Chapter Twenty-eight: Look at Me

Chapter Twenty-eight

Willow

LOOK AT ME

Performed by Carrie Underwood

As Lincoln and Axel went to review his security system and the camera setup, I made my way to the cupboards and started pulling together the ingredients for a cake I was going to use as the base below the individual miniature desserts for my new piece. I wasn't really in a mindset to create, but making the cake would keep me busy so the doubts and worries didn't settle in.

Lincoln's family may have stopped the pictures from being released, but they were still out there. They didn't know who'd taken them. And Axel may be able to find out who it was, but would it be before more emerged?

After panic and worry had caused me to throw up, a weird numbness had descended on me. Lincoln had tried to push past it several times. Our argument about whether or not to disclose I was in witness protection had tried to slash into it, but then it had settled back over me.

It was too late to take back my selfish mistakes.

Too late to be strong.

I'd already hurt Lincoln and Mom.

That thought caused pain to twist like a knife again, threatening to push aside the numbness.

But I pulled the cold detachment back over me and concentrated on the recipe I could almost make in my sleep. I was just getting ready to pour the batter into the waiting pan when my phone rang, and Mom's face appeared on the screen.

I almost cried just at the sight of it—from relief but also sadness and dread.

"You sounded scared on your voicemail, Willow. Did Poco bother you again?" Her voice was full of worry. Fear. I hated that I was responsible for it this time.

"I messed up," I choked out, dropping the bowl on the counter, tugging at my dad's ring.

She inhaled sharply, holding her breath before breathing out softly and saying, "We all make mistakes, kiddo. Even nearly perfect humans like you sometimes do. Want to tell me about it?"

"Lincoln…" I choked again, losing my breath. Losing my way. I'd been lured by hope and connection and the beauty of a man I couldn't have. And now I had to tell her I'd tossed our lives away for a few moments of pleasure.

"Did he hurt you?" The ferocity of her tone made me realize the direction I'd sent her in.

"No. God no. He's kind and generous." Tears threatened, but I shoved them back with the heels of my hands. Tears did nothing. They were a release valve, but they couldn't change anything.

"Okay," she said, the relief in her voice clear. "So what's wrong?"

"He's Lincoln Matherton."

It took her a minute to catch up. To put the name together with the actual person. "Willow… Shit."

"It all happened so fast, Mom. It wasn't anything… He was just helping me with Poco, and then…" I trailed off.

She gave a little huff somewhere between humor and frustration. "And then you started dating the president's son."

It was so much more than dating. In some strange way, we'd gone from nothing to everything in a heartbeat.

"We had a scare tonight… Some photographs of us were taken, and his family stopped them from coming out. Lincoln has hired someone to try to figure out who took them. And before you start, I know I have to stop seeing him. I know that. And I will—"

"Now that's enough to make me want to cry," Mom said, breaking me out of my spiral.

"What?" I croaked.

"How did you feel when Hector told you he asked me out?"

"Joy," I said instantly. I didn't want her to doubt even for a second that I wasn't happy about things progressing for them. "So much joy, Mom."

"And don't you think I want that for my child? Love. Happiness. Someone adoring you. Because that was what I heard when I talked to him yesterday. I heard it in his voice. A fierce protectiveness that comes from caring deeply for someone. If I hadn't, I would have gotten in the car and come home just to make sure you were safe."

I almost wished for the numbness back. With dread, I said, "There's more."

"More than you dating the president's son?"

She was trying to make light of it, trying to make me feel better, but it only increased the burden I was carrying. "Someone threw rocks at Lincoln's house and left another note." I caught her up to speed on everything and then sighed. "I'm still sure it's Poco, Mom. I don't want to freak the Marshals out, but I do want to be kept abreast of Aaron's location."

"Leaving notes isn't the Viceroys' style. They don't knock and ask to come in." She took a breath and kept going. "I won't lie. I'm upset you didn't tell me right away—about Poco or Lincoln or any of it. And yet, I also understand why you didn't. You've been trying so hard ever since your dad died to keep me safe too. But it isn't your job, honey. I'm the parent. Not you. You couldn't have saved him that night. Nothing you could have done, even if you were the best surgeon in the world, would have stopped him from dying. I'm not going to disappear on you. I'm here. I'm here and happy."

Her words tore through the shield I'd placed between me and those awful memories. The blood. The lifeless look in my dad's eyes. It hurt so much more than I expected after all this time, but she was also right. I was trying to ensure she was safe because of what had happened, and she was also right that she was here and alive and happy, which was why I said quietly, "This is exactly why I can't see Lincoln anymore. Just imagine what it would do to both of us if the photos got out."

