Then my mind redirects to how summer school starts in forty-eight hours—on Monday. I drove here with the intention of telling Lila that I was going to fix everything, but all I really wanted was to mend things between us. I rub a hand over my head. Is Lila right? Am I running from the real issues in my life?
“I’m not running,” I say one more time. Even I notice the doubt in my voice.
“Whatever,” she mumbles, exhaustion weighing down her words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because...” Because she’d be disappointed in me. Because I was disappointed in myself. Because her dreams became my dreams and I failed us both. Because I was chicken shit.
Two years ago, Lila began writing about the University of Florida. She talked about it enough that I checked out the school. Way before I fell for Lila, I fell for the dream of heading to another state for school. To possibly gain my degree in forest resource and conservation; to work around rock walls for a living.
How the hell could I lose sight of my future?
My right leg begins to tingle and all I can think about is getting up, walking around, heading back to the campsite, exploring the trails—even in the dark—and finding a rock wall. Then I glance down at the beauty cuddled close to me.
Her breathing becomes light and she flinches in her sleep. The baby does the same thing when he enters REM sleep. I tuck the blanket around her and permit myself to touch her hair one more time.
No, I’m not a runner. Not this time. She’ll have more hard questions, and I’m determined to answer them—standing right in front of her. It’s time I start facing the problems in my life instead of avoiding them. It’s time that I create a plan and follow it through. And hopefully, Lila will forgive me and be by my side as I go forward.
“I didn’t want you to hate me,” I whisper as I respond to her last question. “Because I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Lila
I thought of you when I climbed today. You should try it sometime. I think you’d enjoy the rush.
~ Lincoln
My entire body seizes at the sound of pounding. I jump, my hands flail, and then I finally crash onto the hardwood floor, a disheveled mess. That crack had to be my tailbone. “Ow.”
I blink several times as I nurse my lower back. What am I doing in the living room?
“You okay?” The gravelly, sleep-deprived voice causes my heart to thump hard once. My eyes dart above me to the couch. Lincoln stretches his arms over his head. Absolutely amazing. He slept sitting up, holding me, the entire night.
“Morning,” he says. His gorgeous eyes fall on me, and my cheeks warm when the corners of his mouth lift. Echo would make fun of me for the silly smile forming on my face.
Feeling suddenly shy and self-conscious, I comb my hair with my hand. Oh hell, tangles. Why, why, why do I always wake up resembling a troll? “Hi.”
The doorbell rings several times and the pounding resumes. Sunlight streams through the venetian blinds. The brightness definitely hints at more of a midday than a morning situation. “It’s probably Stephen,” I say.
Lincoln’s head jerks. “Your ex?”
I’ll admit it. I sort of like the alpha-male pissed-off stare he’s got going on. I scramble off the floor and for once heed my mother’s Post-it note advice by glancing through the peephole. Nope, not the ex. Which is good since Lincoln looks annoyed enough to chop the boy into deer steaks.
“Lila!” Grace yells. “Are you in there?”
“Yes!” I shout back to my ex-best friend. “Give me a sec, Grace.”
I turn to explain to Lincoln that it’s Grace and ram right into his chest. Both of his hands land on my shoulders to steady me. “I thought you two weren’t on speaking terms after what happened with Echo.”
“We aren’t. Which is why I need to answer. The world must have collapsed into a zombie apocalypse if she’s here.”
His grip on my shoulders changes into a massage that causes me to close my eyes. He could touch me like that for the rest of my life and I’d never move. “Then answer,” he says.
My stomach knots into a big ball of dread. Lincoln’s appearance screams that he just rolled out of bed and I’m in my pj’s and my parents are out of town and Grace is a huge gossip. “Crap!”
“I can hide,” he says as if reading my mind. His hands slide off my shoulders and I have to fight the urge to pout. “But you’d have to explain my car.”
I brighten for two point one seconds and then deflate. “I’m not that creative.”
“I’ll give you a few minutes alone with her. Maybe she won’t notice the car.” Lincoln starts down the hallway, then pauses to eye me in a way that suggests my clothes are riding up. “You look good right now. All rumpled and drowsy.”
The back of my neck explodes with heat, and I immediately focus on the muscles of his biceps. Lincoln flashes a flirtatious grin, grabs an extra pair of jeans from his backpack, which leans against the door to my room, and disappears into the bathroom. Good Lord, he’s hot.
Tangled thoughts of him and me muddle my groggy brain. He touches me and talks to me as if we’ve known each other forever. Is it possible he’s into me too? As more than friends?
Grace resumes her banging. I bat at the hair sticking on top of my head and open the front door. “Hey.”
In a cargo skirt that grazes her knees and a white lace tank, Grace hitches her thumb toward the car. “Have a guest?” She takes in my clothes. “An overnight one?”