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“You’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head. “You never want kids?”
A few years ago I would never entertain the idea of having children after my own childhood, but Lincoln made me want more.
“I do, but not until I’m about thirty-five,” I admitted with a shrug. “And of course, I would need a nanny.”
Morgan smirked. “What would be the fun in that?”
“It wouldn’t be fun waking up in the middle of the night,” I countered.
“But it would be a better bonding experience,” she argued.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “I have years before it happens anyway.”
“What the fuck do you mean Michael is alive?” My voice trembled as I stared at Lincoln, who was sitting on my couch with his hands buried in his face.
“He’s alive,” Lincoln repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.
“How?” I demanded, my mind reeling.
“It’s a very long story,” he muttered, looking up at me with haunted eyes. “I found out last night. I thought I was seeing a ghost.”
I sat down next to him, rubbing his back as a wave of nausea washed over me. Morgan had confided in me that she was in love with Michael before he disappeared. Now that he was back, what would that mean for her, for Slade, for all of us?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, unsure of what else to say.
“Sorry for him returning?” Lincoln asked, his voice bitter.
“Sorry for everything you and your family went through,” I clarified, my chest aching as I watched the pain etched on his face.
“Talon threw up when he saw Michael,” Lincoln said, his voice hollow. “I don’t know what’s worse—believing he was dead or finding out he’s alive after all this time. I need something.”
“I’m here for you,” I offered, squeezing his shoulder.
“I don’t mean that. I need a drink. Something strong,” he muttered, his eyes distant.
I rose from the couch and headed to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the bottle of vodka I kept in the freezer. When I returned, Lincoln poured himself a drink and threw it back in one gulp. He poured a second and sipped it slowly, his eyes fixed on the wall.
“What’s he going to do now that he’s back?” I asked, breaking the heavy silence.
“Start his life up again,” Lincoln replied, his voice edged with frustration. “He’s unhappy Morgan is engaged.”
“She loves Slade,” I reminded him. “They’re getting married in three months.”
“Maybe,” Lincoln said, his tone doubtful.
“She won’t end it to be with Michael,” I insisted, trying to believe my own words.
“Why not? You said she loved him,” Lincoln countered, his eyes searching mine.
“She did, but she’s getting married,” I repeated, though the uncertainty in my voice betrayed me.
Lincoln scrubbed his face with his hands, then finished off his vodka. “I need you,” he said quietly, his voice breaking.
“I know, sweetheart,” I replied, my heart breaking for him.
He leaned against me, resting his head on my shoulder. I stroked his cheek, trying to soothe his tortured soul. I couldn’t begin to imagine the turmoil he was going through. He had believed his brother was dead, and now everything had been upended.
“Can we go to bed?” Lincoln asked, sounding utterly exhausted.