"What I imagine is that you must care for him deeply."

"Wh-what?"

"You'd never risk me or our life here for a random fling."

I swallowed hard. She knew me too well for me to lie. What I'd felt for Lincoln from that very first moment had been impossibly large. It wasn't just me trying to mark off some item in my journal or revel in a minute of happiness. Something between us screamed forever, but it was a forever I couldn't have. Not with him. "It doesn't matter how I feel. It's not worth it. Not if I cost us this life only to bring heartache and loss to his by dying in a few years."

"You're wrong." And when I started to protest, she rode over me. "No. Listen to me. Even if I'd known about your father's FFI, I still would have married him. I still would have built our life together. Because every moment with him was worth it. We had years of happiness and love. Not everyone gets that. You can't toss it aside just because there might be sorrow in some unknown future. Even knowing how everything ended, even though you and I had to give up our life and start over, I'd still spend every second I could with him."

Her words were so close to Lincoln's about Sienna that they weren't easy to ignore. They'd both loved with every piece of their soul and lost, and they both said they'd do it all over again. "But he's already lost a woman he loved, Mom. Nearly lost another who was shot. How could I possibly start this with him, knowing I'd only bring him more grief? More of the same?"

She was silent for a moment. "That's pretty awful for someone so young to have gone through. But it also sounds like he's someone who could truly understand your own loss. The real question, though, is what does he say about it? What does he want? Are you just some interesting diversion, or does he want more? Does he really want you with all the ups and downs that come with you?"

I could still feel the imprint of him on me. His hands and his mouth. The weight of him as he was inside me. But even more, I felt the imprint he was leaving on my soul, the connections bonding us together in some complicated, messy way sure to hurt one or both of us. I thought of the fierceness in his eyes as he told me I was everything he wanted and needed, how I was the light forcing back his shadows, and how any amount of time he spent in that light was worth it.

"He wants me," I said and meant it.

"Then, that's all that matters. That's all that's important. Live, kiddo. Live hard. Love fully. Otherwise, you might as well have died that day with your father." Her voice cracked, and I knew just how hard it was for her to have said something like that. To even think it.

"Maybe it would be that simple, Mom, if we weren't talking about Lincoln Matherton. We're not talking about me falling in love with some random college student. This scare with the photos…that's going to happen again. His life is large and visible. Can you imagine what Deputy Marshal James would have to say about this? She'd want to relocate us. We'd have to give up everything all over again. My baking. Your teaching. If this all comes tumbling out, we'll have to choose between moving and leaving their protection altogether."

"They might ask us to move, and if they do, we might have to consider leaving the program."

"Mom!"

"I'm not saying leave ourselves out in the open, unprotected. You said Lincoln declined Secret Service, but he's hired a team, right?"

"Yes."

"So, if photos emerge with you and Lincoln, and if the Marshals put us on the spot, we can decide then whether to relocate or leave their protection and hire our own." With every word she spoke, she was trying to remind me of the promises I'd made to myself on the plane ride home from the trial—my determination to not live with what-ifs and if-onlys holding me back. But these what-ifs were impossibly large and dangerous.

"Mom, be serious. We wouldn't be able to afford our own security." We weren't quite living paycheck to paycheck, but we were far from wealthy.

"We don't have to make a decision tonight. Or even tomorrow. It sounds like Lincoln is working really hard to help fix the situation as it stands now, both with the photos and with Poco. I'll be home tomorrow around the time you get off work. We can discuss our next steps…" She paused and then attempted to lighten our talk by adding on, "And then you can help me pick out something to wear for my date with Hector."

Some of the weight that had started to lift the longer we talked returned because I wanted her to be able to have many dates with Hector. Not just one. In choosing to stay and explore whatever this was with Lincoln, in choosing to risk another photograph, it felt like I was choosing my life over hers. And I didn't want to be that selfish. I'd already taken too much I couldn't give back. Both of hers and Lincoln's.

But if I said any of that to her, we'd be right back to the start of this conversation. And Mom was right. We could talk about it more when she was home. So, I did the same thing she had done—I lightened the conversation.

"You made Hector really happy when you said yes. He was all doe-eyed and goofy."

Mom laughed softly. "He is all doe-eyed. And I'm enjoying it. I'm enjoying him."

"Okay, we might have to draw some lines in the sand regarding our conversations. He's my boss and like a favorite uncle. I don't want to know how you two are enjoying each other."

She chuckled again. "I, on the other hand, want to make sure you're actually figuring out how to enjoy someone."

