“I don’t know. Can you come get me? I think we’re going to need to go to the hospital.”
There was a single pause and then the sound of movement. “I’m running out to my car right now. What the hell? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” She relayed what had happened with Ethan and then Liam, tears falling down her cheeks as she tried to figure out what to do. She knew she could not drive right then. She hadn’t realized how much she loved Ethan until just now. Until she had heard that shout. Until she couldn’t reach him. And the fact that Lincoln was already running to his car to come and get her? Dear God, it hit her like a two-ton brick. This was it. They were it. And now she was going to lose them.
Dear God, she loved them so fucking much. She couldn’t lose them.
But it seemed like she wasn’t going to get a choice in that.
“I’m on my way. Okay? Be strong, baby. I’m almost there.”
“Drive safe. Don’t get hurt.”
“Be waiting for me.”
“Always.”
Liam texted with a group text that had to be with the rest of the Montgomerys.
Liam: Ethan in ambulance. On the way to the hospital. Meet us at Mercy.
And that was it. Holland’s hand shook, but she knew that Lincoln would be there soon. She wouldn’t be alone. She could figure out what to do as soon as he arrived.
Oh God, what had happened to Ethan?
His family would be there. She didn’t want this to be the first time she met the rest of them. But it didn’t matter. She had to get there.
She heard tires squeal, and she grabbed her purse and ran out the door, thankfully remembering to lock it on her way out.
Lincoln looked pale as a ghost, his eyes wide as he got out of the car and ran to her, crushing her to his body. He kissed her hard and then gripped her shoulders.
“I got the text. Let’s go.”
“Are you okay to drive?” she asked, being truly honest right then because he was shaking as much as she was.
“Yes, I just need to take a couple deep breaths, and I’ll get you there safely. Both of us. He’s going to be okay, baby, we know this.”
“Do they know what happened?”
“I got the same text as you, babe. But he called you, he got to you. We’re going to figure this out, okay? You did good, baby.”
He kissed her again, and she fell into him, wanting those words to be true. She just didn’t know if they were.
They pulled away from each other and dashed to the car, not bothering to speak as Lincoln got them to the hospital, following every single traffic law, but only barely.
When they pulled into the parking lot, she saw that there were other Montgomerys getting out of their vehicles, all of them just as pale as Lincoln—and probably her.
Bristol saw her over one of the cars and did a quick wave as she grabbed Marcus’s hand. But Holland couldn’t speak, couldn’t even formulate words. She just clung to Lincoln’s hand as they made their way into the emergency room. Liam was already there, his hair looking as if he’d run his hands through it a few times. She only recognized him from photos since she hadn’t actually met the man yet.
But Arden was there too, and she ran over, giving Holland a hug and then hugging Lincoln. “We don’t know anything.”
“Okay, because that was my question,” Lincoln said.
Holland couldn’t speak.
Instead, they just stood there as the others walked in.
Francine and Timothy Montgomery gave her sad smiles and held her close and then hugged Lincoln hard before going to their seats. She hadn’t met them before this, and she had no idea what to feel. They were in so much pain because of what had happened to their son, and yet they’d opened their arms to her as if she were part of this. After, they just looked at each other, and then their children before sitting down and holding hands.
Aaron paced in front of Liam and Arden, while Bristol and Marcus stood off in a corner, mumbling to each other, looking as if they were going to fight.
She didn’t know what that was about, but she couldn’t focus on it.
“Liam Montgomery?” an officer asked as he walked in. “We’re here to take your statement.”
Everyone rose, but Liam nodded.
“Okay, we can do that.”
“Is one of you Holland?”
She started forward. “Yes, that’s me. He called me.”
“Okay, we’re going to need to take your statement, too.”
“But what about news? What if we hear something about Ethan?”
“We’ll find you, baby. You want me to come with you?”
“We would really rather she be alone,” one of the officers said.
But Lincoln gripped her hand and shook her head. “I’ll be there for support. Nothing else. One of Ethan’s siblings can come in and get us if he hears anything. That okay?”
The officers looked at each other and then nodded, but Holland just swallowed hard, wondering what the hell was going on. What had happened?
“We got some of your statement at the scene, Mr. Montgomery, but we’re going to need to hear a little bit more,” one of the officers said.
“All I know is that I got there right when the squad car arrived. Ethan was on the ground, coughing up blood and saying, ‘Damien did it. Damien did it. Find Lincoln and make sure he’s okay.’ That’s all he kept saying.” Lincoln stiffened by her side, and Holland just blinked over at Liam as the words crashed down on her.
Lincoln’s agent?
Oh my God.
“He was attacked?” Holland asked, her body shaking.
Lincoln didn’t say a word.
“I take it you’re Lincoln?” the officer asked, not bothering to answer her question.
“I am. Damien’s my agent. I’m an artist. What do you need to know?”
“Do you know why your agent would want to harm Mr. Montgomery?”
Lincoln just shook his head and then froze. Holland wanted to hold him and let him know that everything was going to be okay. But she didn’t know if that was true, how could it be?
