by Callie Rose
Samuel glances from me to Linc as Gwen emerges from the kitchen with what I’m guessing is the first of a few courses. She shoots me a look as she sets the dishes down, and I can’t tell if it’s approving or disapproving—but she definitely has an opinion on me joining the family for dinner.
“I haven’t even thought about it much,” I admit honestly.
“Ah, yes.” He grimaces. “Of course.”
There’s a small noise from the other side of the table, and I shoot a subtle glance over, expecting to find Audrey glaring at me. But she’s not. Her glare is fixed firmly on her husband.
Oh.
So maybe she’s not pissed about me after all. Maybe this has to do with their fight yesterday. It didn’t really seem like it ended well, even though they looked like the picture of a happy couple when they walked down the stairs to the party.
Lincoln’s dad must be able to see it—must be able to feel the burning heat of it—but he ignores Audrey’s death glare, beaming jovially as he asks Linc and me more questions about school and other harmless topics.
Gwen comes back a little while later to take our dishes and replace them with new ones. The lamb smells and looks delicious, but it feels like rubber in my mouth as I force myself to chew and swallow. I wish I could enjoy it, but everything about this dinner is making my nerves prickle.
It’s like Audrey and Samuel Black are in different dimensions—the energy coming from each end of the table is so diametrically opposed that it’s hard to believe they can exist in the same room.
Audrey is furious.
And Samuel knows it, but he refuses to acknowledge it.
The tension gathering in the room makes my stomach twist and clench around every bite of food I take, until I stop trying to force myself to eat altogether.
Does Linc’s mom know something? Did she find out what Samuel did?
As dessert arrives, Mr. Black launches into an excited explanation of their holiday travel plans. He and Audrey will be heading to a private ski lodge in Aspen, Colorado. Apparently, it’s been a tradition for the past several years for him and his wife to take a trip—just the two of them—before coming home to celebrate Christmas as a family.
I think it’s a little shitty that they don’t include their only son in their holiday travels, but even more than that, it boils my blood to hear him talking so casually about going on a fucking vacation when my mom will be behind bars all that time.
My contributions to the conversation become shorter and more clipped, and it’s taking all my willpower not to explode on him. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
After forcing down a few bites of dessert, I blurt out, “I—I don’t feel well.”
Samuel stops speaking and turns to take in my appearance, his brows pulling together. “You do look pale. Do you need—”
“No. Nothing. I just think I need to lie down for a little while.”
“Of course.” He nods, then glances at Lincoln, dismissing him with a look.
Lincoln pushes his chair back and comes over to pull mine out again, helping me stand. Concern and confusion flicker in his amber eyes.
As we head toward the door, I glance back. “Thank you for the dinner invitation. It was… lovely.”
The word tastes like ash on my tongue, but Samuel beams.
Lincoln keeps his arm wrapped around my waist as we head up the stairs, like he’s afraid I might fall down them if I’m not supported. When we get to my room, he deposits me on the bed and then goes back to close the door, leaning against it with his arms folded as I perch on the end of the mattress.
“What the fuck is going on, Low? What are you not telling me?”
His voice is hard, and I know that although he’s concerned for me, he’s not dumb enough to believe my abrupt exit from dinner is just because of a simple stomach ache.
Fuck.
I convinced River not to tell him for a little while, but maybe that was a bad idea to begin with. I can’t keep my suspicions from him indefinitely, and the longer I wait, the worse it will be—because it won’t just be his dad’s possible betrayal, but mine too.
So I tell him.
I open my mouth and spill everything I know, from the paternity test I found in his dad’s study to what Savannah told me about Iris being with an older man to the fight I overhead yesterday.
Linc doesn’t say anything as I talk, letting me speak uninterrupted until I finally run out of things to say. He doesn’t move either. His body is still as a statue, and his face impassive as silence falls in the space between us.
“I don’t know,” I add, unable to stand the quiet. “Maybe I’m wrong. When I first found the paternity test, I thought it was about you. That he thought maybe your mom had cheated or something, and he wasn’t sure he was your real dad. Maybe that is what it’s about.”
I almost told Linc about the paternity test once before, when I wanted to lash out and hurt him somehow. I hadn’t, because it had felt like too serious of a truth to use against someone like that. But now, in the midst of all the shit piling down on us, the idea that his mom had an affair is actually one of the more pleasant possibilities.
Lincoln shakes his head, and I can see the gears turning in his mind as he processes everything I just told him.
“No,” he says slowly. “The paternity test definitely wasn’t about me. My dad knows I’m his kid, and even if Audrey hooked up with someone else, it wouldn’t change that fact.”
“But how could he know that? What if she—”
“Because Audrey’s not my birth mother.” His amber eyes burn as his gaze finds mine. “She’s my stepmother.”
16
I blink at him. “What?”
“Audrey’s not my mom by birth,” Linc mutters, and although he’s answering me, I have a feeling his mind is a thousand miles away. “My real mom died just after I was born, and my dad married Audrey before I was a year old. So she’s the only mother I’ve ever really known, but we don’t share DNA. Even if my dad thought she cheated on him, he still wouldn’t worry about whether he’s my father.”
