IF | A Novel Page 7

  “Not so fast. If you leave with him, we can’t go back to being . . . us.”

  The air rushes out of my lungs.

  I try not to cry.

  Pissed off or not, his ultimatum cuts deep.

  “Then it’s a good thing we were never an us to begin with.” My voice is flat.

  With an angry glare, he lets go of my arm and motions to the door. “We’re done.”

  My eyes sting. With each step I take away from him, my heart feels heavier. Right before I’m about to step into the hallway, his cold tone hits me hard, causing me to falter.

  “He’s not the guy for you, Em.”

  “Turns out, neither are you, Lincoln.”

  10

  A heavy beat vibrates through the walls as I take the stairs two at a time. Once I’m on the second floor, I fling open the stairwell door and I’m met with loud music as I walk down the hall. Doors are cracked open, laughter and conversations spilling into the hallway. I have no idea what I am doing or why I am doing it, but it’s been six weeks since I’ve last seen Lincoln. Over break, he didn’t return any of my calls or texts.

  The need to see him is overwhelming. We left things on such ugly terms that the second I got back to the dorm and unpacked, I was out the door and making my way to his suite—without taking a moment to think about what I was doing. Pushing through the throngs of students celebrating being back on campus, I push my way into his suite and find myself beelining toward his closed door, drawn to it like a magnet.

  Before I reach it, though, Tyler steps in front of me, cutting off my path.

  “Emerson!” he greets me, pulling me into a tight hug. “Welcome back.”

  “Hey, Tyler.” I shift and try to focus on him. “How was your break?”

  “Boring as fuck,” he groans. “I’m glad to be back.”

  “Me too.”

  “Need a drink?” he asks, stepping back and winking at me.

  “No, thanks.” I look around. “I’m actually . . . um, I’m here to see Lincoln.”

  A frown turns Tyler’s mouth before he looks over his shoulder at Lincoln’s door.

  He stares at it for a long moment before returning his attention back to me.

  “I’m not sure you seeing Lincoln is such a good idea tonight,” he says.

  “Why not?”

  “Daniels has been a little unhinged since before break.”

  My brows pull together. “What do you mean?”

  He exhales hard. “Honestly, it’s just not a good idea to get mixed up with him.”

  Music echoes in the hallway behind us as more laughter spills into the room.

  After a moment, I smile at him while trying to sidestep him. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I’m a big girl, Tyler. I think I can handle Lincoln and his bad mood.”

  “No.” The word comes out clipped as he steps in front of me again.

  “I just need to see him."

  “I can’t let you.”

  “Move,” I order.

  “Listen, I know you and Lucas ended things over break. I can’t say that I blame you. He and I hung out over the holidays, and he’s turned into a grade A asshole. And I know you and Lincoln started to get close before we left.” He stops, choosing his words.

  “No offense, but Lincoln and I are not your business,” I point out.

  “You’re a nice girl.”

  “What does being nice have to do with anything?”

  “I still feel responsible and protective of you.”

  “You don’t have to. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know but—”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be mixing yourself up with Daniels.”

  “That’s not your call.”

  “Lincoln,” he lowers his voice, “comes with a reputation.”

  “A reputation?”

  “He’s known around campus. Everyone wants to be around him, or with him.”

  “So?”

  “Have you ever asked yourself why that is?”

  My brows knit together, because the truth is, when it comes to Lincoln, I have tunnel vision. Tyler is right. I don’t know him. Not really. Not the way Tyler does, anyway. And for some reason, this bit of clarity makes me feel unsettled and apprehensive all at once.

  Lincoln’s door swings open and I freeze as he stumbles out with a leggy, gorgeous blonde girl, who is making a show of flirting with him. She’s wearing jeans and a half shirt that shows off her belly button piercing and tattoos. He laughs at something she says as she skims her fingers up and down his arms, over his tattoos. What the fuck?

