IF | A Novel Page 4

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you like hanging out with me?”

  Lincoln runs his hands over his face before pinning me with a look. “Because you calm my storms. I don’t have a lot of people around me I can depend on.” His voice drops. “I like depending on you. Maybe more than I should. Because you should know that eventually, I’ll fuck up and ruin this. Whatever it is.”

  The depth of sadness in his voice is suffocating, and my throat tightens. When our eyes meet, the storm that is usually in his is gone, leaving them eerily vacant, as if he’s no longer behind them. Suddenly, I want to be everything to him. Heal him. Hold him.

  With a small step, I stand between his knees, reach out and touch his forehead, gently caressing his brows as I whisper to him, “Yellow is my favorite color. I like Mexican food because I love heat and spice.” I hate that my voice is small. “I would love to get a tattoo, but I have no idea of what. My parents are country club assholes. I’ve been told what to do, and who to be friends with, my entire life. I’m only expected to succeed, not fail. That means you can’t ruin this, Lincoln, because I won’t let this fail. I have you. I promise.”

  When he closes his eyes, his long lashes touch his cheeks. Taking a breath, I lean closer to him. Using both my hands, I run my fingers over his forehead and temples, down his cheeks and over his jawline. I’m surprised at how soft his stubble is under my fingertips. His expression relaxes under my touch. Slowly his hands come up and with the lightest of touches, his fingers wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

  “I don’t know what I did to deserve your placement in my path, but I am so fucking grateful, Em. You’re exactly what I need. You’re becoming . . . important,” he rambles.

  I clench my jaw at the sound of his gritty voice.

  It’s sinful and sexy.

  The beeping of his phone has his lids fluttering open. As if coming out of a fog, he shakes his head and sits up straighter, pulling his face out of my hands and leaning away.

  When his fingers quickly disappear from my waist, I take a step back.

  Without a word, he slides off the dryer, pulls out his phone and shoots off a few texts.

  Then his preoccupied gaze meets mine. “I, ah . . . I-I have to go meet someone.”

  At this hour? Something in the way Lincoln said someone sets me on edge.

  “Oh,” I manage, confused at the sudden change in him. “Okay.”

  He’s distant and acting like he can’t escape the laundry room, or me, fast enough.

  He looks around and pulls his bottom lip into his mouth. “You okay here, alone?”

  I wrinkle my nose and nod. “Fine.”

  He drops his chin and begins to walk toward the doorway. “Don’t worry about my stuff; I’ll come back in the morning to finish it up.”

  “Sure,” I reply, not knowing what else to say.

  Lincoln’s lips flatten as he makes his way toward the door. “See you soon, Em.”

  I stand here for I have no idea how long, watching his back as he disappears, wondering what in the hell just happened between us. Regardless of his strange exit, it’s clear the novelty of our relationship—whatever it is—hasn’t worn off yet. In fact, I think it’s growing and morphing into a slow fiery burn. One that at some point, will spark a raging fire.

  And that terrifies me.

  A fire that burns this hot is bound to leave lasting scars.

  7

  There are days, like today, when nothing is clear. Things become fuzzy and dark around the edges. No one knows, because I’ve gotten good at concealing it. I hide my daily struggle for control. I hide the constant pressure inside my chest.

  I hide the shaking and darker thoughts that sometimes run through my head.

  Some days, my inner turmoil takes over. Normally, I can fight it, but not today.

  Today, everything feels so much bigger than it really is. So much harder.

  More closed in and suffocating.

  Outside, the snow falls in a steady stream. The storm is the reason classes have been cancelled. Being stuck inside all day has me feeling trapped and on edge, causing my anxiety levels to spike. I try to remain calm and not have a full-blown panic attack.

  My breath catches when a hard bang on the door startles me. I make my way over to it and swing it open to find Lincoln on the other side. He’s casually leaning against the frame. I look around the hallway nervously, because I can’t deal with him today. I don’t have the energy to push away the darkness when it’s standing in front of me, wearing jeans and a gray Henley. At the sight of him, the panic grips me tighter.