Oh. Fuck.
I didn’t know that. And I guess I’m not surprised that Linc never mentioned it. Why would he? He and Audrey aren’t close or anything, but she probably does feel like a real mother to him. He’s never known another one, so there are no shoes for her to fill.
But if the paternity test definitely isn’t about Lincoln, that only makes it more likely that it’s about Iris’s unborn baby.
If she came to him telling him he was the father, of course Mr. Black would want proof that the baby was really his before he gave her any money or anything.
Shit, maybe she asked for too much, or he was afraid she’d tell the wrong people about it. She wasn’t exactly the most discreet person.
Lincoln’s still staring at me, and I have a feeling he’s sorting through the exact same litany of questions I am.
And coming up with the exact same answer.
Samuel Black.
Everything points back to him.
“How long have you suspected this?” His amber gaze is sharp, his voice sharper.
“Savannah told me on Wednesday that Iris hooked up with an older man. That’s when it started to click into place.”
“Wednesday…” His eyes narrow. “The day you and River stayed at Linwood to talk.”
“Yeah.”
His lips curl, and I can practically feel the anger radiating from him. Dammit. This was so fucking stupid. I shouldn’t have waited to tell him.
“Lincoln, I’m sorry.”
I rise from the bed and walk toward him, but before I reach him, he steps around me and starts pacing the room, agitation pulsing out from him in waves. I decide not to chase him around the room and instead take up his old position, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the door as I watch him.
“I should’ve told you sooner,” I admit. “But I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure, because I didn’t wa
nt you to freak out over nothing—if it is nothing.”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, interlacing his fingers behind his head. He’s still moving, his feet tracking jagged paths across the floor. I don’t think he could stand still right now if he tried.
“I still don’t know. But I decided to tell you anyway. You promised me the truth, and I owe that to you too.” My hands curl into fists as the tension he’s radiating seeps into my bones. “And you told me yourself that your dad has a hard time keeping it in his pants. He’s gone after the maids before. Is it really that big of a stretch to think he’d go after Iris? That he’d hook up with your ex-girlfriend?”
Lincoln’s head whips toward me so fast it almost makes me jump. He alters course without breaking stride, heading straight for me instead of pacing across the room.
When he reaches me, his palms hit the door on either side of my head hard enough to rattle the wood in the frame. “She wasn’t my girlfriend.”
“Fine. Your not-girlfriend. Isn’t it possible your dad got her pregnant?”
He’s glaring at me, his face just a few inches from mine, and I can’t tell if the anger pouring off him is directed at me or not—hell, I’m not even sure if he knows.
The muscles along his jaw shift under the skin as he clenches his teeth, and his spicy scent drifts into my nostrils, too sweet and tempting to match the harsh energy of the boy standing before me right now. He moves even closer, his presence bearing down on me like a physical weight as his gaze catches mine.
“Pack a fucking bag, Low.”
My heart slips out from between my ribs and falls down to my feet.
What?
Is he kicking me out? Is he that fucking mad? Even when I was furious with him after my mom’s arrest, even when I threatened to leave then, he was adamant that I stay. He still wanted me in this house.
“Lincoln, I—”
“Bag.”
He steps back enough to give me room to slip past him, and I do. But I don’t move toward the closet where my suitcase is. My heart is cracking open, and I can’t fucking believe I did this.
That he’s doing this.
I put my hands on my hips, squaring my shoulders as I face him. “I should’ve told you before now. I should’ve told you the second I started piecing it together—I know that. But you asked me to believe that even if something you do makes no sense, I should trust that you’re doing it for me, to help me. Why can’t you trust me like that too? I was trying to—”
Before I can finish, Lincoln crosses toward me in three long strides. He catches my chin in his large hand, and although the burning, angry intensity still simmers in his amber eyes, there’s something else in them too.
“I do trust you. I’m taking you to River’s house.” His grip tightens slightly, and his lips curl back, the expression almost a snarl. “If any of what you suspect is true, I’m not having you under the same fucking roof as my dad.”
My heart lurches in my chest.
Oh.
Shit.
Relief floods me at the same time worry twists in my gut. Before I spoke my fears aloud to Linc, it was easier to convince myself I was just grasping at straws—that I was so desperate to find the man in the ski mask that I took an insane idea and ran with it. But seeing his response only makes me more certain I’m getting close to the truth.
“Lincoln,” I whisper, reaching up to grab his forearm, holding onto it like a lifeline. “I didn’t want to tell you because I wasn’t sure if you could be around him if you thought—”
“I can handle it.” His voice is strained. “I won’t let him know. Bag, Harlow.”
I nod, and when he releases his grip on me, I walk on unsteady legs to the closet and drag out my small suitcase. I pack in less than five minutes, grabbing clothes and toiletries indiscriminately and shoving them inside the bag. My mom’s phone is sitting on the nightstand—I’ve been keeping it on and charged just in case anyone tries to call her—and I grab that too.
Linc stands right where I left him, watching me. Although his face is impassive, he keeps running his hands through his hair, and I can feel his internal tempo rising.
Finally, I grab my backpack, toss my phone and charger inside it, and sling it over my shoulder. “Ready.”