They answered the officers’ questions, trying to get to the bottom of everything that had happened.
The police were kind, but she didn’t want to be there with them. She wanted to be near Ethan. To make sure he was all right. But she couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything. She didn’t miss the looks the officers gave each other when they found out she was in a ménage with both Lincoln and Ethan. She didn’t miss the glances from the nurses when they came in to tell Liam they had no news.
What seemed like hours later, they finally let her go so she could go into the waiting room and wait with the others.
They’d put a BOLO out for Damien. They still wanted to talk to the rest of the family more about why this had happened, but first, they needed to find Damien. And they needed to know exactly what to charge him with.
What type of injuries did Ethan have?
When the doctors finally came in, she sat still in her chair, her fingers entwined with Lincoln’s as the rest of the Montgomerys moved as one to listen.
She met Marcus’s gaze as he sat down, as well, letting Bristol get up with her family. He shook his head, and she understood.
This was for them, the family. They would find out more when the time was right. But it wasn’t like they couldn’t hear the doctor anyway. They were just giving the Montgomerys space.
“He’ll be okay,” Francine Montgomery whispered and then broke down in tears as her husband held her. Holland let the tears fall, as well.
Ethan had a concussion, some bruised ribs, and would need stitches over his eye. He also had some contusions, and probably more, less severe cuts elsewhere.
But he would be okay. He was awake, even with the concussion, and they were dealing with that protocol. But he would be all right.
And as Holland wept in Lincoln’s arms, she couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t s
aid a word. He hadn’t cried.
She knew he likely blamed himself. And she would have to fix that. Somehow. Because it wasn’t his fault. It was Damien’s.
She had no idea what to do. Because she loved these two men. Loved them so much, she was breaking inside.
It hurt. It hurt so damn much.
Because she’d almost lost Ethan. And she didn’t know what to do about that. Didn’t know if there was anything to do about it. She sat, and she waited, and she knew she would see Ethan eventually. She had to. But after that?
She didn’t know.
Chapter 16
Ethan lay motionless in the hospital bed. Lincoln could only stand there, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do. What should he say?
This was all his fault. All his fucking fault.
If he had just gotten Damien out of his life before this, maybe the attack wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps he should’ve stayed away from Ethan. Maybe Damien wouldn’t have gotten jealous, then, wouldn’t have claimed Lincoln.
He didn’t know what had happened exactly, what had snapped inside that brain of Damien’s, but Lincoln knew he was to blame.
And they couldn’t find the asshole.
He wasn’t at his place, wasn’t at his office. The cops were still looking for him.
The officers didn’t let up on the questioning, though. They wanted answers, and Lincoln really didn’t have any to give.
Yes, he had slept with Damien. But years ago.
No, he hadn’t led the man on, hadn’t given him any inclination that he wanted to be with him.
No, he hadn’t slept with Damien since.
No, he didn’t know where Damien was.
No, he hadn’t asked Damien to do this.
Yes, Ethan was his, just like Holland was.
No, he wasn’t in a sadomasochistic relationship where he was grooming Holland and Ethan.
No, he wasn’t also seeing Damien while sleeping with Holland and Ethan.
No, they were not a quartet.
Yes, he was in a relationship with two people.
No, it wasn’t any of their business.
On and on the questions went. He had just stood there, answering as best he could. He hadn’t gotten a lawyer, didn’t need one. Even though the first thing a lawyer friend would say was that you always needed a lawyer while talking to a cop.
But Lincoln just wanted it over.
Wanted Ethan to be okay.
He was sleeping now, finally. He’d been up, hadn’t said anything, but had reached out, and Lincoln had grabbed his hand for a moment. And then when Ethan turned to Holland, she had taken his other hand. When Ethan finally went to sleep, the nurses letting him do so for a while thanks to the drugs in his system even with a concussion, Lincoln let go of Ethan’s hand, needing to pace.
Holland hadn’t said anything, and he knew she was pulling away. Maybe that was a good thing. Because it seemed like everything Lincoln touched lately just got fucked up. Because art, Damien, and now Ethan. Of course, Holland would want to stay away.
He hated himself. Hated all of this. But he didn’t know what to do.
He couldn’t do anything.
Fine. “I got to go,” he whispered to himself, as Holland looked over at him.
“I know some of the Montgomerys went home, mostly because Liam forced them out. But Aaron’s still in the waiting room. Do you need to switch with him?”
She made to stand, and Lincoln shook his head. “No, I’m going home. I need a break.”
“Oh. Do you want company?”
He looked at her and knew he was going to lose it, knew he would probably say something he shouldn’t, so he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just shook his head and walked out of the room without touching her, without saying goodbye, without kissing her. Without doing anything to her or Ethan.
He simply left, unable to say anything.
When Lincoln walked out, Aaron was in the waiting room as Holland had said, playing with his phone.
“The rest of the fam’s going to take turns, but we figured you two should stay with him. They letting you stay overnight?”
“You can go in there with Holland. I’m going home.”
“Really?” Aaron asked and raised his brows. “You’re just going to leave?”