  The last time I saw him was in the laundry room. Scratch that. I saw him two days later, making out with some girl in the quad. He had his tongue down her throat in broad daylight for everyone to see. Including me. It was an epic sight to behold. Truly.

  “Kennison left her wallet in my suite when she left with Josh. I thought I’d return it in case she might—” He stops, the expression on his face falling as he studies me. Lincoln narrows his eyes, taking me in and standing straighter, pushing off the frame. “What’s wrong, Em? You’re white as a ghost. Are you okay?” he asks, pushing me back and stepping into the room, taking up the last bit of air that was left in here.

  I stumble a few steps back as he closes the door. All of a sudden, his form becomes blurry and I struggle to breathe. The blood rushes to my head and the heavy thudding of my heartbeat echoes in my ears. I feel hot and cold at the same time.

  “Em,” Lincoln says, calmly throwing Kenz’s wallet on her desk before grabbing my upper arms and dipping his chin so he can look into my eyes. “Hey, you need to breathe.”

  I try to nod and pull air into my lungs, but his voice sounds far away, like he’s talking to me from inside of a tunnel. Sounds rush around in my head, swirling and mixing in with the dark spots, threatening to take over as everything inside me shuts down.

  Vaguely, I realize I’m suddenly on the floor, on my knees, and Lincoln is in the same position across from me. It takes every ounce of strength I have left to throw myself against him and curl my fingers into his shirt. The pulse at the base of his neck jumps against my temple as I cling to his familiar scent. Strong arms wrap around me, holding me to a hard chest. I claw at him, trying to crawl inside of him to survive my attack.

  “Don’t let go,” I slur almost incoherently.

  “Never.” Lincoln’s shaky hands run up and down my back as he whispers in my ear, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just listen to my voice. Can you do that, Emerson?”

  He’s said my full name before, but this time, it’s said in a raspy voice filled with worry that wraps around the panic and somehow makes it stop torturing me. I try to pull my thoughts back into order as he holds me, bringing me back from the brink of a breakdown.

  I latch on to him like a lifeline as he soothes me, calming me down as I fight my way back from the confusion and disorder that was churning in my head. I focus on the way he smells, the broadness of his shoulders, the feel of his fingers as they run along my back.

  “Did you know that banging your head against a wall for one hour burns 150 calories?” he asks. “It’s true. There is the potential for brain damage, but at least you’ll have burned off your morning donut. Also, pteronophobia is the fear of being tickled by feathers. And in Switzerland it is illegal to own just one guinea pig,” he rattles off. “I read a lot when the team travels. That leads to knowing a shit ton of useless information. Like, bees sometimes sting other bees. And space, it smells like seared steak,” he goes on.

  “You’re making all that up,” I mumble into his shoulder.

  “Am not,” he whispers. “It’s all true. Google it.”

  Lincoln just holds me until I come back to myself. I have no idea how long it takes before I can breathe again and focus on my own without him talking me down, but I do.

  After a long time, I release my grip on him and sit back a little on my heels
.

  “I’m okay,” I lie.

  Lincoln’s brows pull together as he lifts his hands to my cheeks, holding my face between his palms. With a gentle touch, he wipes away tears that I hadn’t realized had fallen with the pads of his thumbs. Concern radiates off every line of his tense body.

  “Are you sure?”

  I blink a few times and take in an uneven breath. “It’s just a panic attack.”

  “You’re still shaking. And you’re on the fucking floor crying, Em,” he growls.

  “I’ll be okay,” I whisper.

  “Has this happened before?”

  “Sometimes. I haven’t had one in over a year.”

