30. Linc

30

LINC

F uck, who knew Asher was such a douchebag? I kinda hate that he’s right, and he most certainly takes after me.

I climb the stairs to the upper level of the lake house and find P where I instinctively knew she’d be, out on the stone balcony. There’s a nice setup with a padded bench overlooking the water, and she looks lost while she sits there in a trance.

“What are you doing?”

“Wishing I could turn back time.”

I sigh and take a seat next to her, frustrated and fucking furious that she can’t just move on. And yeah, I know that’s not fair. Asher’s right, none of us have moved on. Remembering her in the tub that night, she was looking at the bottle of pills the same way she’s staring out at the water now. I wouldn’t put it past her to wade out into the water and let it take her away.

“I’m sure that wasn’t easy to hear, but Ash is just pissed-off. He doesn’t know shit.”

At least I don’t want to believe he does. If he doesn’t though, I should take the kid to Vegas on his twenty-first birthday because he’s a world class bluffer.

“He should be pissed. We did leave him there with no escape.”

I feel the guilt creeping up inside me but try my damnedest to force it back down. “He’ll be okay.”

She stares out at the water, and I fight through the jealousy when I ask, “Do you still think about him?”

I know she does, but I want to hear it. We never talk about Colt.

“Every. Day.” She turns away from the water to look at me while I continue to look out. “Sometimes, when we’re together, just sitting around and not talking, not spitting fire at each other, I look over at you and see him.”

The bile rises, and my own insecurities come out as I turn to look into her dark blue eyes. “That’s what you want, right? Him to be here.” I lean in, my lips moving closer to hers, and I hear her breath catch in her throat. “Me to be him.”

“Linc, don’t.” It’s a weak plea as one of my hands drags over the bare skin of her arm.

“We were similar in looks. I get it. Same hair. Same jawline. Different color eyes but still similar in a way.”

Her eyes close, and her neck pulls tight as she leans back, my body moving over hers on the large padded bench. “His voice was a pitch higher than mine. Maybe that would have changed over the years and his would have gotten deeper.”

My lips slide over her throat. “Please. Stop.”

But she doesn’t push me off. Her eyes are still squeezed shut, probably trying to picture his face, imagine it’s his body and his lips on her. “His touch was no doubt softer though, right?” I use one hand to brace my weight so I don’t crush her, and I smooth the back of my hand lightly over her cheek. “He was sweet. And good.”

“Linc.” She’s trying to assure herself it’s me and not him.

“Did he ever fuck you, P?”

Her head shakes from side to side, and I see a tear slide down her cheek. I know I should get off her. I should stop this. We’ve caused each other enough pain, but I can’t stop. It’s a drug, a release, and the only thing that comes remotely close to numbing the impossible amount of shame.

I rest between her legs, my lips sliding over her neck as her head tilts back. “That’s right, he never would have fucked you. Did he make love to you, P?”

I hear a sob catch in her throat. “No. We never had sex.”

“Do you ever think about him when I’m inside you?” It’s something I’ve wondered over and over. My hand cups her face as gently as I’m capable of, letting her get lost in the fantasy because I’m a sick, twisted bastard. “Do you close your eyes tightly and picture a lighter touch?” My lips move to hers as I lay a chaste kiss there. “A sweeter kiss?”

“Don’t do this, Linc.”

I kiss her softly, holding back and not fucking her mouth with my tongue and instead savoring the sweetness of the kiss for a moment and feel her kiss me back, her fingers threading through my hair.

“Do you, P?”

Her grip goes tighter as she yanks my head back slightly. Her eyes open, meeting mine. “I know you’re not him.”

I glare down at her, unable to hide the fury. “But you wish I was.”

“I wish he were still alive, but I don’t expect you to be him. You could never be him, Linc.”

I push off the bench and walk to the edge of the balcony. I hear her shift on the bench but stay there.

“You’re right. You look similar, but you’ve never been the same. I don’t live in some fantasy that I can turn you into him.”

I look out at the water below and hear her start to cry, the sound gutting me. But I don’t run to her. I don’t sit next to her and stroke her hair to offer comfort.

Because I’m nothing like him.

And I know if she could, she’d gladly offer me in trade.