Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
I didn’t remember much of what I’d said that had set off the mother of all panic attacks and I was good with that. I didn’t want to know.
I did remember the sense of pure terror I’d been feeling as I’d struggled to breathe, but I instinctively knew that the terror hadn’t been tied to the fact that I couldn’t get air. No, it had been triggered by something else.
Something I was more than happy to know nothing about.
I did remember waking up, though. I’d felt so warm and light, like nothing bad could ever touch me again. It had taken me a bit to realize I hadn’t been alone. Lincoln’s touch had been easy to recognize, but I’d been confused by the weight of someone else’s touch on my other hand. And the sobs. Those gut-wrenching sobs. I’d known they weren’t coming from Lincoln because his had been the first face I’d seen when my eyes and brain had caught up with each another. When I’d finally managed to move my head enough to find the source of the crying, I’d recognized the brown hair immediately. When we’d been kids, Ford had worn his hair longer and I’d loved running my fingers through it.
Since Ford hadn’t been able to hear my hoarse voice as I’d said his name, I’d done the same thing—I’d run my fingers over his much shorter hair. It had been enough to get his attention. Even though I’d still been tired and confused, my heart had broken at the sight of his wet cheeks and red eyes. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out that he knew the truth—at least some of it, anyway. In that moment, we’d been teenagers again and I’d wanted to wrap my arms around Ford as he’d cried in my arms after another one of his brother’s beatings or his mother’s cruel words.
So that was what I’d done. He’d kept telling me he was sorry as he’d gently held me and when he’d quieted, he’d returned to his chair and just held my hand. There’d been so many things we’d needed to say to each other, but all we’d done was sit in silence until my eyelids had started to become too heavy to keep open. I thought Ford had told me to get some sleep, but I wasn’t sure.
I hadn’t known how much time had passed when I’d woken up the next time around, but Lincoln had been sitting in a chair next to my bed like he had the first time I’d woken up, only this time he’d been asleep. His head had been on the mattress while his fingers had been resting on my forearm. Much like I’d done with Ford, I’d run my fingers through Lincoln’s light hair, savoring the feel of the slight waves in each strand. The move had woken him up but instead of sitting up, he’d just kept his head where it was and watched me as I’d petted him.
By that time, the drugs had worn off completely, but I’d still felt exhausted—like I hadn’t slept in years. Which I supposed I kind of hadn’t. I’d slept, but the nightmares and fear had never let me truly rest.
I hadn’t even bothered to look at the window or the clock to try and figure out if it was night or day. I’d pulled my fingers free of Lincoln’s curls and then pulled the covers back a bit as I’d shifted to one side of the bed. I’d patted the spot next to me and just like that, he had crawled under the covers. I’d put my back to him and then had searched out his arm so I could pull it across my waist. Lincoln had gotten the hint and had shifted until his front was pressed to my back. And just like that, I’d gone back to sleep.
When I’d woken up again, I’d been resting my hand on Lincoln’s chest and had sidled up against him. He’d been the one playing with my hair. We’d lain there in silence for a while before he had suggested we go visit with Nacho.
And so had begun a strange dance of intimate and distant encounters. He hadn’t held my hand on our walks to see Nacho, either in the morning or the evening, nor had he touched me in any kind of meaningful way throughout the day. I’d spent most of my time reading some of the books I’d found lying around the house or helping Riley with his homework. I ate breakfast and dinner with the entire family and while I didn’t really contribute to the conversation, I’d listened to every word and studied the reactions of all the different men surrounding the table, especially the man who held me in his arms every night but walked on eggshells around me during the day.