Just a house filled with him in every way imaginable. That was all. What did Lincoln think and feel every time he walked inside the door?
“Is it just a house to you?” she asked softly.
Their eyes met and in his, Sara saw pain, and she felt horrible. It was always about her. Lincoln was always trying to make her feel better, always trying to drag her away from the edge of desolation. What about him? He’d lost his best friend, the older brother he’d looked up to growing up, because of Sara. She owed it to him to let him know his brother’s wishes. Sara owed him so much.
“What is it?”
Sara opened her mouth to confess the secret locked inside her. Her pulse was careening madly, her heart pounded so fast and hard she felt faint. “Your…I…” She stared at him in helplessness and misery.
His features tightened and then his face closed. It went completely blank. “Tell me.”
“He—“
“Say his name, Sara,” Lincoln interrupted sharply. “He’s a person, your husband, say his fucking name.”
She flinched at his harsh tone and words, stumbling back a step. If he’d slapped her she wouldn’t have felt the sting more.
He cursed again, yanking his gloves from his hands and flinging them to the ground. “I’m sorry, but…this is over, Sara. You can’t pretend anymore. I’m not letting you. So say his name, and stop acting like your world has fallen apart and mine hasn’t and…fuck.” Lincoln turned away, showing Sara his granite profile. “Just say his name, all right?” His throat convulsed as he swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. Sara reached for his arm and Lincoln shrugged her off. “I’m doing what Spencer did, only in a different way. I didn’t…I didn’t realize. And I know better. I’m so sorry, Lincoln.” A wave of sorrow hit her, but this time it wasn’t for her or her husband. This time, it was for Lincoln.
He whirled around, his jaw clenched. “I don’t want you to be sorry, Sara. I want you to live. I want you to stop blaming yourself and acting like a martyr waiting for her execution. I want you to smile and laugh and not give up. Because I’m not giving up and Cole wouldn’t want you to give up. Do you know how pissed he would be, right now, if he knew the way you’re living? He would be furious.” Lincoln glared down at her, his hands fisted at his sides.
She was suffocating. Sara gasped for air that didn’t come. She had to tell him. She had to tell Lincoln and face his wrath. “You don’t understand, Lincoln. I don’t know how. I can’t.” The pressure built, in her chest, in her throat.
Lincoln strode toward her, his gaze locked on Sara’s. He stopped when only an inch separated them. “Find a way.”
“He wrote a living will,” she blurted out. Her words ran together until they were jumbled and hard to understand. But once Sara started, she couldn’t stop. “He wrote a will stating that if he was ever put on life support, that once a year had come with no change in his health, he…the machine is supposed to be shut off.” Saying it out loud made it true and she sucked in a ragged breath, pain lacerating her heart.
Lincoln’s face; his face was stone as he stared at her, saying nothing.
Sara swallowed thickly, the words like cement in her throat. It was too late to stop. She had to finish; she had to get them all out. “I’m supposed to approve it. He stated in the will I’m to approve it. I have….they want me to sign the papers. It’s been over a year, Lincoln.”
Everything in her dimmed; shut done, as she studied his expression. It was dead. His eyes were dead. Those stormy gray eyes usually so full of life were flat. He didn’t move; he didn’t appear to breathe. He just stared at her, as though he hadn’t heard her words or couldn’t accept them. The world turned gray, listless, it disappeared as she watched him stand there, too hurt to even move; and she wanted to erase his sorrow. Sara would take it from him if she could.
She was back in time; back to that horrible day the doctors told them the prognosis wasn’t good; the day they were told the head trauma he suffered from was most likely irrevocable and unfixable. His brain was damaged too much. Sara was back to that day when Lincoln was broken right along with her. He’d had the same look on his face then as he did now. Only then there’d been reason to have a little hope; now there was none. A small part of her hoped anyway.
When Lincoln spoke, she knew it was the same for him.
“Maybe…” He swallowed. “Maybe he’ll be okay.” Lincoln’s voice was rough, his eyes downcast.