“Shit.”
The sound of Lincoln’s voice draws my eyes. “Why would you tell her that?” I hiss.
“I don’t know. I panicked.”
I roll my eyes and catch a fishy look from Mary.
“You are so busted, Lincoln,” Mary says, glumly shaking her head at him.
“Great.”
“Now what?” I ask, pulling at my hair like a mad woman.
Watching his mom speed off through the open front door, Lincoln sighs, lowering his stupid sculpted chest. “I have to go over there and straighten this out.”
“What!” Before I know what’s happening, I’m pushing past Mary and taking his hand. “Don’t do it, Lincoln. Let’s just go; we can explain everything later. They’ll never understand anyway.”
“Go?” Mary wrinkles her nose. “Go where?” A sudden realization pulls on her eyebrows. “Oh my God, you’re running away together, aren’t you?”
“Mary,” I breathe out, searching for a way to explain the unexplainable. “We were going to tell you but…”
“To go fucking where?” she shouts, glaring at me from across the foyer.
I jump because I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mary swear before. She’s prim and proper and tears magnify the hurt in her eyes.
“Mary, calm the fuck down,” Lincoln groans, heading back upstairs. “We’re grown adults and will do whatever the hell we want with our lives.” At the top, he turns and looks down at her. “You keep doing your thing waiting for someone to save you, and we’ll do ours. Okay?”
“Lincoln,” I say in a warning tone.
“You mean picking over Jack’s sloppy-seconds,” she blurts, glaring up at him.
“Mary,” I gasp. “That’s going a little too far.”
“Is it!”
Setting his jaw, Lincoln bites his tongue and storms off down the hallway, rattling the floor lamps and pictures on the walls.
I look at Mary and want to strangle her for that last jab. It was unfair and not like her.
“I’m sorry,” she says, reading my mind without meeting my eyes. “I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s okay,” I breathe out, cupping my forehead and trying to imagine what happens next. Are we leaving or not? Is there a chance Lincoln’s parents will talk some sense into him? Because what we have together is absurd and Minni will make him realize that.
As if she’d been listening in on my thoughts, Mary’s eyebrows go up. “My mom will make him stay. You do know that, don’t you?”
Chapter Twenty-One
The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives
It’s been seven hours and fifteen minutes since Lincoln took his love away. Just like the damn song playing on the sound bar right now. Or was it days, not minutes? Aw shit, I can’t remember. The song is over now anyways. Looking up from my phone, I pull a hand through my clean smelling hair and stare vacantly at my bags packed against the wall. It’s almost dark out and he won’t call or text and now I’m starting to think Mary was right. Tom killed him. The guy can be a prick, no doubt about it. That’s where Jack got it from. No. Clearing that last thought from my head with another sip of wine, I lean back into the couch and try to relax. Tom is nothing like Jack but I cannot, for the life of me, imagine what could be taking Lincoln so long. He said he’d be right back and maybe his parents tied him to a chair in the basement. My spirits deteriorate further when my mind centers back to the phone call I received earlier this afternoon. Everything is crumbling to pieces and this is what I get. This is what I deserve. A noise draws my eyes to the French doors. Panic squeezes on my lungs. He’s back. The coroner, not Lincoln, and this couldn’t be worse timing. Setting my wineglass down, I grab Jack’s Beretta from beneath a decorative pillow and turn off the safety. The backend of twilight is settling in outside like an old friend and a shadow flickers against the patio doors. My heartrate quickens. Rising from the couch, I grip the gun tightly in both hands and creep towards the doors, pointing the barrel at the floor. My eyes scan the backyard like a machine, breath misting the glass. Every shadow is tall and lanky, just like Ronald, and let’s face it, if he was crazy enough to extort me for money, he might just be crazy enough to come back and kill me. Or worse yet…rape me and then kill me.
A man appears in the glass. Screaming bloody murder, I yank the Beretta up and nearly squeeze off a round. Lincoln shoots both hands into the air.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! It’s just me,” he yells through the doors. “Relax!”
