There was that look. That sympathetic, pitying look Sara hated. Without meaning to, she took a step away, as though that would somehow block her from Gracie’s expression. She bumped into the coffee table and when she would have fallen, Lincoln caught her. He raised his eyebrows at her in a silent question.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, whatever semblance of fun she’d been having completely evaporated. This had been a bad idea. She’d known better.
“Sara needs to get out more,” Spencer slurred. “Have fun. Forget about stuff.”
Sara stared at him, stunned at what she was hearing, her hands fisting at her sides. She wanted to shout at him to keep his stupid opinions and useless words to himself. He didn’t understand anything. He didn’t know what it was like.
“Forget, Spencer?” Lincoln asked in a low voice, his entire body taut beside her. “We should just forget about it all and move on? Pretend it never happened? Pretend he never existed? Is that right?”
Spencer blinked his eyes, swaying a little. “No, man, that’s not what I meant. You know that. He was my best friend.”
Lincoln slowly nodded, his jaw clenched. “Was. Not is. Right. I get it.”
“Lincoln,” Sara murmured, placing a hand on his forearm. The muscles tensed beneath her fingers, holding fury, just barely, at bay. “He’s drunk. Let’s go, okay?”
“I didn’t mean anything, Lincoln!” Spencer called after them, sounding miserable, as Lincoln stormed toward the door, Sara following. She glanced back as Gracie put her hands to Spencer’s face, drawing his gaze to hers as she spoke to him. Sara’s heart squeezed and she turned away.
Mason stood up from the card table as she passed, wedging himself between her and the exit. “Everything okay, Sara? What’s going on?”
The door banged shut after Lincoln. Sara glanced at Mason, the urge to race after Lincoln impossible to ignore. “Spencer’s drunk and said something that pissed Lincoln off.”
His eyes narrowed as he looked through the window of the front door. “Are you sure it’s safe to ride with him?”
Instant heat shot through her and she gritted her teeth. “That’s my husband’s brother. Of course I’m safe.”
“I meant since he’s been drinking.”
“He had one beer.” The silence grew and Sara gestured impatiently. “I need to go.”
“Right. See you Sunday.” Mason turned away, back to his card game. She bit back a retort in the negative to his comment, its importance absolutely nothing compared to getting to Lincoln. Sara was out the door before he’d completely sat down.
It was raining. Cold, large drops of wetness soaked through her clothes even before she was to the darkened truck. The air was crisp with the scent of it. Where was he? Sara swiped a hand across her face and blinked her eyes through the sky’s shower. She peered into the truck. It was empty. Panic grabbed her chest and clenched. Sara whirled around, searching the surroundings for Lincoln, shivering.
The house glowed with lights, music and conversation floating out to her. Scraggly trees loomed in the yard, cloaking the scene with a layer of foreboding. It was silly to be worried about him, really. Obviously he hadn’t driven off in a rage. Lincoln would never abandon her. You thought the same about him. Sara flinched, refusing to dwell on that too much. He hadn’t meant to leave her; he’d had no choice. That’s what she told herself.
Sara turned in a slow circle, wondering where he could have gone to. Then she saw him. He stood on the other side of the truck, near the tailgate, facing away from her. Lincoln was hunched over, his back rigid. She slowly walked to him, her boots sinking into the soft ground, each step filling her with something. Relief. And something more, something Sara couldn’t put a name to, not yet. Her hand trembled as it reached up, just barely grazing his hard shoulder.
Lincoln whirled around, his face cast in shadow, but not enough to hide the way his eyes zeroed in on her face and locked there, as if she had the power to ground him, as if she could heal what wounded him. His eyes were tortured and Sara’s heart hurt seeing that look in them. He hid it better than she, but he was hurting just as much as she was.
A tick in his jaw pulled her gaze to it. Sara focused on that, her breaths short and hurried. They were changing; she and Lincoln. She felt it, and it scared her. It terrified her. She didn’t know how or why it was happening, and that scared her more.
“I miss him.”
Her eyes jerked to Lincoln’s.
“I want my brother back,” he said in a ragged voice.
She nodded. “I know.”
“But he’s not coming back.”
Sara wanted to deny his words, but logically, how could she? She looked down at her rain-covered boots, saying nothing.
Lincoln sighed loudly. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”