Page 101 of Carry On

Those were his exact words.

Did Lincoln love me? Was it just a phrase? An accident.

He can’t love you, the voice commented.

I chased that intrusive thought with another shot of whiskey.

For one moment, I just wanted to think without intrusion because at some point, that man was going to come out of the bedroom. I needed to figure out what to say to him. I needed to figure out how I felt about his words.

Lincoln consumed me. There was no doubt of that. I craved his presence and felt his absence deeply. The connection was there, but I didn’t knowwhatthat connection was. Truthfully, I didn’t have a clue how to connect with people. Lincoln was no exception to that.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to.

Do you, though?the voice asked.

Another shot of whiskey went down just as quickly.

Yes, I fucking did. I just didn’t know how to do it. I had zero experience in the relationship department. I’d hooked up a bit when I was younger and avoided people like the plague as an adult. I never understood the appeal of a relationship. Maybe there was something wrong with me.

But I would’ve been lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying this weird dynamic with Lincoln. I liked having him around, and I liked doing things for him. I still strongly believed the man was too good to be with me, but what if he wanted to?

Could that notion be enough?

I glanced at his bedroom door. He’d been in there quite a while. I didn’t care that all the food had gone cold. I just wanted to know what he was up to. I wanted to know that he was okay.

Leaving the whiskey behind, I knocked on his door.

Nothing.

“Lincoln?” I said as I knocked a second time and waited. Still nothing. His lack of response made me frown. I tried again. “Lincoln, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, short and curt.

Yeah, he wasn’t fine. The look on his face as he realized what he’d said had been enough to tell me the man was minutes away from panicking. Considering his history, it made sense. It also made me hate the door between us.

“I’m coming in, Lincoln,” I announced as a courtesy. I didn’t give him a chance to argue with me as I opened the door. Thank fuck, it wasn’t locked. Maybe that was a good sign.

Or maybe he just forgot in his pursuit to leave you, the voice replied.

I bit that bitter thought back because some part of it was right. Lincoln had changed into a navy sweatshirt and jeans, a look I liked on him. What I didn’t like was the duffel bag on his bed, sitting wide open as he neatly packed it.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I just… I need some space to get my head on straight,” Lincoln murmured.

“Linc—”

“It’s fine,” he said over me. “I’m fine… I’ll be fine.”

The progression of commentary wasn’t lost on me.

And in that moment, I knew I wanted a relationship with this man. I didn’t have a clue what that looked like, but I wanted it. More than anything, I wanted to fix all the crappy things that had him feeling like this. I wanted to soothe the chaos in his mind and make him feel safe.

I wanted him to run home to me, not away from me.

I crossed the room, closing the distance between the two of us, and covered his hand with mine when he started to zip up his bag.

“Lincoln,” I began, but he shook his head.