IF | A Novel Read online

  “Real love is unconditional. Beautiful. Broken. Like us.”

  31

  Over the years, Lincoln and I have had moments so perfect, so poignant, they’re etched into my memory. Tonight is one of those moments. We’re sitting on his couch, eating pizza and laughing. He’s relaxed and happier than I’ve ever seen him. We both are.

  Suddenly, I’m suffocating in the rightness of it all.

  I never want to be without this again.

  I never want to be without him again.

  “Want to talk about what happened with Jake?” he asks.

  “Nothing major. I asked him questions that he couldn’t answer.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “No. You aren’t.” I laugh and roll my eyes.

  “You’re right. I’m not. He wasn’t the right guy for you.”

  “If not Jake, then who is, Lincoln?” I wrinkle my nose at him.

  “Me.”

  “Oh yeah?” I sit up and move closer.

  “You fit into my life. The idea of you not being here tomorrow, of this”—he motions between us—“going away again, it terrifies like me nothing I’ve ever felt before, Em.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I like having you in my house and in my life. I want you to stay in both.”

  The quiet settles between us, making me feel like I want to jump out of my skin.

  “I can’t move back. Not now, anyway.”

  “I know. I didn’t ask. I just want you to think about us. About trying again.”

  Us. I try to shake off the panic, because the doubt and fear linger. I’m not used to easy or simple with Lincoln. It’s always complicated. The idea of simple freaks me out.

  I clear my throat. “I’ll think about it.”

  “It scares me too, Em.” He moves closer. “A simple life, with you.”

  “How do you always know what I’m thinking?” I whisper.

  “I know you. There is no pressure here, just, what if.”

  I lean forward and press my lips to his. I’ve spent so much time without him that the idea of being without him any more burns through my blood, alongside my want and desire. Lincoln is mine and I am going to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

  I devour his mouth, letting him feel all the things I can’t say. Lincoln grabs me and pulls me over his lap so I can straddle him. His hands tangle roughly in my hair. There is no gentleness in our kiss or in his grip on me. All that we care about is feeling good.

  What exists between us, in this moment, is a blinding need to release some of the want and need, the tension that has been between us over the past few days, and the anger that I know still lingers between us from being apart this past year.

  I suck in a tense breath as we rush to get naked. Somewhere in my head I know I need to slow down, need to get back in control. Lincoln whispers my name, trying to get me to slow down, but I don’t. I am ready for him to be inside me, to bury all the fear and uncertainty that burns in me. I’m operating from a place that I know I’ll regret in the morning. But right now, I need him to help me out of the dark. To be the light.

  By the time we’re naked and positioned, I’m wound too tight, ready to break. He thrusts into me and my eyes squeeze as I wrap my arms around his neck and he buries his face into my neck. We fit together so perfectly, it’s as if we were made for this sole purpose. Lincoln holds me to him tightly, guiding me as I rock over him. I’m breathing hard and my knees suddenly feel like they aren’t going to hold me up anymore.

  When his mouth finds mine, our tongues meld together as he teases me through our kiss. His mouth leaves mine long enough to taste my jaw, my neck, my shoulder. With every spot his lips touch, I become completely consumed by him again. He owns me.

  Lincoln’s grip tightens around my waist.

  “I love you,” I whisper, between faltering and shallow breaths.

  “I love you too, Em,” he says with a smug grin, and then takes us both over the edge.

  When I wake up, I’m disoriented for a few seconds. Blinking, I look around at the unfamiliar bedroom. Then the memories of yesterday seep back in, and I turn to see Lincoln, sleeping on his stomach with his head turned toward me. Smiling down at him, I brush a few strands of hair out of his eyes before slipping out of bed to use the restroom.

  I wash my hands and try to freshen up as best I can without any of my products before making my way into his kitchen and figuring out the coffee maker. It takes me twenty minutes, but I finally get it to produce caffeine. With a contented sigh, I head over to the window and look at the park across the street from his place. It’s such a pretty view.

  Nothing beats fall in New England, not even the sunshine and warm weather of California. All the trees’ branches are covered in warm auburn and deep crimson colors.

  I’m staring out the window when two large arms wrap around my middle; Lincoln’s warmth drifts into my back as he presses his chest against it. He kisses the side of my neck, nipping and licking before he brings his mouth to my ear.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “I feel like I’m in a dream. Like tomorrow I’ll wake up and you’ll disappear.”

  “A dream, huh?” He takes my coffee mug from me with one hand.

  “A really, really good dream.” I turn and face him as he brings my mug to his lips.

  Releasing my waist, his left hand is soft and warm as he intertwines my fingers with his. I don’t pull away. I bask in the simplicity of holding his hand. Being so close to him feels both strange and exhilarating. I have to remind myself that it’s real.

  His face softens as he watches me with those intense eyes.

  “What time do you have to be at the airport?”

  “My flight leaves around five.”

  “I’ll drive you back to the hotel and then to the airport.”

  Despair settles into me. I have to leave him, again. I blink back tears, resigning myself to that reality. Sensing the change, Lincoln closes in on me and pulls me into a desperate embrace, and we cling to each other for a long time, neither of us ready to let go. I wish things were different. All I want is to finally start over with this man I love so much.

