I’d been pacing Lincoln’s living room for longer than I wanted to admit, circling between the couch and the counter. I glanced at my phone. The screen stayed pitch black. He’d left me on read.Twice.No calls. No texts. Just the ticking clock on the wall and the knot in my stomach. He’d never just not shown up. I told myself I was still pissed he’d behaved as if we were something we weren’t during and after meeting up with Diego. But the longer he stayed gone, the more I thought about the way he kept wearing those stupid sunglasses, the way he seemed to be holding his breath over things he didn’t even know yet… and the more that little trickle of worry turned into a stream I couldn’t shut off.
When the lock finally clicked, I froze. The door opened, and there he was—hair mussed, shirt wrinkled and messy. He looked hollowed out, and judging by the stench of vomit, throwing up hadn’t been enough to push out whatever this was.
His gaze found mine, pupils dilated. “I’m grabbing a few things,” he said, voice rough, tense. “I’m not staying.”
The words were a punch I hadn’t braced for. At some point while living with him, I’d forgotten to be ready for his hurtfulwords and the other ways he sought my pain. “What?” My voice cracked, betraying too much.
“You’ll stay,” he stated. “Please stay. A month, two. Whatever you need.” His gaze was steady but burdened, frayed. “Don’t leave just because of what I know now.”
My chest ached, heat rising behind my eyes even as my mouth pulled tight. I wanted to scream at him, to ask why he got to walk away when I was the one he’d gutted over and over. Then he stepped closer, his hands flexing at his sides as if he didn’t trust himself to touch me.
“I remember everything, Nina.” His voice cracked on the wordeverything. “High school. What I did. The shit I said. I remember it all. And I’m so fucking sorry. Igetit now, why I can’t be around you. There’s no clean slate, no do-over.”
The apology wasn’t a request for forgiveness. It was self-damnation.
He strode into his bedroom, and I followed like a speechless idiot. He shoved random clothing into a gym bag, stuffing it beyond capacity. It hadn’t been long since he’d watched me pack my life away. He had so much more to pack than I did.
I exhaled. I’d been telling Lincoln we couldn’t have a do-over, I couldn’t forget. Except now that he’d been the one to say it, I felt he was taking one more thing from me. He hadn’t waited for me to answer. No lingering glances tinted with hope that I’d stop him. He’ddecided.
He’d been in and out in less than twenty minutes. I just watched him, another instance where my life played out while I held no power—one more faceless person in the audience watching Nina Reyes’ life. With the door open, he turned to me. “Hey,” he said, extending his arm out to me.
I stepped into him, his arms around my waist, and dropped my head on his chest. A whisper of pressure caressed the top ofmy head. He was giving up. I felt smaller now than I ever had when he’d lashed out.
“This is your place.”
His head shook against mine, and I looked into his eyes. Regret. Such an avoidable emotion. If we’d just do the right thing, there wouldn’t be a need for it.
I felt that featherlight pressure again. “No,” he said. “I need you to have a place where you can just—catch your breath.”
Our gazes lingered. I was paralyzed by him, by his apology, by his guilt. I’d never thought Lincoln would feel remorseful for anything he’s done to me. And yet—there was no faking this.
His lips landed soft and tentative on my forehead. “Sorry doesn’t begin to cover what I feel.” His lips moved against my skin as he whispered the words.
I was in his arms, feeling his breath on my skin, trying to find ways to lash out at him and keep him with me, then he was gone. The door shut behind him, and the echo bounced through the apartment long after his footsteps faded.
I stood there, my throat burning, my hands trembling. He’d left me here to breathe, and I never imagined the air without Lincoln could suffocate, or that vindication could bleed into loss. I wanted to hate him, to be relieved he was gone. I looked for the worst he’d done and anger rose, but it didn’t come forhim. It came after the ache of someone ripping themselves out of me, leaving me jagged and raw.
I hadn’t asked him to leave, ever, and he still left anyway.
I’d beenat Reality Bites since early morning, determined to lose myself in busy work, and hidden away in the kitchen while Lynnie baked Bite Me Lemon Drop cupcakes and bars. I neededLincoln’s words to stop circling my mind.Somewhere along the two months I’d lived with Lincoln, I’d stopped being a helper or a charity case: he’d carved a place forme.
“Earth to Nina!” Lynnie sang. “Are you thinking of body-snatched Lincoln?”
He’d walked out, given up. I couldn’t control what Lincoln did, so I focused on what Icould—spreadsheets, mock-ups, schedules—anything that didn’t make breathing harder or my chest ache.
The front door creaked and Carmen breezed in, already grinning as if she’d been planning and plotting all day about what to stir up today. “Guess what I found in the workroom.” She whipped out her phone and tapped it awake, scrolling before holding it up for me to see.
A wall of neon Post-its, every single one scrawled with some ridiculous jab.Lincoln once photoshopped his own head onto Ryan Gosling’s body for “inspiration.”Lincoln likes to wear pink leopard sunglasses.Lincoln stuffs a sock in his pants just so he can feel good aboutsomething.
I laughed. “What the hell?”
“Apparently, your boy’s been busy. Rumor has it, he started half of these himself. Look.” She flipped to another photo. The handwriting was his—messy but sure.Lincoln’s all confidence and no substance.I traced it on Carmen’s phone.
Lynnie popped her head out of the kitchen, flour dusting her cheek. “That’s adorable,” she said matter-of-factly, as though we were discussing puppies instead of attempts of fixing the unfixable via passive-aggressive office graffiti.
It wasn’t adorable. Confusing, maybe. Infuriating, probably. Reminiscent of things he’d done to me in high school, sure, butcute?
“He is not my anything,” I countered a little too late while staring at the pictures longer than I should’ve.
