches out her hand to shake it.
I look at it warily, but I take it anyway and shake.
“It's so good to meet you,” she says, beaming. “I washed your interview and I’ve actually been following along the project from its Inception, or at least as much as was revealed to the public.” She laughs nervously, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“And um… would it be okay if I asked you for an autograph?”
I feel caught off guard.
No one has ever asked me for my autograph before. It’s hella weird.
“Umm,” I begin, not knowing where to begin.
Should I even give her my autograph?
What if she uses my signature for something?
Forges something? Sells it on eBay?
Does that even matter?
“I'm not really… I’m not a celebrity,” I chuckle nervously.
“You're a celebrity to me. And you're totally a celebrity, oh my God, yeah. You got a huge fan base. And you're like my idol. Even though I don't know much about tech,” she says.
I shrug my shoulders, blinking, sighing, relenting to my fate. “What do you want me to sign?”
“Could you sign my phone case? And my forearm if it's not too much to ask?” she giggles, blushing, unable to keep her eyes on me.
My heart flutters.
It’s the way she’s looking at me.
Yeah… the girl knows exactly what she’s doing.
If I asked her out right now, she’d probably say yes.
“How old are you if you don't mind me asking?” I say, just to be safe.
“Twenty two,” she says proudly, as if it’s an achievement.
Thank God.
I instantly feel better.
The last thing I need is someone setting me up or taking pictures of me signing some minor’s body.
Even if she was legal, something still doesn’t sit right about me, almost two decades older, caught in a park writing on her skin.
If I asked her out, would she say yes? Probably.
But that would open up a whole host of complications.
And even if I was considering moving on with someone outside of my ex, or the little fling I kept having and just ended with Sarah, when would I even have time?
I’m in the shit I’m in right now because I didn’t prioritize my wife.
And this, this exact chaos, is going to be my life for the foreseeable future.
And it’s not like I’m hurting for sex, but if things really are over with Sarah, which I intended before I fell prey to my sex drive again, it’s not like I’d be getting it from Gabby.
Or would I?
I want to have sex with her.
But that’s the problem.
I want to have sex with Gabby all the time now.
She’s living with me and it’s getting harder to ignore, and not to mention my heart is still wrapped around her.
I don’t want to put her through any more trouble, so the best thing would be to find someone completely outside of work and separate from the situation.
But if I do get a girlfriend, I'm going to have to get Gabby out of the house.
Because no woman in her right mind is going to date a guy living with his ex.
His ex-wife at that.
After I finish signing the girl’s phone and her forearm, seeing the goosebumps rise on her skin, I give her my signature smirk.
“There you go. What’s your name again?”
“Lindsay,” she says proudly.
“Nice to meet you, Lindsay.”
The girl’s face couldn’t get any redder.
“Oh my God, it’s just… amazing,” she says, bouncing a little on her toes. “Like, you’re 33 and you’ve already amassed all that success. How did you do it? Like, what did you, when did you decide you wanted to get into robotics?”
“I’ve always been interested in building things. It was an opportunity that came up, and then it kind of took off from there.”
I soften my smile and lift a shoulder. “But you’ll have to watch the interviews for the rest of the answers.”
She laughs, clasping her hands behind her back. “It's pretty cold out here. Why are you out here by yourself? Also where's Sarah? I know you probably get this question all the time but are you guys like a thing?”
I raise an eyebrow at her, playful. “Are you sure you're not a reporter?”
She flails her arms excitedly. “I swear I'm not, oh my God, but I'm flattered that you think so. I'm just genuinely curious.”
“Sarah and I are just coworkers. That's it.”
“Oh, aw. You guys have such great chemistry. I'm not saying that you guys have to get together or anything like that, like all the internet is saying, but I'm just saying I wouldn't be mad at it.”
“Of course you wouldn't, Lindsay,” I say, smiling.
She giggles again.
Damn it, this girl is giggling at every single word coming out of my mouth, and I know I’m not that damn funny.
My phone chimes.
“Is that Sarah?” she asks immediately.
This woman has zero sense of giving people space when it comes to private business. Good Lord.
“It's family,” I say, truthfully. Because to me, Gabby is still family.
“Do you have to go?”
“I do. Merry Christmas, Lindsay.”
“Have a Merry Christmas, Mr Arnoldson."
“You can call me Lincoln,” I tell her with another smile.
And there she goes, blushing again.
My stomach flutters despite myself, completely flattered that this young woman would be remotely interested in me.
Or maybe she’s just interested in the fame.
Waving goodbye to her, I begin walking towards my car.
She heads the opposite direction, still smiling, before she spins around mid-walk and does a little excited hop, staring down at her forearm where I signed my name.
I drive back to my ex-father-in-law’s place, where Gabby is still on the front porch talking to her father. Both of them are standing there under the porch light, Bruce with his hands shoved into his pockets.
The second he sees my car pull up, his whole face changes. He rolls his eyes and looks away, like the sight of me physically irritates him.
It hurts. More than I’ll ever admit out loud.
There is no world in which Bruce is ever going to like me again. And honestly, I don’t blame him. I betrayed him just as much as I betrayed Gabby. I broke his little girl’s heart. If I had a daughter, I’d probably want to beat the hell out of the man who did that to her too.
All things considered, the fact that Bruce isn’t putting a bullet between my eyes is downright gracious.
I step out of the car and give him a nod.
He doesn’t return it.
Gabby says one last thing to her father before walking toward the passenger side. She looks at me as I hold the door open for her.
“Thanks so much,” she says.
“No problem. Have a Merry Christmas, Bruce.”
No reply.