  Jealousy surges through me as I watch them. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to go over there and rip her away from his side. As if he can feel me watching him, Lincoln suddenly looks away from her and searches the room until his eyes lock with mine. There is a flash of surprise on his face when he sees me.

  Inhaling through my nose, I try to shift behind Tyler’s large form, but it’s too late.

  Lincoln saw me.

  And now, he looks really pissed off.

  He blinks several times, as if trying to clear his vision.

  “Em?” he says.

  “Hey . . .” I force myself to breathe.

  “You’re back?” he asks, as his blonde friend’s cold gaze slides between us.

  I clear my throat. “I’m back.”

  I can’t help but notice how bloodshot his eyes are. They’re glazed over with a far-off look in them as he stares at me. The way he’s looking at me is nothing like how he used to. Instead he looks confused and lost. Like he can’t decide if I’m here or not.

  “Actually”—Tyler steps between us—“she’s here to see me.”

  “No shit?” Lincoln growls.

  “No shit,” I lie, because the way he is acting has me second-guessing my visit.

  “Daniels,” the girl next to him coos. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  Lincoln holds my eyes. “Yeah,” he replies absentmindedly.

  Steeling myself, my fingers curl into my palms until my knuckles ache.

  “Emerson, this is my girlfriend . . .” Lincoln’s voice trails off.

  Girlfriend? Refusing to show any sign of hurt, I dip my chin at the girl.

  I try to push away how dumb I feel. Ashamed that I know nothing about a guy who only a few weeks ago had his body buried in mine. A guy who has consumed my every thought and breath for months.

  Lincoln’s gaze drops from mine to hers and I struggle to pull air into my lungs.

  “I have a name,” she giggles. “I’m Shayla,” she slurs, stumbling toward me.

  Tyler puts out his hands to catch her before she can get too close to me.

  “Easy there, Shay. Maybe no more drinks for you,” he announces.

  “I am so drunk,” Shayla giggles again, and I wince.

  Tyler guides her away from us. “Let’s go find you some water.”

  “Water?” she hiccups.

  “Hydration is key to health.” Tyler winks at me. “And hiccups.”

  Once they’re a far enough distance away, I look back at Lincoln, who is staring at me like he can’t decide if I’m real or not. Taking him in, I notice he’s swaying a bit and I can’t help but wonder if he’s also had a little too much to drink. Or is it something else?

  Anger in the form of heat fills my cheeks. “Girlfriend?”

  Straightening, Lincoln’s gaze drifts up me slowly, leaving a familiar wake of heat behind with each look. I can’t help but shiver, because when his eyes return to mine, the old Lincoln is back. His expression softens and that fierce look he has for me is present.

  I cross my arms over my chest, hiding myself.

  “It’s new.” The corner of his lips tips up.

  My eyes narrow. “Congrats.”

  He bites down on his lower lip, his eyes piercing me. “How’s Lucas?”

  “I broke up with him. On the car ride home. It
was extremely awkward. If you’d bother to return a call or text, you would have known that.” I stare at him angrily.

  Lincoln doesn’t answer. His eyes widened only a fraction of inch, but his grin slips.

  “I’m glad. He wasn’t the right guy for you, Em.”

  “No. He wasn’t,” I state, trying my hardest to hide the shakiness of my voice.

  “He didn’t deserve you. He wasn’t good enough . . .” He trails off.

  Trying to hold in my disappointment at how this is going, I stare at the crease that has appeared on his forehead. I can’t tell if it’s a result of confusion or being pissed off.

  “Neither am I,” he adds, and my heart sinks.

  “I guess you aren’t.”

  “Some things are just not meant to be, no matter how much we wish they were.”

  Two days. That’s how long it took me to stop crying. To stop mourning the death of my heart. I’m not sure what I expected that night from Lincoln, but I know it wasn’t for him to rip out my heart and step all over it the way he did. Then again, I suppose I’d been the one to push him away first. