Page 17 of Dancing With Guilt

“Yes, June. Fuck.” He put the empty coffee cup down and glared at her. “Why’s that so hard to believe?”

“Well, Lincoln, you hated each other, that’s why.” June sat back in her chair, her face twisted in doubt, but the doubt cleared away after a moment. “Okay, it doesn’t matter if I believe it or not, why is that important?”

“It’s important because she got pregnant that night. And had a baby. And didn’t tell me a fucking word about it.” He looked at her, watching for her reaction.

June’s pretty face twisted from disbelief to surprise, and then to understanding. “Oh. Fuck.”

“Yes, oh, fuck.” Lincoln gnawed at a piece of toast, tasting none of it, but he knew he needed food.

“What did she do with the baby?” June asked gently.

Lincoln knew it was because June was the one person who knew how much he wanted children. He’d never wanted a wife, but a warm home filled with the sounds of family and happiness? Yeah, he really wanted that. “The woman who worked at the house has our daughter.”

“Aunt Katie?” June asked, clearly surprised. “I thought…well, I don’t know what I thought. I never heard about her again, so I assumed she’d moved on or something.”

“She did, with my baby.” Lincoln’s anger was creeping up again, he needed to get it under control.

He looked around the kitchen that Roxie had decorated perfectly, choosing the colors he’d have chosen. There were pieces of her all over this house, things that showed how much she cared and wanted his comfort. But all the time she was decorating his house, letting him fall for her, she was holding back one very important secret.

“I confronted her about it last night, and she gave me a bunch of excuses about how she’d been terrified for the baby, that she was young and didn’t know what to do, some other stuff about how she didn’t want to ruin my life.” Lincoln’s words trailed off, uncertainty entering in, now that he’d had time to think about it all.

Of course, he’d spent the night very drunk, but he’d still been able to retain a few thoughts. Everything she’d told him had been a confession of how she’d wanted to protect him or the baby, not herself. She hadn’t said she didn’t want to be saddled with a baby; it was all about protection. That was, well, kind of understandable in the cold light of morning.

“And what did you say that made her leave, Lincoln?” June asked carefully, her eyes watching him closely.

“That I was going to file for custody of Lily. That I was going to take our daughter from her.” Lincoln closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose where the pain seemed to have decided to take up residence and throw a party.

“That’s fucked up, Lincoln,” June said, disappointment in her eyes. “She’s been through so much already. And how did you find out about the baby anyway?”

“Nathan told me, sold me the information. He’d found some pictures when he was tearing Roxie’s place apart…” Lincoln let the words trail off. June’s point was made with that sentence.

“You have a right to be angry, Lincoln, but surely you can see what she was going through. Has been going through? She nearly fell apart when you were missing. I’ve never seen her that lost, and the day after you came back you ran off and left her alone again. Then, then, oh fuck me, Lincoln, you’re more of an asshole than I’d have ever believed,” June paused, looked like she was about to be sick, but went on. “Then you came back and unloaded on her about something that must have terrified her even more, something that must have nearly broken her. I can’t believe you.”

June got up, put her dishes in the sink, and then stood there glaring at him.

“Right, you would take her side.” Lincoln twisted out the verbal knife she’d stuck into his chest with her words and threw it back at her. “She’s your best friend. I’m your fucking brother, but you’ll still take her side.”

“No, Lincoln, that’s not what I’m doing at all. I’m seeing the truth, I’m seeing what you’ve both been through, and wondering why the fuck you chose to attack her with that weapon when you know the kind of trauma you’ve both experienced. Because that’s what you did, you attacked her. No wonder she left. Fuck. I can’t believe you.”

Lincoln tried to break into the stream of his sister’s anger, but she held up a hand. “No. You’re one to talk about secrets, anyway. Have you forgotten how you’ve tracked her all these years? Have you told her about that? Or what you found out about her parents? Have you told her any of that? Because she hasn’t said anything about it to me. Have you told her how Dad told us not to believe the news because none of it was true?”

Lincoln didn’t look at her, didn’t want to admit he’d totally put all of that off. Or that he was still working on that case with his PI.

June scoffed at him before she left the kitchen and a few seconds later Lincoln heard the front door close.

Now June was mad at him too. For fuck’s sake.

Lincoln put his dishes in the sink and went back to bed.

June was right with that last parting shot; he should have told Roxie what he’d found out so far. Roxie had a right to know. But he had a right to know about his child. She’d kept that from him. Now, she wouldn’t know because she most definitely was never going to speak to him. He’d made sure of that with that threat he’d made.

The darkness of the room had always been perfect. Roxie had known somehow that he wanted only oblivion when he went to bed. There was a television, but nothing else to serve as a distraction. The blackout curtains kept it dark, even during the brightest parts of the day. He retreated there now, not to think about what June had said, but to try to block out the image of Roxie’s face when he’d flung that sentence at her. That was the ultimate violation.

She’d been through nothing but hell since that night. Okay, there might have been some good years here and there, but he knew the last few months had been nothing but a blunder from one trauma to the next. She’d handled it all with bravery, a courage he’d admired. Then, when it looked like most of it was over, when it looked like there might be some peace on the horizon, he’d let the last little trump card that Nathan held tear them apart.

Whether it was a mistake or not he didn’t know. He was still too angry to think about anything but how she’d betrayed him when she didn’t tell him about their child. The image of her betrayal kept intruding, wouldn’t let him rest, no matter how many times he turned in the bed, no matter how many times he punched the pillow.

The biggest mistake was pulling her pillow close to him to brace his arm on. It smelled of her shampoo, her perfume, the essence of her scent lingering to torment him further.