Fall: Rise & Fall Duet Book 2 (Shaken 4)

by Grahame Claire

  For a man like Lincoln, freely offering someone else control couldn’t have been easy. Yet he’d confidently spoken every word.

  I wasn’t afraid to feel or speak my mind, but I couldn’t have been as candid as he was. Obviously. Since I’d been rendered useless.

  “Why are you on the floor?” Eric yawned as he wandered into the foyer. Muffy and Millie were right beside him.

  He plopped down next to me and the dogs did the same.

  “Lincoln said some things that surprised me.” Absently, I toyed with Muffy’s ear. I wasn’t sure I was ready to repeat his words out loud. For the moment, they were safely rattling around in my brain.

  “And you had to sit on the floor because of them?” Eric had such a way of putting things in perspective.

  I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

  He rested his cheek on top of my head. He was the one who had been upset earlier. I should be the one comforting him. As always, he supported me.

  “He’s a good driver. And he can carry a lot of dog food.”

  I snickered. “He is useful for that.” I let out a long sigh. “You like him.”

  It was a stupid statement. Eric had been taken with him from the first time they met. Why I didn’t know, but he was like a magnet for my brother.

  “He’s good people.”

  I lifted my head and looked at him. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Pepper,” he said easily.

  “She thinks he’s good people too?”

  “No. She said we are.”

  How fortunate we were. Eric and I had each other, but our circle of people we could count on had expanded.

  “She’s good people too.” I put my head back on his shoulder. “How would you feel about living with Lincoln?”

  I needed to know how Eric felt about the major decisions we faced.

  “Here?” There was wonder in his voice.

  “Anywhere.” I wouldn’t burden him with the possibility that Lincoln might lose the apartment until it was certain.

  “Is Millie going to live with us too?”

  “I think so.” From the way it looked, neither of the dogs were going back to Grey Paws . . . or anywhere without Lincoln.

  “Can I stay in the room with the painting I gave him?”

  Eric so rarely asked for anything for himself. I couldn’t say no to that, though I wasn’t sure Lincoln would be thrilled.

  “We can ask him. But there’s no bed in there.”

  “I like the couch.” He stroked Millie’s fur. “Is this because Dad was at our house?”

  Pain stabbed at my chest. I didn’t want Eric thinking about that monster.

  “No.” I wanted to live with Lincoln. The fact we were protected from our dad was a bonus.

  “He can’t put us in the closet here.”

  Everything hurt. I’d hoped my brother had forgotten those awful memories.

  “They’re never locking us in a closet again.”

  “I don’t want him to hurt you anymore.” He petted Millie more erratically. She burrowed her head deeper against his lap.

  “He won’t. We’re going to be okay.”

  “Because Lincoln won’t let him get to us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lincoln

  “You’re the last person I expected to hear from.”

  Zegas propped his feet on his desk and put his hands behind his head.

  “You said you needed to speak to me.”

  “But you’ve been pretty occupied. Understandably so.”

  I drummed my fingers. Lexie was a beautiful woman. It was impossible not to notice, but I didn’t like that Zegas had.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Lighten up. I’m unhappily married and no threat to you.” He dropped his hands and groaned. “Don’t tell me you two are already having a spat.”

  She and I had started our relationship arguing, and the one that’d had me storming out of the apartment wasn’t all that monumental. I’d left because I’d confessed too much, too soon and couldn’t stand to face her reaction.

  “What is it you want to discuss?” With my behavior recently, if I didn’t steer us to pertinent topics, I’d end up on Zegas’s couch for a therapy session, baring my soul.

  He put his feet back on the floor and actually appeared a little apologetic. “What do you remember about your mother’s murder?”

  How did he know I’d witnessed it? I didn’t think anyone knew.

  It was too late to stop the torrent of memories I couldn’t unsee. I gripped my knees, willing them to go away at least until I was alone.

  Late.

  I ran from the school to the deli as fast as I could.

  The fire alarm had gone off right before the end of the day. I’d tried to sneak away so I could be early for Mother like I was supposed to be, but Mrs. Lewis kept watching the class.

  I checked my watch.

  Five minutes late.

  Which was really twenty-five minutes late. I’d begged her to meet at the deli after school, promised I could make it by myself. It wasn’t far.

  When she tells you a time to meet, always be twenty minutes early. Don’t forget. Not even when you’re my age.

  I wasn’t supposed to make her wait. Father would be angry when he found out.

  The deli came into view. Mother was loading the car with supplies for the picnic. She always had fun ideas. Like a dinner picnic on a school night.

  I should sit between Beau and Father so he won’t be mad when she makes a mess. She always makes a mess.

  Mother closed the back door of her Cadillac.

  Almost there.

  I ran faster as she bent over Teague, who was in the front seat. He always sat there, but I didn’t mind.

  Someone came up behind her. The person was tall and slender and dressed in all black. It’s too warm for a long coat.

  He lifted his arm. A gun gleamed in the afternoon sun.

  I opened my mouth to yell, but there was no sound.

  Faster. Faster.

  I ran as hard as I could.

  Crack. Crack.

