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 couldfeel 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.