Unlocking a pent-up breath, I lower the weapon and switch on the safety. I’m lightheaded and the glass door has gained fifty pounds since I last opened it. “Where’ve you been?” I snap, stepping aside to let him in. “I almost shot you!”
“Jesus Christ,” he pants, unzipping a black leather jacket and taking it off. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”
“Yes, I know how to use it. I thought you were that creepy coroner guy here to rape and kill me.”
He drapes the coat over a breakfast bar chair at the island, chest undulating beneath his shirt. “That’s exactly why you can’t stay here.”
My brow folds. “Why are you breathing so hard?”
Resting his hands on his hip, he blows out a longwinded breath. “Things got a little crazy with my parents.”
“Crazy how?”
“Well, for starters they took my phone, so I couldn’t call you.”
My face falls. “What! You’re not fourteen, Lincoln, they can’t…” I trail off when it hits me like a rock. “They were paying for your phone, weren’t they?” A sheepish look turns his face a bitter shade of red and that’s when I notice the light glistening off his brow. “Why are you sweating?”
He swallows dryly. “They took my car too.”
“The Chevelle?” Whirling on my heels, I set the gun on the island. “God, Lincoln! Is there anything you do own? I’m surprised they didn’t take your coat.”
“They tried but I ran.”
I take a cold bottle of water from the fridge and bring it over to him. “Drink.”
He obeys, chugging the entire bottle with greedy gulps. “Thank you,” he pants, eyes drifting to my bags parked against the far living room wall. “You all ready to go?” he asks. “We just have to stop by my place and grab my stuff.”
My muscles relax, allowing air into my starved lungs. “You still want to go?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yes, but now? It’s almost dark out.”
“So?” Setting the water next to the gun on the island, he pulls a chair out and sits down. “We’ll drive for a few hours and hit a cheap motel. Preferably, something on the Norman Bates side of town.”
“I hate driving at night; you can’t see anything and I get so bored. Can’t we leave in the morning?”
He hesitates before answering. “Sure we can.”
“Let me make you something to eat. I want to hear exactly what happened.”
“You don’t.” An exhausted sigh ruffles his lips. “Trust me.”
Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, I pop the top and take it to him. “Tell me.”
He accepts the beer and takes a long pull, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. “They think we had something going on behind Jack’s back this entire time. Unfortunately, my hands are tied and I can’t tell them about the real Jack.” Staring across the kitchen through distant eyes, he grunts. “They don’t know he was an abuser.”
“They don’t know I killed him.”
His green eyes snap to me and thin. “And they never will.”
His reply makes my heart surge with love for him. I’ve never had anyone protect me before and it’s nice. Very nice. Maren Morris serenades us from the sound bar in the living room while I make him a ham and cheese sandwich on sourdough. I have so many questions and don’t know which to ask first. They push and shove inside my mind, desperate to reach the front of the line. “Did they cut you out of the will?”
Watching me over the island, he chuckles.
“Is that what Mary said would happen?”
“Yes.”
Curling his lips, he pounds a fist against the island. “Well, she was right. I’m out!”
I inhale sharply, a knife wrapped in my hand. “Oh my God! Are you serious?”
“Oh, they’re pissed, big time. And I didn’t know how to explain things without throwing Jack under the bus.”
Growing quiet, my eyes fall to the sandwich. I cut it diagonally and set the knife in the sink. This was supposed to the first day of the rest of our lives and here we are, still stuck on yesterday. This town is like quicksand. The more you kick and fight, the faster it sucks you in.
“Hey, don’t get upset,” he tells me in a cool voice. “Mary knows Jack was cheating on you with some guy from his school. Maybe she’ll talk some sense into them.” Half a laugh tumbles past his lips. “When they find out where we’re going, they’ll want to visit us this Christmas.”
“No, I know.”
He sets the beer down and rests his elbows on the marble. “What happened?”
I look up to meet his awaiting gaze, gut wrenching. “The life insurance company called this afternoon.”