  I stumbled when the gunshot popped. Mother slumped then fell to the ground. I froze. Blood. There was so much blood.

  All I could look at was Mother’s face. Her eyes were open but didn’t blink.

  I wanted to turn away but couldn’t.

  She’s okay. She’s okay.

  But as I looked at her pale face, I knew it was a lie.

  My mother wasn’t alive.

  And it was my fault.

  When she tells you a time to meet, always be twenty minutes early. Don’t forget.

  I didn’t forget. I tried so hard.

  But it was all my fault.

  She was on the ground because I was late.

  My fault. My fault. My fault.

  If I’d been twenty minutes early, she’d be alive.

  It was as clear as if I were standing there instead of sitting in Zegas’s office. Blood. And her face, forever frozen in a wide-eyed expression I’d never forget.

  After that, I’d gone between two buildings and thrown up. Then I’d run home and vomited again. I should’ve been there for Teague and tried to do something for Mother. But I’d been too horrified.

  Zegas narrowed his gaze. He’d just witnessed me go back in time to a fresh hell that had been on repeat most of my life.

  “How is this relevant to the situation at hand?” I snapped, desperate to get away from the memories.

  “I just always felt it was odd. A well-known and respected woman in the city is gunned down in broad daylight. Nobody saw anything and the story simply disappeared.”

  “And you feel now is a good time to satisfy your curiosity?” I asked sharply. It was inappropriate and off-putting. I felt as if I were in an interview for a gossip magazine instead of a meeting with my legal counsel.

  He clicked and unclicked his pen. “Were you aware my father was a prosecutor?”

  “I’m really not interested i
n trading family stories.” I’d wasted my time coming here, aside from the fact it had allowed me to avoid facing Lexie.

  “Kinda funny, isn’t it? He went after bad guys and I defend them.”

  I failed to see the relevance so I sat in silence, hoping he’d get to the point.

  “I was in my first year of college when that happened. I may have chosen a different niche than he had, but we were close. It was because of him I chose the law.”

  Zegas leaned forward, arms propped on the desk. “He was the prosecutor on your mother’s case. At least he was going to be.” He stared at me. “Until he was told to drop the case.”

  What? My mother could’ve had justice instead of just one of another in a long line of unsolved crimes.

  “Who instructed him to do such a thing?”

  “Your father.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lexie

  Unknown number.

  I’d received three calls like that in the past hour. Every time my phone vibrated, I’d hoped it was Lincoln.

  It was almost midnight.

  Did these solicitors have no manners?

  I sent the call straight to voicemail and rolled toward Lincoln’s side of the bed. Still empty.

  Would he want me here when he came back?

  Lincoln wasn’t one to speak casual words he didn’t mean. Maybe that was scarier than if he did. Because he’d wouldn’t have just spouted off all of those things for no reason.

  And it was one of the things I respected about him. When he spoke, his words were worth listening to.

  I burrowed down into the pillow. Could this be our new home?

  I hadn’t let myself think about relationships much over the years. It was wasted time. But I had my assumptions, and one of them was that if we ever did reach the point of potentially moving in with someone, it would take years to take that step.

  I’d never imagined it feeling so right so soon.

  Was I making a mistake?

  Eric was so attached to Lincoln already. And if something went wrong, he would be devastated.

  Breaking up when everyone lived in separate places was less complicated. If I gave up our apartment, it would take some time to find another one. What if Lincoln booted us out immediately?

  I had Eric to think about. We couldn’t live on the street. And crashing with my best friend wasn’t an option since she was currently living with my—what was Lincoln to me?

  I wasn’t sure what an adequate word was.

  Lincoln.

  He was just my Lincoln.

  Muffy launched onto the bed, stepping on my thigh in the process. Lincoln appeared a few seconds after. He hesitated when he noticed me in his bed, but continued into his room.

  He looked exhausted.

  Muffy stood on the edge of the bed, wagging his tail. Lincoln brushed his head as he passed.

  Silence descended. He didn’t speak as he moved through his bedtime routine.

  Muffy lay across me, looking for a prime view into the closet where Lincoln had disappeared. I rubbed behind his ears as my nerves spiked.

  I couldn’t decide if Lincoln’s silence was better than words. What if the words were get out or goodbye or what are you still doing here?

  Had I no confidence in the man? At worst, he might send me to another bedroom, but he’d never make me wake up Eric in the middle of the night to leave. He could be callous, but he wouldn’t be cruel.

  When he finally climbed into bed, the warmth from his freshly-showered body radiated toward me. Muffy pounced, licking him in the face before settling on a spot at the foot of the bed.

  I lifted Lincoln’s arm and scooted next to him. I didn’t know what to say. Only knew that I wanted to be close to him.

  Once I was tucked against him, he tightened his arm around me. His heartbeat was steady under my ear as it thumped.

  I closed my eyes, letting the sense of protectiveness wash over me.

  This right here represented so much.

  Safety.

  Support.

  Partnership.

  Love.

  I stiffened as the last word came so easily. The biggest one of all.

  “What’s wrong?” Lincoln was so in tune with my mannerisms, it was mind-blowing.

