I’ve said variations of the same thing over and over again. And I’ll keep saying it until she wakes.
Or until I break.
The truth settles into me quietly, without warning.
I have never felt like this before.
Not even when Melissa hit a sheet of black ice one night, driving home from a night out with her friends. Her car slid until the front end of it hit a telephone pole. I didn’t know about it until an ambulance had already brought her to the hospital after a passerby spotted hercar in the ditch. When all was said and done, she was fine, just a minor concussion. But for hours, I had no idea how bad it was. All I did from the time it took Lawson to drive me from the ranch to the hospital was come up with every worst-case scenario in the book. Everything was uncertain. All I could do was wait until I had my own eyes on her. Wait until I spoke to the doctor. Just… wait.
I’ve waited before.
I’ve donethisbefore.
At the time, I thought it shattered me. I thought that fear of the unknown—that ache in my chest—was the worst thing I’d ever feel.
God, what an idiot.
That fear was sharp. Immediate. Loud.
But this… this is different.
This is slow and suffocating. This is the kind of terror that sinks into your bones and rewrites you while you’re too busy holding your breath to even notice. This is the realization that if she doesn’t wake up, the world won’t just hurt…
It will bewrong.
And I don’t care what that says about the man I was when I was married.
I know what it says about the man I am now.
I thought I knew true fear then. But now, staring down ather, I know I wasn’t even close.
Leaning forward, I rest my forehead briefly against the mattress near her shoulder, my grip tightening just a fraction. “Come back,” I whisper as I look back at her, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “Please.Just—open your eyes, Sweetheart. I need to see you look at me.”
And then—
Her lashes flutter, and I freeze.
For one horrifying second, I think I imagined it. My breath stutters in my chest, heart slamming so hard it almost makes me dizzy.
But then her fingers curlweakly around mine.
“Abbie?” My voice breaks, and I don’t even try to hide it. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Her eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, glassy with exhaustion and confusion. She blinks, brows pinching together as she tries to make sense of where she is.
Then her gaze lands on me.
“Linc,” she whispers.
The sound of my name on her lips rips the air from my lungs.
I let out a ragged exhale that feels like it’s been trapped inside me for days. Leaning down without thinking, without permission, without an ounce of restraint, I kiss her.
Deep.
Careless.
Desperate.
