His blue eyes snapped to mine, glassy with alarm.
“It’s okay,” I whispered.
His blond hair matted with rain and blood, and for once, there was no trace of those damn dimples, just lines of terror at the edge of his lips and distress pooling in his indigo gaze. My mom’s eyes had been a lighter blue. Was she afraid? Conscious?
“You’re going to be okay, let them help you.”
Part of me wanted to leave, but the part of me that hoped my mom had someone to soothe her chose to reassure Lincoln, so I caressed the back of his palm with my thumb.
Lincoln held my gaze for a few more seconds, then, with a faint nod, released my hand.
I sat on a hard plastic chair in the ER waiting area, shivering under the cold blast of the vents. The scent of antiseptic burned the back of my throat as it all replayed in my head. Flashlights cutting through the rain. Being pulled backward. His body slamming to the ground. I rubbed my hands against my jeans for warmth, red staining the denim across my thigh. Blood. His blood, sticky and dark, caked under my fingernails.
I dropped my tote, and when it smacked linoleum, the thunk echoed in my ears bringing back the memory of Lincoln’s head hitting the asphalt, eyes rolling into unconsciousness while I screamed his name.
Why did I even care? I shouldn’t.
The morose whispers between a doctor and a nurse broke my gaze away from the blood clinging to my clothes. The hushed reassurances took me to a different waiting room, different accident. Curled up between Lynnie and Aunt Maddie. My parents were picking up my birthday cake, then a gray-haired doctor spoke with Aunt Maddie, using a cold, clinical tone. Unable to resuscitate. Next of kin. Care for the child.Me.
I pinched my thighs until the memory faded.
A nurse approached me, strawberry-blonde hair wrapped in a high bun, holding a clipboard to her chest. “You came in with Lincoln Carter. Is that right?”
I bobbed my head in an awkward nod, my mouth too dry.
“We’ve been unable to reach his emergency contact. Do you know someone else I can call?”
Lincoln and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms for me to know. Lincoln’s dad, with his beer gut and light-brown hairpeppered with white, flashed in my mind. So did the screaming matches they’d had across the yard. The only person who was close to him then and now was?—
“His emergency contact—” I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the impatience tightening her face. “Is it Vincent Trigg?”
She hesitated, unsure whether to confirm or not. “Yes.”
“That’s my…. That’s my cousin. He’s out of town.” I paused again, heart stuttering. “There’s no one else. I don’t think. I’m not sure. What about his phone?”
She clicked her tongue. “No phone was retrieved. It’s likely it was lost or broken.”
“Mr. Carter is currently…” She looked around the room. “I can’t share too much of his condition, but he shouldn’t be alone. He woke up and asked for you.”
I hesitated, doubting Lincoln would mention me for anything other than to blame me. As if I’d invited him to follow me from Reality Bites. I almost shook my head and opened my mouth to say no. It wasn’t right, though. I thought of my mom and dad passing away without anyone they knew. I wasn’t Lincoln, nor did I want to be. I wouldn’t abandon anyone alone and hurt in a hospital. Lincoln’s nastiness wouldn’t turn me into that person.
When I nodded, she wasted no time walking swiftly through the halls of the hospital, squeaky shoes making it easy to find her when I missed one turn or another.
“Excuse me. If you cannot contact my cousin, what will happen to Lincoln?”
She let out an annoyed huff and hurried her pace until she finally opened the door to Lincoln’s room. The light scent of lavender covered the cleaning agent. Soft beeping of monitors filled the small space. Lincoln lay on the bed, looking pale, with a dark line of bruising visible along his temple, and a bandage wrapped around his head, bright-red spots marring its cleanliness. An IV snaked out of his arm was taped down withclear medical strips. This fragile appearance did not belong to a person capable of his level of cruelty.
He squinted up at us, blinking with exhaustion. When his gaze landed on me, relief coated his features instantly. “Hey…,” he rasped, his voice rough and low. His lips curved into a small tired smile. “You came. I kept telling them you’d come, all they needed to do was get you.”
The nurse scurried away, murmuring she’d get the doctor for us. Lincoln stretched his hand out to me, wincing when sitting up tugged at his IV. He opened and closed his palm, urging me to take it, and furrowed his brow when I didn’t move right away. Dazed by his attitude, I went to him, and his shoulders relaxed when our hands met. He intertwined our fingers, and I watched, mesmerized. Unable to remember the last time I’d been touched with such softness, I closed my eyes—half in surrender, half in self-defense. Especially as his bright-blue eyes reminded me of him staring at me unfazed when I stumbled through my presentation.
“I’m so sorry, I know this is bad, but…” His smiled wavered, lips quivering, and he stared at our laced fingers. Fear was a foreign expression from Lincoln. “Please, what’s your name again?” he asked, his voice cracking.
The words sliced right through me, sharp and unexpected.My name.He didn’t remember my name.
His eyes met mine, and the blue lightened. “I know you’re important to me.” He paused, as if waiting for reassurance. “That’s why you were there, right? Your eyes, I know them from before passing out, but also from—something I can’t remember.”
“Lincoln, I’m—” I searched for the right words to explain, but none would come out. I didn’t want to harm him; I just wanted toleave.