I made a garbled noise. "Gross, Mom."

"If it's gross, Lincoln is doing it wrong."

It was my turn to laugh. "Oh no. There's nothing wrong with what he does. I'm just not sharing it with my mother."

"That right there. Your laugh. The way your voice changed so it's now full of delighted pleasure. I want to kiss him myself for giving it to you." Her voice got soft and tender again.

"I'm hanging up now because I'm not sure I can survive the embarrassment if we keep talking," I said, my lips curving upward even more.

"I love you, kiddo."

"Love you too, Mom."

When I hung up and turned to go back to the cake pans, my gaze landed on Lincoln lounging up against the archway to the hall. His hands were tucked in his pockets, and his hair was ruffled as if he'd been running his fingers through it. My body lit up. My heart soared. He was so damn beautiful, and somehow, he'd become mine.

Mom and Lincoln had both lost so much, and yet they were both ready to try again. To reach for love and happiness. My trying to protect them wasn't the answer. I was only bringing myself, and them, hurt and sorrow by doing so.

If this ended, it would hurt more for every second we spent together, but Mom was right. I had to let both her and Lincoln make their own decisions about how they lived and the risks they took. It was only completely selfish if I wasn't upfront with them about all the possible outcomes. If I laid all the cards on the table, and they still chose to stay, to gamble with me, then it was okay. Wasn't it?

I doubted I'd ever completely convince myself that it was.

It wasn't the only thing Mom had been right about. She'd said I'd spent too many years trying to protect the one parent I had left, the only family I had, and it was exactly what I'd done. In doing so, I'd allowed the Viceroys to have even more power over me because I'd still been letting fear drive me even if I hadn't known it. Living fully, regardless of what had happened or what might come ahead, allowed me to take back the power. It could be my own revenge for what they'd stolen. Maybe it was time I let Lincoln do for me what he'd said I'd done for him—let him lead me out of the shadows and into the light.

? ? ?

After falling asleep tucked up tight against Lincoln, I woke disoriented just a few minutes before my alarm was set to go off. The space beside me was empty. When I sat up, I found Lincoln sitting on the love seat, his phone lighting up his face as he swiped at the screen. He looked up as I moved.

"Did I wake you?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, it was my body clock. Did you sleep at all?"

He put his phone down and made his way over as I slid out of the bed. "I got about four hours. That's pretty good for me."

He leaned in and kissed me sweetly, and my body instantly lit up. Achy and sore as it was, I still wanted him. Wanted to experience the sparks we felt every time we were twined together. Wanted the light I'd tried to convince myself was worth the risk after hanging up with Mom. All the deep emotions from the last two days turned the tender kiss into something frantic and wild. It took every effort I could summon up to pull my lips away from his.

"Even if my body hadn't screamed no more , I'd still have to stop us from getting lost in each other again. I need to go home, shower, get ready for work."

His gaze dropped to my mouth, and I felt the intense longing in them, the desire to stay just like this. Even though our bubble had popped, we were still hidden away here momentarily. Still keeping the world at bay a tiny bit longer.

"Maybe you should quit. Start your own business out of my kitchen."

I laughed until I saw he was partially serious. "I love working for Hector."

"I love having you in my house." Our eyes locked. It wasn't quite a proclamation of love, but it was close. We'd danced around it several times yesterday, but it seemed way too fast and too soon to say it.

Instead of responding, I untangled myself from him, gathered my things, and headed for the door. I wasn't at all surprised when Lincoln tagged along with me as two men escorted me to my house where I got ready for work and then into the black SUV with tinted windows that drove me to The Tea Spot.

They told us to stay in the car while two of the bodyguards entered and cleared the café, using my key and alarm code. When one of the men came back out, it was with a grim expression on his face. "No one is in there."

The ‘but' hung in the air.

"What is it?" I asked, dread spiking through me.

"There's some graffiti."

"Graffiti?" I was out of the sedan and rushing inside before Lincoln or the bodyguard could stop me. Nothing seemed amiss in the steel and granite kitchen. Everything was as spotless and shiny as Hector and I always left it. Nothing was wrong with his office as I flung my bag down and headed for the café itself. As soon as I saw it, my stomach bottomed out.

The beautiful mural on the wall was destroyed. Something had been tossed at it, bleach or acid, I didn't know what, but splashes of the liquid had eaten away the paint. The girl dancing in the meadow, the animals congregating around her, and even the prince riding in on his white steed had all been hit so they were now a macabre image.

