“Don’t lie to me, Sara. Believe me; I’ve said it all before myself. Maybe instead of wallowing away in self-pity, you should think of how Cole would feel knowing you’re like this. Is it your goal to end up like him? Is that it?”
Sara recoiled at the use of his name, sucking in a sharp breath and turning away from Lincoln. He kept talking, but she couldn’t hear him over the roar in her ears. She fought for every breath, wanting to drop to her knees. Sara closed her eyes. Hearing his name was too much. It hurt too much to hear it, to say it, to even think it. So she didn’t.
The tears streamed down her cheeks, dropping to the white and gray linoleum floor. Sara braced a hand against the fridge and hung her head. She felt his warmth like he was behind her, holding her. Only it wasn’t him. It would never be him again. Lincoln touched her shoulder and Sara jerked away, stumbling back and bumping into the stove. “Don’t touch me, Lincoln.”
His jaw clenched. “Why? What happens when someone touches you? Do you melt?”
“You’re an ass,” she told him in a voice that shook.
“I’ve been gentle with you, Sara, but no more. This has gone on long enough. Now get in the shower and get dressed. We’re going to go see him.”
She mutely shook her head. No. She couldn’t. Sara couldn’t go to that place. She couldn’t see him. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t her husband. Sara wrapped her arms around herself and hunched over, trying to make the hollowness go away, trying to make the unrelenting sick feeling disappear. She was dying on the inside, losing herself, turning into a pulsating mass of pain and nothing else. That was all she was now. Sara didn’t know how to make it stop. She longed for it to stop.
Lincoln grabbed her arms and pulled her up and toward him.
“I said don’t touch me!” she shrieked, trying to tug her arms from his grasp, but he only tightened his grip. “Lincoln, let go of me. Let go of me!” Sara moved to slap him, to push him away.
He brought her body against his. Panic made her fight harder. No one’s arms but his should be around her. Not ever. Sara lurched away, wanting Lincoln’s hands off her. Not letting her get away, Lincoln pulled her to him again and rested his chin on the crown of her head; large, resilient, and unmovable. Sara made puny, pitiful attempts to remove his touch, but it wasn’t going anywhere. He was too strong and she was too weak.
“Lincoln, please,” she whispered, unable to stand the touch of another man. It felt like disloyalty to him.
He didn’t answer; just kept holding her.
Shaking, spent, she finally went still. Her arms were wedged between them and of their own accord her palms rested on his hard, warm chest. His heart pounded beneath her hand. Bu-bum…bu-bum…bu-bum. Sara turned her attention to that, her breaths slowing, and her body relaxing the longer she concentrated on the steady, strong beat.
The minutes they stayed like that were endless. For the first time in a long time Sara felt not quite so alone. Relief washed over her in the safety of his arms. Lincoln knew her pain. He knew what she was going through. He was going through it himself. He’d lost him too. The catastrophic difference between them, though, was that it wasn’t his fault. It was Sara’s. It was a glaring truth she couldn’t ignore or forget. Sara stiffened as the remorse came back in full attack, punching her in the stomach and taking her breath away.
“What are you doing to yourself?” he murmured.
Sara had no response. When she tried to pull away, Lincoln held her nearer. She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply.
“Stop doing it.” His hands moved to the sides of her head and he smoothed her tangled hair from her face, gently pushing her away and leaning down so their eyes met. “You’re not alone. Don’t ever feel like you’re alone. You know that, right?”
Sara stared at the gold flecks in his eyes, swallowing thickly. His eyes were silver and gold. She jerked her head in a semblance of a nod.
Lincoln sighed deeply and dropped his hands. “Go. I’ll wait here.”
She blinked her eyes against the tears, but they kept coming. “Lincoln, I…I can’t. I can’t go there.” Sara took a shaky breath, moving to put the table between them.
He looked at her for a long time. “But you will take a shower?” Lincoln finally asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll take it.” He nodded his head in the direction of the bathroom, one eyebrow lifted.
Sara slowly walked toward the bathroom. “What will you do?” she asked when she reached it.
“I’ll be right here.” He patted the back of the cream-colored couch.
Once inside the bathroom, Sara fell against the closed door, struggling to get air into her lungs. She went to the mirror. A hollow-eyed, haunted face stared back. Her eyes had always been big, but now they almost looked cartoonish. Large and dark in a white face. Sara gripped the counter and leaned over it, staring down at the sink. A drop of water dripped from the faucet, disappearing down the drain into the dark unknown. That’s what she felt like. Sara was being sucked into a black hole of nothingness, and once that happened, she would disappear. She would cease to exist.