“I don’t need yourfuckinghelp!” I spin around to face him.
“I know youthinkyou don’t, but you spent most of your birthday at work, busting your ass. Then you got in a fight and then you spent the rest of it in jail. After everything I put you through… please… the least I can do is take some of the stress off of you by taking you home. If you don’t want me to know where you live I can order you a private ride.”
“You don’t think I could have done that myself?”
“Yeah, but you didn’t,” he says matter-of-factly.
The truth is… Idowant his help. But when I was dependent on him, when I trusted him, he made me feel like shit.
My mom never needed anyone’s help.
Then again… my mom died because she refused that help. Because she wouldn’t let the people around her take care of her. She was strong… but she drowned under that showmanship of strength.
Maybe Lincoln is right.
The thing is, I don’t want to accept that or admit it.
Lincoln releases a breath, the wind blowing his beautiful dark brown hair in his face, momentarily making him look especially handsome.
I hate myself for how I’m even simping for him in my mind. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging someone is very attractive. Being close to him like this… especially without Sarah… brings back memories my body thirsts to relive but my mind wants to forget.
Lincoln licks his lips. “Listen… if you take help from me… it doesn’t… it doesn’t come with anything.”
“Really?” I ask, setting up the trap.
“Really.”
“Like I’m sure it came withnothingwhen you helpedSarahright?”
Lincoln sucks in a deep and uncomfortable breath and looks somewhere in the distance, defeated, knowing full well that any move he makes at this point, I have the checkmate.
“I… … alright Gabrielle.”
After some hesitation, Lincoln dips his head and walks away toward the corner of the street, probably because he parked his car on the other block.
Come back.
I want you to fight for me.
No I don’t.
Making my way back to the shuttle station, I sit on the bench, keeping my emotions in check.
-??-
Chapter 31
Turns out I really needed that jacket.
I tiredly turn the key into my apartment, which only has two floors. It has a staircase that I walk up to get to the second floor, where there’s a row of doors, little studios that function more like rooms that just so happen to have a kitchen in the corner, a bathroom tucked away, and other niceties that seem too small.
Still, this has been home for me.
As much as I try to get into the rhythm of my monotonous life, my mind keeps assaulting me with images of Lincoln.
With how much he seems to care about me.
Although I know that’s bullshit.