"No, no, no, no, no!" I cried, moving toward it. Written in red paint across the remaining pieces of the once beautiful scene were the words, Your life will never be a fairy tale .

Lincoln grabbed my hand, pulling me back away from the wall. "It's fixable, Sweetness. It's just paint. We can fix it."

"You don't understand," I said, whirling to meet his concerned eyes. "Hector's wife…his wife that died of cancer…she did all the murals. The ceiling. The painting on the shelves. He can't just replace it…" My stomach cramped up so tight it made me hunch over.

He tried to pull me into him like he had repeatedly over the last few days, but this time, I was angry rather than frightened. I whirled around, looking at the men who'd accompanied us inside. "I want this person found. I want them found and held responsible. I need them to pay for this."

One of them was already talking through his headset, and I heard him say Axel's name.

I pulled my phone out, hitting Hector's number with a shaky hand. He answered on the second ring. "Willow. What's wrong?"

"Hector… God… The café." I swallowed.

"Have we been robbed? I'm on my way," he said and hung up before I could correct him.

Lincoln walked up to the mural, running a hand over the waves of bleached-out paint, sniffing his fingers.

"Turpentine," he said, turning to me and repeating, "I can fix it, Willow. It won't be the same because he'll know what she did was marred, but I can fix it."

"Axel is calling the local police, and he's on his way," the man said.

Not even fifteen minutes later, Hector raced into the café with Shay on his heels. They looked like they'd thrown on whatever clothes they'd touched first. I'd never seen Shay in anything but a perfectly pressed, coordinating outfit. Now she wore magenta leggings and a yellow sweatshirt that clashed.

Hector came to a stop in the middle of the tables, and his hand went to his chest, rubbing and pressing. He didn't say anything. His lips were drawn tight, jaw clenched. It was Shay's startled sob that expressed the pain I saw in her father's eyes. "Mom's mural!"

As she made to run to it, Hector caught her, drawing her into his side. "Don't touch it, Shay."

"The police are on their way as well as my boss," the man who'd spoken to Axel said.

"And who exactly are you?" Hector demanded, eyes bouncing from me to the oversized security team, to Lincoln, and back to me.

"These men work for a company Lincoln hired," I explained.

"What the hell is going on, Willow?" Hector's voice was sharp, pained, and angry.

I swallowed hard. We weren't sure this was Poco. I needed to believe it was, but there were too many unknowns. My tongue seemed stuck to the roof of my mouth as I batted around the truth, half-truths, and full-on lies. Lincoln came to my rescue, as he had for almost a week now, saying, "Willow has been receiving some threats."

"Poco! This is that little shit, Poco?" Hector snarled.

"I'm…I'm not sure," I finally was able to choke out.

"I'll kill him. I'll kill him with my own hands." Hector whirled, heading for the front door. Shay chased after him, catching his arm and tugging at him.

"Dad. Stop. Let the police handle it."

"He destroyed what she made, Shay. Completely destroyed it!"

"I know. I know. But confronting him, risking yourself… Dad… I can't lose you too."

The pain in her voice pricked at all my own thoughts and worries and fears about my mom and losing the only parent you had left. Regardless of who was leaving the notes, the blame for this landed squarely with me.

"I'm so sorry, Hector and Shay. I'm so sorry," my voice cracked.

Hector looked at me, and the grimness on his face softened. "Poco being an asshole isn't on you, Willow. You didn't ask him to do this."

The debate warred in me again. How much to tell? How much to hold back? If he and Mom hadn't set up a date, if I didn't know they were trying to start a relationship, I might have spilled my guts about everything, regardless of the Marshals' warning. But what had happened with Dad, how much Mom wanted to tell him, was hers to share and not mine. For now, I'd let him think it was Poco, like we were hoping it was.

Lincoln stepped forward, fingers twining with mine, and Hector's eyes landed on our joined hands. He glanced from my face to Lincoln's and then back.

"I know who you are," he said to Lincoln. "I also realized you didn't want people to know. But this"—he waved at the security and then the wall— "is this because of you?"

I was instantly shaking my head, but I felt Lincoln hesitate for a brief second, and when I looked up, his brows were creased.

"Have you at least told your mom about it?" Hector asked when neither of us responded.

"She knows. I've told her everything," I said.

"That's good. Secrets have a way of destroying things," Hector said, and my stomach plummeted again. What would he think of the secrets Mom and I had kept from him for years? It had been for our safety, but would he understand that? After everything he'd done for me, and the little dance he and Mom had begun, would he ever be able to forgive us?

I could only hope he would.

Could only hope he'd see not the secrets but the truths we'd tried to live by.