His ensuing silence gives me goose bumps. “Uh-oh.”
Pushing the plate across the island to him, I sigh, fluttering a loose stand of hair. “There’s a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“Apparently, there was a mix-up with the death certificate, an empty blank that puts things back at square one.”
Leaning back in the chair, he folds his arms across his chest. “Let me guess, Ronald Bennington.”
“Looks like he was saving one last ace up his sleeve.”
“But he agreed to the deal!”
“Yeah, last night, but these things take time. Do you know how much idiotic red tape insurance companies go through with claims like this?” I shrug. “They’re all super nice and reassuring at first, but when it comes time to pay up, they drag their feet.”
“How long did they say?”
I hesitate before answering, wanting to spare him the gritty details for as long as possible. It’s the humane thing to do. “Six to eight weeks. Maybe more.”
“Jesus,” he whispers, turning the beer bottle in his hands. My cold silence draws his eyes. “What? There’s more?”
I lift a heavy shoulder to an ear. “What if their investigation turned up a red flag? Or what if that coroner asshole screwed me over? I mean, who knows what could really be happening? For all I know, they could be stalling to dig deeper.”
Getting up, Lincoln comes around the island and stops in front of me. He smells like sweat and his reassuring smile lifts my heart in all the right places. “Listen I’ve got some money saved up for this food truck – our food truck. Thirty-two thousand to be exact. We’ll be fine.”
I smile, trying to calculate how much a food truck will cost to get off the ground. “Plus, there’s always the house,” I add. “But that’s going to take at least two or three months – if we’re lucky.”
He rubs my arms. “We’ll be fine, Sienna.”
Staring up into his beautiful eyes, I see the future play out against an emerald screen. A wonderful world far from here, with nobody to get in the way. Exhaling, my voice comes out in a silky whisper. “I really want this, Lincoln.”
“I do too and we will have it.”
Misting over, something warm blossoms in my chest and it’s not the wine. It spreads to my fingers and toes and I’m floating again. This man has sacrificed everything for me and it makes my head spin. He could’ve walked away a thousand times over and, yet, he’s still here. Still wants to be with me. Resting a hand on his chest, the kitchen fades into the background and all I see is Lincoln. “I love you.”
His eyes shine like diamonds. “I love you,” he says back, pressing his lips to mine. His touch jumpstarts my emotions and I’ve never felt this way before. Drawing apart, he rests his forehead against mine. “We will make this work. I promise.”
Sitting back down, he bites into his sandwich and even the way he chews makes me swoon. Swallowing, he nods his head, a ready smile on his face. “Pretty good sandwich, hot-stuff,” he says, sinking his teeth back in for more. “We might make a sous chef out of you yet.” His wink makes me blush and by this time tomorrow, we could be half way to wherever the hell it is we’re going. And knowing Lincoln like I do, I’m sure it will be someplace magical. Someplace that feels like we’re on a permanent vacation, but belong to as well. It’s beyond amazing to just let go and trust him. I feel giddy because this time, nothing can stop us.
This time, we’ll be together.
Forever.
But we’ll need some spending cash to tide us over for the next few months. Clicking my nails against the counter, my eyes brighten. “I have an idea.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Black Eye #1
The pawn shop is long and narrow and smells like an old high school. It’s also hotter than hell and rumored to have sold some magical Polaroid to an unsuspecting mother back in the nineties. An instant camera that could see ghosts and, subsequently, helped stop a serial killer dubbed The Recluse. Trading a dubious look with Lincoln, we start down the long aisle of electric guitars, amps, and hunting rifles. A man with a bulbous nose and dark mustache watches us from the other end of the shop, already acting unimpressed with whatever it is we have to sell. The morning sun illuminates a toothpick wiggling in the corner of his mouth, and I can tell by the casual air about him that he owns the place and deals with shady characters on a daily basis. My gaze draws to the glass cases lining the walls. Shelves of guns, knives and jewelry glow beneath the lights. Video game consoles and stolen cell phones quietly wait to be chosen over the latest Fitbits and iPods. Unzipping a blue leather jacket, I wish we didn’t need Jack’s handgun because we could sell it too. But it’s hiding in the small of Lincoln’s back and we just might need it down the road. After the psycho stalker coroner, I’ll never feel totally safe again and damn him for doing that to me. Like I haven’t been through enough already.