“Yes, I am. I need to think.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Lincoln.”
Lincoln just shook his head and left, knowing he had already done something stupid. He’d had hope. He’d hoped that maybe this could work out between him and Ethan. Between him and Holland. Between the three of them. That nobody would comment on the fact that he was in a relationship with two people. That it wouldn’t matter in this day and age. But he had seen the way some of the nurses had looked at the three of them. He had seen the way the cops had acted as if he’d had something to do with the attack because…why not? Because he’d had sex with two different people at the same time? And even though they were in a caring relationship and committed, they must be deviants.
He’d seen the way some people at restaurants looked at them when they went out. Or the fact that they didn’t actually hold hands or touch each other as a threesome in public to avoid the stares.
Yes, he knew all of that. He had known that going in, and yet he had hoped that maybe they could make it work.
But it hadn’t. It was all fucked up.
And now Ethan was in a hospital bed and hurt because of him. Because of his past and his inability to let Damien go because he felt as if he owed him something for his work.
He just needed to get home. Needed to think about what the hell he was going to do. This wasn’t the end of it, but he needed to at least make sure that he wasn’t the one who caused any more hurt.
Ethan was making strides, or at least he had been. He was trying to make things work. And Holland hadn’t run yet. That was good, right?
But everything Lincoln did seemed to break down. He couldn’t paint right now, couldn’t draw, could only think about doing that.
And now Damien.
He drove home on autopilot, wishing that he actually had a car that could do that for him so he didn’t have to think at all.
He honestly didn’t even know how he got home. His mind was whirling, his head pounding.
He staggered to his apartment, closed the door, locked up behind him, and made his way to his kitchen. He poured himself two fingers of whiskey and downed it even though it was supposed to be a sipping bourbon.
Then he poured another two fingers and figured he could sip on that.
Jesus Christ. He didn’t know what he’d have done if Ethan had died. He could barely breathe thinking about it. But when Ethan was healthy again and realized that it was all Lincoln’s fault? He’d lose him no matter what.
Ethan was his best friend, and he loved him down to the very depths of his soul. And Lincoln had almost lost him. Because of Damien.
That fucking jealous asshole.
And there was nothing he could do about it. He hadn’t been there when Ethan needed him. No, Ethan had left work when he did because Lincoln had yelled at him to work less. He had been in that parking lot right then because he wanted to please Lincoln.
Bile filled Lincoln’s throat as he thought over everything that had happened, and he set down his glass, gripping the edge of the counter for support. He took a deep breath and tried to count to ten, but he couldn’t.
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All he wanted to do was punch something.
He looked over at the other end of the studio where his canvases were located, where the blue and gray canvas sat that he was supposed to be working on. He saw nothing. There was nothing inside him—no spark, no art.
All that was left was rage.
And the realization of the fact that he couldn’t do a damn thing.
He staggered over to the painting and just stared at it, wondering if something would come to him. He let his fingers trail across the blank parts of the can
vas, wondering if maybe he should just use finger paints. Maybe that would help. He opened up one of the tubes, put it on his pallet, and slid his fingers through it. The feel of it almost numbed his fingertips. It wasn’t supposed to do that, but maybe he was just numb.
He slid his hand along the blank part of the canvas, wishing something would happen, but it didn’t. There was nothing. This wasn’t art, this was just him trying to figure out how to become who he once was. And there was nothing of that left.
A key slipped into the lock, and he froze.
There was only one person with a key now, and that person was in a hospital bed.
Maybe Holland had taken it. Or Aaron. Perhaps one of the other Montgomerys. But when he turned, he froze in place
Damien stood there, a key in his hand, and a smirk on his face. His hair was slicked down with sweat sticking to his forehead. His suit was disheveled as if he’d been running and hiding—which he likely had been—and Lincoln could smell the booze coming off the other man in waves from where he stood. Lincoln wiped his hands on his pants, not caring about the cops.
“Damien.” He tried to keep his voice steady, as if his pulse weren’t racing in his ears. His phone was right in his pocket. He could probably reach for it, but he didn’t know if Damien had a weapon. He didn’t know anything.
Jesus Christ, this couldn’t be happening.
“Lincoln.”
There was nothing in that tone, no emotion, no mania, no depression. Nothing. And that scared Lincoln more than anything.
“I didn’t know you still had a key,” Lincoln said as calmly as possible.
“You think I didn’t make a copy? You really should have changed your locks. But you’ve always been complacent. And that’s fine. That’s why I’ve always been here for you. And I will always be here for you.”
Lincoln swallowed hard and hoped to hell he knew what to say next. Because he had a feeling even one wrong move wouldn’t end well for anyone.
“How are you doing, Damien?”
“How am I doing?” Damien just laughed. It was a high-pitched comic laugh, and Lincoln barely held back a cringe.
“How am I doing? Well, I tried to help you. I tried to help, and now there are cops at my place. How could you do that to me? How could you send them after me when all I want to do is help?”
Sated in Ink: A Montgomery Ink: Boulder Novel Page 19