  Lincoln’s mouth tightens as he pulls back and climbs to his feet. When he reaches out his hands for me, I take them and allow him to help me to my feet before he guides me over to my bed and helps me sit down. Once he sees I’m stable, he walks over to the windows, yanking them open, allowing fresh air to float into the room before he takes in a sharp breath and turns around, cutting me a look out of the corner of his eye.

  “Who else knows about your anxiety?” he asks with a hoarse voice.

  I don’t want him to see me like this, raw and hurting on the inside, so I remain silent.

  “Not even Kennison?” he catches on.

  I shake my head no.

  “What or who fucking triggered it?” His voice is lower and huskier than usual.

  My lips part to speak, but I’m too embarrassed. Nothing comes out.

  Lincoln bristles, giving me impatient side-eyes as he waits me out.

  “Pressure. Anxiety,” I admit in a quiet voice. “Feeling trapped.”

  “You’re claustrophobic?”

  “I can be, if my anxiety levels are higher than normal,” I find my voice.

  “Which they are right now?” he prods, trying to figure me out.

  “Yes,” I admit, ashamed of my weakness.

  Lincoln walks over and squats down in front of me. With an intense expression, he looks up at me, his jaw working back and forth. “You scared the shit out of me, Em.”

  “I’m sorry.” I stare at his shoulders, which are bunched with tension.

  Feeling the distance seeping in between us, I go into protection mode and put my walls back up. Lincoln says nothing for the longest time as he studies me in silence.

  “Now I understand the safety–control freak thing.” He stands to his full height.

  I look up at him and narrow my eyes. “I am not a con—”

  “Don’t even try to deny it.”

  I clear my throat. “Why are you here again?”

  “I dropped off Kennison’s wallet,” he reminds me.

  Right. “She’s outside building snowmen and women. With Josh.”

  A sly expression crosses his face. “Guess that means you’re free to hang out with me.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” I groan, standing. “I’m okay now.”

  “Maybe I need one. It’s snowing out and boring as hell. Let’s watch movies and eat leftover Chinese food.” He shuts the windows before we freeze to death.

  “I don’t have Chinese food.” I cross my arms over my chest protectively.

  “I do. I’ll go grab it and be back. Pick a movie. And do NOT pick a chick flick.”

  “Lincoln,” I say to his retreating form as he opens the door.

  He turns and faces me. When he reaches up to grip the top of the doorframe, it’s all I can do not to start weeping hysterically at his soft, concerned expression.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “For what, Em?”

  “For telling me that space smells like seared steak.”

  He smiles. “I’ll always have you, Em.” He disappears, only to return a few minutes later with three bags of food, drinks, and a bunch of random crap, like a blanket and pillow.

  “Moving in?” I ask as he closes the door.

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “What’s with all the bags?”

  “I need to be comfortable if we’re watching movies all night,” he says, throwing his pillow and blanket onto my bed before sliding onto it, settling in on top of the covers.

  “Um.” I stand in the middle of the room, arms crossed. “All night?”

  “Breathe, Em. You’re turning blue. Kennison is staying with Josh tonight.”

  “Oh,” I sigh. “Can you at least move over to her bed?”

  “I’m not sitting on her bed.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know her well enough to sniff her sheets.”

  “She’s practically living with Josh in your suite. Wait, sniff her sheets?”

  “That doesn’t mean I want to smell like her.”

  “Fine. I’ll sit on her bed.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want you smelling like her either. I like you smelling like . . . you.”

  “You’re weird.”

  “Come over here and sit down with me. It’s cold in here.”

  An eyebrow arches at the suggestion and I remain glued to the floor.

  “We’re just watching movies. I’ll stay on my side.”

  Making an exasperated sound, I walk over to my bed and slide onto the top, putting a throw blanket over my legs, keeping a sliver of space between us as I get comfortable.

  Lincoln turns the movie on as he munches on an eggroll. On my bed. Ew.

  “This is awkward,” I pout, and chance a look at him.