“Help you?” the man grunts from behind the counter, tossing the toothpick into the garbage.
Lincoln sets a cardboard box on the glass counter and unzips his jacket. The shop owner quietly watches him begin unpacking handstitched leather cases. Pulling on a blue button down suffocating his big belly, salt and pepper chest hair curls out from where the man’s shirt is unbuttoned a notch too low. A far-off glimmer appears in his eyes when Lincoln starts cracking open the cases. Jack took good care of his watches. Better care than he took of me. Prying open the last box, Lincoln hangs his thumbs from the beltloops of some oily jeans and swaps a knowing look with me.
Eyeing the loot over, the man grabs a sweaty McDonald’s cup from the counter, leaving a wet ring on the glass. He drains it through the straw, noisily sucking up every last sip. Water droplets fall from the cup to the counter. Without looking, he tosses it into the garbage can against the wall and quietly belches into a fist.
“These are nice,” he decides, rubbing his nose and inspecting the timepieces. “What do you want for them?”
I look from the swords and double-headed axes mounted on the wall behind him to Lincoln, trying not to fidget even though I’m fidgety as all get out.
“I don’t know,” Lincoln lies. He does know what we want for them. We checked their values online, all twelve of them. Of course, we also know that nobody ever gives you what they’re worth. But that’s the name of the game and it’s okay. We just need enough to get by for a few months. “What do you think?” Lincoln counters, stroking that square jaw that makes my knees weak.
The big man shrugs as if he might not be interested in any of them. “Three-thousand is as high as I could go.”
“Three thousand?” I gasp, looking at Lincoln.
“These watches are worth over thirty thousand dollars,” Lincoln says in a calm voice, hiking his jeans up.
“Maybe brand new from the store,” the m
an says, holding his palms out to show he has nothing up his sleeves. “I couldn’t get half that in a place like this.” Inhaling a thoughtful breath, he releases it, reeking of garlic. “I could do…five. Tops.”
“Ten,” Lincoln throws back, firmly standing his ground.
The man shakes his head, combing his mustache with a hand. “Six is my final offer.”
“Eight or we walk.”
“Seven is as high as I could go.”
Lincoln smiles. “A minute ago, you just said three thousand was as high as you could go.”
“Yeah, and seven is a lot better than three.”
Exhaling a defeated breath, he starts packing up the watches. “We’ll try the city, if that doesn’t pan out maybe we’ll come back.”
The man places a hand on Lincoln’s wrist, stopping his packing job. “Eight it is then.”
A slow smile sweeps across Lincoln’s face. “Deal.”
“Wait, what about this?” I ask, slipping my wedding ring off and setting it on the glass.
“No,” Lincoln says, beating the shop owner to the ring. “Not this.”
“Why? The only reason I’m wearing it is to make it look good.”
One of the man’s bushy eyebrows springs into his forehead.
Lincoln stares hard at me. A clock ticks off the seconds from somewhere around this mess of junk. Sighing through his nose, he uncovers the ring.
Eyes brightening, the pawn shop proprietor snatches it up and studies it in the sunlight coming through the window. Grunting, he grabs a small loupe hanging from around his neck and brings it to one eye. He peers through the magnification device, twisting my diamond wedding ring in the light. His lips go down to show he’s slightly impressed, and he should be. Classic and timeless, the diamond is two and a half carrots of flawless perfection. Any girl would be head over heels to have it, especially if they were actually in love with whichever suiter presented it. Like Jack did on a moonlit carriage ride through the town square during Octoberfest. It really was a magical night and I die a little inside every time I consider my imprudent past. How blind could I possibly be?
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