22
Linc slept at Lacey and Lilah’s on a lumpy, too-short couch. He spread out unfamiliar-smelling sheets and blankets, while Lilah got their nephews tucked into bed. Troy and Jake were five and nine. Linc remembered Jake, but he’d never seen more than pictures of Troy. Their presence—a reminder of all those years he’d missed—was worse than Lilah sobbing in his arms.
Lacey called at seven in the morning to say she was being released and needed a ride. Seven seemed early, but Linc could easily imagine her berating the nurses and doctors all night until they finally agreed to send her home. Linc drove over. He grinned as Lacey fussed and protested that she didn’t need a wheelchair. The nurse said it was hospital policy and didn’t back down until Lacey settled into it and allowed herself to be taken to the hospital door.
Linc’s dad was there too. He didn’t say anything, shuffling across the parking lot in his limping gait.
“What happened?” Linc whispered to his sister.
“Broken ankle. Never healed right. I’m not sure if they actually had doctors in prison or if they just told him to tie it off with a bedsheet.”
By the time they reached the car, his dad was a long way behind them.
“Did you—” For once, Lacey looked uncertain. “Did you tell Lilah what you told me? About you and Mickey?”
Linc shook his head. “The boys were still up when I got there, and then as soon as they were asleep, she crashed too. There hasn’t really been time.” He’d make time, though, before he went back to Wilmington. He owed Lilah that much.
Linc made sure Lacey was comfortable and then, his feelings still tender, went around the car and held the other door open.
His dad chuckled as he reached him, patting Linc’s hand over the frame. His fingers were cold and boney, like a skeleton’s in a rubber glove.
At home, Lacey’s boys practically tripped over each other to get down the stairs and greet her as she stepped out of the car. Troy cried a few fat tears, and Lacey passed kisses all around.
“I’m so sorry I scared you,” Lacey said as she held both boys close. “I’m okay. It’s okay.”
“She’s making them soft.” His dad spoke so quietly, Linc almost didn’t hear it, but when his head whipped around, his dad was already shuffling toward the house without another word.
Lilah had made pancakes, which were followed by a lot of fuss over whether or not Lacey could eat them and settled when she stuffed half a steaming pancake in her mouth and said, “Not dead yet!” around it.
The house was small, with only a breakfast bar and no table, so they sat around the living room instead. Linc sat on the sofa with the two boys. As he finished his second pancake, Troy tapped his shoulder and shyly said, “Uncle Linc?”
No one had ever called him that before. He nearly choked on his pancake.
“Yes?” he said, when he could swallow.
“Auntie Lala said you’re a fireman.”
“Auntie Lala?” He glanced at Lilah, squeezed into a big armchair with Lacey.
She gave a shrug. “Jake called me that when he was small, and it stuck.”
He glanced back down at the little boy, watching him with big, serious eyes. “Yes. I am a fireman.”
“Have you ever been in a fire?” Jake asked.
“A few.”
“Are the other firefighters a bunch of hotties like on the calendars?” Lilah asked, then laughed when Lacey elbowed her. “What? He’s not that far away. We could go visit.”
Linc laughed along with her. It felt good. “My crew is Brian, who’s kind of old and has a wife and is about to have two babies.”
“Ohh.” Lilah fanned herself. “A man with kids is so sexy.”
Brian would be glad to hear that, at least. “And the other person on my truck is a woman. Vasquez. And she’s—well, actually, she’s bisexual, so she could be interested in you, but she currently has a girlfriend. I think you’re out of luck on that front too.”
On the other chair, by the TV, his dad scoffed. Linc had another bite of pancake.
“And what about you?” Lacey said carefully. “They’ve both got—um—partners. Do you have someone too?”
