by Callie Rose
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 want 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. Then 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.
So I nod against Linc’s chest, taking in a deep breath and letting his coriander scent fill my nostrils. “See you at school tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See you.”
He kisses my hair one more time and then heads for the door, jerking his head almost imperceptibly to River as he goes. The other boy moves to walk him out, leaving me alone in the bedroom. He closes the door behind them, and I can hear their quiet voices fading as they head up the stairs.
I set my backpack down by my suitcase and turn to take a look at the room. It’s big and luxurious—they didn’t cut corners just because it’s in the basement—but it also has touches that are all River. There are a few cool looking art prints on the walls, and a large bed tucked into one corner. On the other side of the room, there’s a couch, an easy chair, and a coffee table arranged around a wide flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
There are two other doors in the room, one that’s halfway open and seems to lead to an en suite bathroom, and one that I’m guessing leads to a closet.
Not quite sure what to do and feeling a little like an intruder, I head toward the couch and sink down onto it. It’s nice, the seat cushions soft but not too squishy.
I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Hunter, wondering if I should mention what happened between me and the kings of Linwood last night. It’s hard to explain though, and it’s definitely not the kind of thing you just tell someone in a text. If we were still living in the same town, this would be a late night, pint of ice cream conversation, where I’d spill all the dirty details and she’d grill me for even more.
It’s not the same by text, or even by phone.
She hasn’t replied yet by the time River comes back. He opens the door and pokes his head in cautiously, like he’s trying to make sure I’m decent before he steps inside. Like this isn’t his space I’m invading.
“Thanks,” I say once his gaze settles on me. “For letting me stay here. It probably won’t be for too long.”
“It can be for as long as you like,” he says without hesitating. Then he closes the door behind him and steps closer, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. “You told him.”
I nod. “Yeah. I hope he’s not mad at you for not saying anything sooner.”
He tips his head back and forth in a noncommittal gesture, and I have a feeling Lincoln definitely gave him some shit for that. But I don’t think it opened up a real rift between them. I already told Linc my reasons for not mentioning my suspicions about his dad before, and he might not like it, but he knows we did this for him.
“Do you really think he’ll be able to keep his shit together?” I whisper, concern filling my voice.
River nods. “Yeah. You played poker with him. You know. He wears his heart on his sleeve, but he can keep shit close to the vest when he needs to. You gotta trust him, Low.”
“I do,” I say immediately.
“And you trust me?”
His gray-blue eyes are serious, and I have a feeling his question isn’t just about the stuff with Linc’s dad, or my mom, or Iris’s death.
It’s both bigger and smaller than that, and it has to with just the two of us.
I hold his gaze, nodding gently. “Yeah. I do, River. I really do.”
The smile that breaks over his face comes out in stages, and I register each one of them until I find myself grinning back at him, unable to contain it.
17
River insists on taking the couch and letting me have the bed, though I put up a lot of resistance. I already feel like a fucking charity case, moving from one house to another with nowhere else to go. If I took the couch, I’d at least feel like I was inconveniencing him a little bit less.
And okay, maybe a tiny part of me wishes he’d stop being such a damn gentleman and suggest we both
take the bed. I’m having a hard time looking at him and not thinking about the kisses we shared in the pool last night, in what was inarguably one of the hottest moments of my life.
I pause in the middle of brushing my teeth as heat floods my lower belly, staring at myself in the mirror.
Jesus. I can still feel him. All of them.
Lincoln and I couldn’t get enough of each other last night. We wore each other out, and I’ve been pleasantly sore between my legs all day, but the intense feelings that sparked to life in that pool haven’t abated. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced.
Get it together, Low.
I finish brushing my teeth and splash cold water on my face, trying to banish the flush creeping up my cheeks.
When I step out of the bathroom, River is draping a blanket over the couch. He glances up at me and smiles softly, and I wonder if he feels as strange as I do.
I don’t feel awkward, exactly. I’ve been alone with River before. And we know each other pretty well by now—better than we should for how long we’ve been in each other’s lives, really. But it feels a little weird to be in his bedroom, in my pajamas, having just brushed my teeth in his bathroom. To see him in his soft white t-shirt and dark shorts. So… casual. So at home.
That’s what it is, I realize.
I’m in his home. In his living space.
And it feels sort of like we jumped ten spaces ahead on the board to get here.
Trying to act natural, I cross to the bed and pull back the covers, sliding in between the sheets. They’re soft, and they smell like River, and it makes something in my chest and my core throb at the same time.
River disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes—he let me go first, because of course he did—and I hear the water running as he brushes his teeth. When he returns, he flips the light switch on the wall to turn off the overheads, leaving only the bedside lamp to illuminate the room.