  We’re so close to getting there. So. Damn. Close.

  “This isn’t the end of us, Em. It’s just the beginning.”

  Placing the mug on the counter, he cups my face and gently caresses my cheeks with his thumbs before he takes my lips. I pull him tightly against me and kiss him hard. I kiss him in every way I possibly can kiss him, because I plan on loving him in every way that I can. This kiss, right here, it’s worth all the tears and heartache, all the pain and struggles. He kisses me so soft and deep that I swear he’s trying to steal my heart.

  What he doesn’t realize is, he already owns it.

  I gave it to him a long time ago.

  And never truly got it back.

  And I never truly will.

  32

  I shouldn’t be this nervous. It’s ridiculous that I am, because it’s only Lincoln. I open the door to my apartment and drink in the sight of him. I’m just staring. I guess I expected him to look different after we’d spent a month apart. But he doesn’t. He looks the same.

  He looks amazing and sexy and calm.

  Having him standing here strips me of my ability to breathe.

  An amused smile crosses his lips where he’s still standing outside the door, and it sends my pulse into a frenzy. I can’t decide if the sight of him has me wanting to jump into his arms or crumble into a pile of tears. I’ve missed him so much. For years I’ve loved and hated him and everything in between. I truly never expected us to have this ending.

  “Hi.” My voice is a shy whisper.

  The last time I felt this nervous around him was before everything went to hell for us. It’s been four life-changing weeks since we’ve kissed or touched. Other than a few phone calls, texts, and video messages, we haven’t seen each other. A few days ago, he called saying he
’d be in town for work and asked if we could spend the weekend together.

  “Hey.” He slowly steps closer to me, his smoldering eyes focused on mine.

  My heart flutters as he backs me into my apartment, grabs my face in his hands, and slams his lips against mine. My legs buck as he steals my breath away. He sweeps his tongue over my lips and into my mouth and a faint whimper escapes me. I reach up and position my arms around his neck, pulling him into me as he slams my door closed behind us with his foot. He moves his hands to my waist and lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around him. He spins us and uses his body to pin me against the door as he kisses me.

  I pour all the emotion and passion that’s been bottled up inside me for weeks into our kiss. This wasn’t how I planned on greeting him. But it’s without a doubt what I need and want. Him. This. Nothing has ever compared to the feel and taste of him. Nothing ever will.

  He pulls back and we stare at each other breathlessly.

  He strokes my cheek. “I miss you.”

  I lean into his touch. “I miss you too.”

  His thumb moves across my bottom lip and I pull his lips back to mine. He devours me as I grip his shoulders and tighten my thighs around him. His lips move to my neck, his teeth biting and nipping the flesh, his tongue following, soothing each spot. His fingertips dig into my waist; as he shifts, the desire burns between us.

  Everything about us just makes more sense when we’re together. He makes me feel beautiful. Revered. Loved. I just feel more of everything when I am with him.

  He lifts his head away from my lips but keeps our faces close enough that our noses brush when his forehead meets mine. The way he’s looking at me, as if I’m the only thing that matters in his world, makes everything around us fade away. It’s just him and me.

  Lifting my skirt, he slides his hand beneath my panties, his fingers slipping inside the edge of them, causing my muscles to clench beneath his touch. When his fingers glide over me, finding me wet and ready for him, he groans deeply in his throat.

  With a smug grin, he begins to run his fingers slowly up and down me, circling at the top before descending and starting the torture all over again. I arch my back against the door, pushing against his touch. I cry out, gripping him tighter when his fingers enter me.

  I’m completely consumed by him. Before I met him, I had no idea I could feel this much, this deeply with another person. I had no idea I was capable of sharing this kind of connection.

  Lincoln frowns when a tear falls from one of my eyes. He lifts one hand and wipes it away, then dips his head and kisses me, gentle and soft, coaxing even more tears out of me. I know he knows what I’m feeling. The raw emotions that he conjures within me.

  He leans into my ear. “Want me to stop?”

  I quickly shake my head no.

  Skilled hands slide up and down and over me. Every touch sends waves of heat coursing through me. His lips brush across my mouth and I shiver under his touch.

  “Are you nervous?” he asks.

  I nod, and his eyes soften with understanding.

  “Me too.”

  I can feel my entire body relax at his admission, and when his mouth takes mine again, I lose all control. Reaching between us, he pushes his jeans and boxers down, and slides my panties to the side just enough to slowly slide himself fully into me, knowing that this is what I need more than anything. To feel him inside of me. For us to be one.

  He pulls in and out of me in a slow rhythm. My need for him grows instead of diminishing as he gives me what I need. The more my desire builds, the more impatient I become. Sensing this, he pushes inside me, making me his completely. We kiss wildly and ferociously as he thrusts in and out of me, harder and faster. Finally, we both find our release, and a sense of peace washes over us. Cupping his cheek, I draw his mouth to mine and kiss him.

  “I can’t believe this is real. That I actually have you,” I exhale.

