I release a pent-up breath. “Thank God.”
“I’m more worried about you right now.”
I stare into Lincoln’s eyes, trying to decide if this is just another game and what his angle is. “I’m fine. I don’t need you worrying about me.”
He nods, and I try to think of all the things I’ve waited years to say to him. I try to picture all the ways I’ve imagined this moment, just like I imagined coming back to Gable in high style and making everyone regret how they mistreated me and my family. But my mind goes blank because all I can think about is how good it felt to have someone stronger than me catch me when I fall.
How pathetic is that?
Tears burn the back of my eyes, and it’s a losing battle. I can’t stop them from falling.
I tuck my chin to my chest and let them fall. But my silent tears don’t escape his notice.
“It guts me to see you cry.”
“Then leave.” I sniffle as I give the order.
“That’s not gonna happen. Not this time.”
33
Lincoln
I step closer.When Whitney doesn’t bolt, I wipe her tears away, just like I’ve done before, but everything is different this time. I fucking swear it will be.
As my thumb sweeps along her cheekbone, Whitney flinches. I tuck her hair behind her ear and look closer. The greenish purple is unmistakably a fading bruise. Instantly, rage grips me.
“Who the fuck hit you?”
Whitney jerks her head back, letting her hair fall forward to cover it again. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Everything about you matters to me. I don’t think you get that.”
Whitney looks up, her eyes still shiny from the tears. “Is that your new game? Make me feel like I’m worth something to you now?” She looks away, and I hate that she thinks it’s a ploy.
“You’ve always been worth your weight in gold, Whitney.” I say her name because I know it’ll get her attention. “Now, tell me who hit you.”
Her chin juts out, and I recognize the stubbornness I remember.
“It’s been taken care of.”
“If he’s not six feet under, he hasn’t been taken care of. No man hits a woman. Give me a name.”
“I handled it. I’m a big girl now. I take care of my business. I don’t need you or your money. You still can’t buy me, Lincoln.”
I remember the last time she told me that, and it hits hard. “You’re right. Because you were fucking priceless then, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”
Whitney looks away, and I hope it’s because she doesn’t want me to see how the truth affects her.
“I’m not having this conversation. Not now. Not ever. We can’t go back. We can’t change the past. It’s time to move on.” She charges for the futon, but the shower curtain is stuck under my foot, and stays stuck.
The pink material shreds, and Whitney’s mouth drops open. She wraps her arms around herself and rushes toward her towel, but not before I see every curve of her body.
Fucking Christ.
Whitney Gable is even more devastating now than she was ten years ago. Rounder hips. Fuller tits. Every single inch is perfection.
The dumbest thing I ever did was give her a reason to walk away from me and marry Ricky Rango.