  “I love you,” I blurted. I couldn’t breathe. Not only had I just realized it myself, but I’d never said that to anyone but Eric and Beau, and those were different kinds of love.

  “I’m sorry that’s a bad thing,” he said flatly.

  I popped up. “No.” I pressed my lips together and tried to regroup. “I wasn’t answering your question,” I finally said. “I—All of this is new for me. I’m not sure how to handle it. But you have been the one thing making a really hard time more bearable.”

  Once I started speaking, the words came out in a tumbled rush. But if anything, I’d been completely honest with Lincoln since I’d known him. I’d never held back. Maybe I had in other areas of my life. Maybe I’d played it safe. I’d had to. There was so much at stake.

  But with Lincoln, I’d been unafraid to speak my mind, even the times that weren't necessarily a good thing.

  And in typical Lincoln fashion, his face was an absolute stone. No emotion. Not a twitch or a blink. He simply stared as if he hadn’t heard me or I’d spoken in a new language he couldn’t comprehend.

  I tapped on his head. “Are you in there?”

  And it was like a chisel to rock. His features cracked as he let out the most beautiful, deep laugh.

  I was glad I was lying down because the rarity was shocking.

  “How do you do it?” he asked when he finally settled.

  I wanted to tickle or poke him until he laughed again. The novelty of that sound would never wear off. What if you could make him do it more often?

  The image of him and me on a pallet of worn blankets on the floor of a dumpy apartment flashed through my head. Because in my mind, he had that same laugh, but the happy expression lasted more than fifteen seconds.

  And I knew for better or worse I was in. The worse could be a whole lot better if he let loose one of those grins every so often.

  “Do what?”

  “We’re in the middle of hell, and you make me laugh.” He touched my cheek and his expression held so much behind it.

  It was my turn to bust out laughing. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we? You ask what’s wrong and I say I love you. Then I say something heartfelt and you laugh.”

  “I wasn’t laughing at what you said.”

  I straightened to a sitting position. “I know. It was the tap to the head.” I did it again for emphasis.

  He stared at the ceiling. “What’s your relationship like with your parents?” He dropped his head toward me.

  I went cold inside. “I hate them. And I hate them even more for making me hate them.”

  Something in his eyes told me he understood that.

  “Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if my mother hadn’t died.” There was a sadness in his words that spoke of pain and loss.

  “Sometimes I wish my parents were dead,” I whispered. It was an awful thought. One I was ashamed of.

  Shit for brains. Shit for brains.

  And that was all it took to erase that shame. No one should speak that way to anyone. Ever. Especially not a father to his son.

  “I can’t imagine what that unburdening would feel like.” He adjusted the sheet. “I don’t think I’ll ever be free of him.”

  “Why do you have anything to do with him? Teague doesn’t.”

  “Because an unoccupied Samuel Hollingsworth is a dangerous man. If he has too much time to think, I don’t know what kind of torment he’d put Beau and Teague through. I never intend to find out.”

  I placed a hand on his stomach. “You can’t live your life to protect them.”

  Slowly, he rolled his head toward me. “The way you do?”

  It was different. Eric needed support in ways his brother and sister didn’t.


  “That’s not fair and you know it.”

  “You had a choice, and by all means I believe it was the right one, but you didn’t have to step into the role you have.” Respect infused every syllable.

  “I don’t see that I had an option at all. I’d die before I’d let Eric be left to the state or anyone else.” I hadn’t done anything extraordinary by ensuring Eric would be cared for. I did what anyone in my position should have done.

  He put a hand on my hip. “You . . .”

  I waited for him to finish his thought, but he searched my face as if he hoped I could do it for him.

  “I’ve never had a problem articulating my thoughts, but with you . . . it’s difficult. Every day you make me feel something I never have before. And I don’t know how to put any of it into words.” His grip on my hip tightened.

  He was wrong. He knew exactly how to say what he felt. It was me who couldn’t take his sweetness. How could he be the same man I’d verbally sparred with so many times?

  I’d never have imagined just how big his heart was, and every time he showed it to me it was like a sucker punch.

  I had the urge to scoot closer and run as far and fast as I could all at the same time. His intensity was so much to take in. I wanted it, but this was all new territory for me too.

  “I don’t think you have any problem articulating at all,” I said quietly. Even his silence spoke volumes.

  “I think I might lose everything I’ve worked for,” he said hoarsely.

  We were ping-ponging from topic to topic so fast it was hard to keep up. But it made me see that he trusted me. He was opening his heart and mind . . . No wonder I loved this man.

  “Did something happen?” I didn’t have nearly as much at stake, but my arrest had helped me to understand somewhat how he felt.

  “Just a gut feeling.”

  “Is there anything you can do about it?” As soon as I asked the question, I realized I’d said you. Not we. Like it was his burden alone to bear.

  He’d been there for me through everything lately, and I hadn’t given him the same support. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know how to help him keep what he’d worked for. If I loved him as I said I did, I shouldn’t ever leave him on an island to fend for himself alone. But I could support him, even if it was by providing a sounding board.