  “You have me,” he groans. “You so fucking have me.”

  I love this man, with everything I am.

  I’m sitting in the chair and fidgeting nervously. Touching everything in sight that isn’t a needle or wrapped in plastic. The tattoo shop is near my apartment. Lincoln’s friend from high school, Tommy, owns it. We bumped into him the other night at a restaurant. The two of them got to talking and after a few drinks and easy conversation, it was agreed that this is where I would come to get my first tattoo done.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lincoln watches me fidget.

  “I’m sure.”

  “You look like you’re ready to run away. Or throw up.”

  “I do?” I meet his gaze.

  “Yeah, Em. You do.”

  “It’s not going to hurt, right?” I swallow.

  “Only for a minute. I trust Tommy,” he assures me.

  I try to give him a calm smile, but I can see he’s not buying it.

  Tommy opens the door and walks in with a little metal tray in his hands. Everything on it looks sterilized and smells like hospital antiseptic. I resist the desire to bolt.

  “You ready, Emerson?” Tommy asks in a deep, friendly voice.

  I nod and place my left wrist on the small table, under the light, trying to control my rapid breathing. Lincoln sits on a stool to my right, takes my hand in his, and interlaces our fingers. He brings them up to his lips and gently brushes his lips across my fingertips.

  “I’ve got you, Em,” he whispers, and I relax.

  “I’m fast. And it’s only two letters, so it’ll be over quick,” Tommy says.

  He sits down, turns the light on, and prepares the table next to him by removing the needles and ink. When he’s ready, he winks at me and presses the stencil to my wrist.

  After I agree to the placement he turns on the tattoo gun and presses it to my skin.

  I tense at the sound of the buzzing, but focus on Lincoln.

  “Take really deep breaths and let them out slowly and evenly,” he says.

  I nod as the needles slide over my skin.

  “Keep your eyes on me,” Lincoln orders.

  I do. For the longest time I just look deeply into his stare, getting lost in the storm.

  It’s not long before Tommy pats my arm, letting me know it’s done. “All set.”

  Smiling, I watch as he spreads a clear ointment across the ink and places a protective plastic wrapping on it. “Plastic on for a day, and while showering. Ointment for three.”

  “Got it.” My gaze drops to my wrist and I smile.

  I’d always wanted to get a tattoo; I just never knew what of.

  Until today.

  I look at the two tiny lowercase letters now adorning my wrist in black ink: if.

  Just like Lincoln’s tattoos, they will serve as my daily reminder.

  It doesn’t matter if he breaks my heart . . .

  It doesn’t matter if it’s not meant to be . . .

  The ifs will always linger, but so will my love for him.

  Epilogue

  LINCOLN

  Six months later . . .

  I watch her sleep. The sun’s rays beam through the window in our bedroom, caressing her face. Em doesn’t know this, but it’s something I do every morning—when I’m home and not traveling with the team. A few months ago, I accepted a job as an athletic trainer for one of the major league baseball teams here in California. Best decision I’ve made, aside from Em.

  I smile down at her. She always looks so peaceful and untroubled when she sleeps. Sometimes I have to remind myself that she’s real. And mine. I went so long refusing to allow myself to feel anything for anyone. Convinced that I was unworthy of love. I thought I didn’t deserve something good and decent in my life. That I was unworthy.

  Until her.

  I love her.

  I love everything about her.

  I love that she’s never judged me. That she understands me. Despite everything we’ve put each other through, we made it.

  I lift my fingers and brush them acro
ss her cheeks. A hint of a smile plays on her lips as she rubs her cheek on my fingers and curls into me. I moved in a month ago, and when I did, I promised myself when I wasn’t on the road for work, I would be the first thing she saw each morning. I shift and wrap myself around her.

  My fingers run over the tattoo on her wrist. I can’t help but think:

  What if she never came to that party freshman year?

  What if she never stepped into my room?

  What if she never went to London?

  What if she never returned?

  What if she never let me touch her? Kiss her? Love her?

  What if she died that night in the parking lot?

  What if she hadn’t listened to her father?

  What if she never got on that plane?

  What if we never made up?

  In the end, the ifs don’t matter anymore.

  She loved them all away.

  THE END

  Revelation

  The Revelation Series

  I’m running, and not very well, might I add. My lungs burn and my shallow breathing erratically bounces off the slick stone walls. I keep moving forward, forcing myself farther and farther into the dark underground passage. It’s cold, damp, and smells like musk.

  “What the hell is following me?” I ask myself, as confusion sets in. The only thing I’m certain of is that I’m bone-chillingly terrified, down to the core of my very soul. I’m frightened that whatever is chasing me will catch me, because when it does, there’s no doubt it will kill me. Its hatred and anger rolls off it in waves, crashing through me like a sharp gust of wind, suffocating me. I’m positive it’s pure evil.

  Just as I reach the end of the tunnel, I hit a solid wall, ceasing my progress and ending my futile efforts at escape. “Shit,” I whisper out loud, while I strike my palms against the water-slicked stones. Feeling defeated, I place my forehead to the damp wall and release a soft whimper.