  The side of his mouth curls up the tiniest bit. “It’s only awkward because you’re making awkward. No talking during the movie. Eggroll?” He passes me the container.

  I lean over to snag one as his scent hits me. “Why do you always smell like cigarettes?”

  Little lines appear between his brows. “Why are you sniffing me?”

  I groan. “I’m not. You just have a certain . . . smell to you.”

  “Are you saying I stink?”

  “No. It’s just, I’ve never seen you smoke, but there is always this strange smoky smell lingering beneath the scent of your soap and remnants of your cologne,” I point out.

  He licks his lips, eyes cagey. “Occasionally, I need a cigarette to take the edge off.”

  “The edge of what?”

  “Life,” he says, his voice terse.

  “Smoking is bad for you.”

  “I’m an adult, Em. I can smoke if I want to.”

  “Okay, fine. We were talking smells, I was just asking.” I shift my focus to the movie.

  I must have fallen asleep halfway through, because when my eyes open, it’s dark outside and dimly lit in here. The white Christmas lights that Kennison hung around the top of the room are on, and the television is casting shadows across Lincoln and me.

  Stretching, I roll over onto my left side. When I snuggle my face into my pillow, I notice Lincoln sleeping on his right side, facing me. He looks so relaxed and peaceful. For a moment, I creepily watch him sleep, and as I do, my feelings begin to sink in.

  My attraction to him isn’t fading. In fact, my feelings are getting stronger. I was an idiot to think they would go away while I was living in the same building as him, running in the same circle of friends, breathing in the same air. At some point, I need to stop lying to myself, because I don’t think my attraction to him is going to fade away anytime soon.

  “I think I have feelings for you,” I admit so quietly, even I can barely hear myself.

  Without thinking, I lift my hand and run my fingertips over his face, down his cheek and across his jawline, before I let my thumb run over his lips. They’re warm and soft.

  I close my eyes and stupidly imagine how they would feel pressed against mine in a searing kiss. When I open them again, his stormy gaze is on me, staring at me with an intense burn that twists and knots my insides and makes me want to curl up to his side.

  “You have feelings for me?” The way he draws out the word causes me to freeze.

  I take in a deep
breath, studying his fierce features. He licks his lips, holding my gaze the entire time, and my stomach drops into a freefall. I just lie here, petrified that I’ve ruined whatever this is we’re doing, because being this close to him is pure heaven.

  Lincoln’s breath hitches, but he moves closer, pleading with his eyes.

  “Say it again,” he demands hoarsely.

  “I-I have feelings for you,” I whisper.

  We stare at each other, each of us waging an internal war that I am certain neither of us will ever win. When he leans in again, his lips brush mine with the lightest of touches, and my entire body ignites with need. I whimper into his mouth and clutch the soft fabric of his shirt. He leaned back, looking into my eyes again, silently asking my permission. I responded to his unspoken question with a small nod. He grabs the back of my head and pulls my mouth harder against his as his lips devour mine. There is nothing gentle in this kiss. It’s raw and demanding.

  His tongue invades my mouth while he slowly slides the hand that isn’t holding the back of my head up my side, edging it higher until his palm is covering my throat, pushing me back gently. I roll onto my back and he shifts on top of me. Trembles wrack my body as a dizzying mixture of fear and desire runs through me. I curl my fingers into his shirt harder, twisting the fabric, pulling him closer, afraid he’ll let go as our lips dance across each other’s in an intoxicating and all-consuming way. He pulls away, just far enough to stare down into my eyes, but close enough that I can still feel every one of his breaths on my lips. When he looks at me, I become paralyzed by the flashes of desire and lust swirling behind his eyes. Warmth floods me and an ache settles between my thighs as he closes his eyes, lowers his head and slowly drags his lips across my cheek, before he drags them back over my cheek and brushes them lightly over mine again, but he doesn’t kiss me.

  His voice is husky when he speaks across my mouth. “Do you want me to stop?”