He dips his head in a single nod, then picks up my suitcase and heads for the door.
Okay. So I guess this is happening right fucking now.
There’s no sign of Mr. or Mrs. Black upstairs, and their bedroom door is shut. I don’t know if they’re still in the dining room or not, because we take the west wing stairs down to the first level before heading out to Linc’s car.
He sticks my bag in the back, and then we slide inside. Before he starts the car, he tugs his phone out of his pocket and shoots off a quick text.
“River doesn’t drive to school. Dax and Chase usually give him a lift, so they’ll bring you too.”
“Okay.”
Jesus. I feel like I’m going into witness protection or something. Except I don’t have FBI agents watching over me. Just four boys who, as powerful as they are, have gotten in way over their heads just like I have.
That thought makes my chest constrict with both gratitude and fear. I’m so glad I have the kings of Linwood on my side, but the shit we’re mixed up in is beyond what any of us are capable of handling.
Not that we won’t fucking try.
Lincoln shoots me a look as he turns the key in the ignition, and when we pull out of the motor court, his hand finds mine. He holds it the entire way to River’s house, gripping so hard our knuckles turn white.
I’ve never been to River’s house before, and it just goes to show what kind of luxury and extravagance I’ve been exposed to recently that his place actually looks modest. It’s still a humongous house by anyone’s standards, but it’s not quite as ostentatious as the Black mansion or a lot of the other ones I’ve caught glimpses of in Linc’s neighborhood.
It’s almost ten p.m., and most of the lights are off except for a few scattered throughout the house. River meets us at the door, having obviously been expecting us.
“Hey. Come on in,” he murmurs. “My parents are upstairs.”
We move through the quiet house to River’s room, which is in the huge, finished basement. He’s an only child, and it strikes me as a little funny that his folks’ bedroom is upstairs and his is downstairs, leaving the entire main floor as a kind of neutral zone or something.
Then again, as I think about the tension that gathers in River’s face whenever he talks about his dad, I wonder if the neutral ground is there for a reason.
And for the moment, I’m grateful there’s so much distance between their bedrooms, because I’m not entirely sure his parents would be okay with me being here.
As we step into River’s bedroom, I glance at Linc. He sets my suitcase down just inside the door.
“This can’t be a permanent solution though, right?” I ask. “I mean, what will we tell any of our parents? Yours are gonna wonder where I went, and River’s…”
“I’ll deal with them. If we’re careful, they might not even notice for a while. And they probably won’t care that much when they do,” the gray-eyed boy says confidently, his gaze shifting up from my lips to meet my eyes.
My nose wrinkles.
That’s so fucking… weird.
I’ve been realizing slowly just how different my relationship with my mom is from the relationships any of these guys have with their parents. They’re used to sneaking around, lying, and getting away with it because their parents just don’t care.
Guilt churns in my stomach. I’ve done more sneaking around and lying to Mom since we moved to Fox Hill than I did in the previous several years combined. There are reasons—good reasons—why I haven’t told her certain things, but it doesn’t make me feel any less like shit about it.
“I’ll tell my dad we… broke up.” Linc’s face twists as he says the words, like he hates the way they sound. Th
en he focuses his gaze on me again. “He’ll believe that. And he’ll believe that’s why you don’t want to stay with us anymore. I won’t let him know it’s about him.”
A glint of surprise flashes in River’s eyes as he watches Lincoln speak. The dark-haired boy must not’ve mentioned why he was bringing me over.
I’m struck yet again by the level of unconditional trust these guys have with each other. It’s kind of fucking amazing, the way any of them would step out on a limb for any of the others, not even glancing down to see how far the fall would be—just believing that his friends will catch him.
It’s a powerful thing, that kind of trust.
“You’re sure you can… keep it together around him?” I ask Linc, trying to phrase my question in a way that doesn’t sound insulting. But I’ve seen him when he’s pissed. Hell, I’ve been the person he’s been pissed at, and he’s not necessarily the best at hiding his emotions when he’s worked up.
“Yeah.” As if giving me a demonstration, his face smooths out, the harsh edge of anger in his features evaporating. “And if he thinks I’m being weird, I’ll just blame it on our ‘breakup’.”
This time, it’s me that grimaces when he says the word. Linc hasn’t even officially asked me out, and our relationship definitely isn’t following a conventional path—in fact, it seems to be expanding to include three other people—but whatever we have is still real.
Real enough that it hurts to think of losing it, even if that’s just a lie for his dad’s benefit.
Maybe he notices the shift in my expression, because Lincoln strides forward, capturing my face in his hands. They’re large and warm, and I melt a little at the contact. When he tilts my head up and drops his head to claim a kiss, I sag against him, letting my muscles and bones sink into his touch.
“It’s better this way, Low,” he mutters against my hair as he wraps his arms around me, engulfing me in a tight embrace. “I’m not letting you get hurt.”
Part of me doubts Mr. Black would do anything to me while I was living under his roof, if for no other reason than that it would cast suspicion on him immediately. But people can do horrible things when they feel trapped, and I’ve been having a harder time keeping up my poker face around the older man lately. This probably is for the best.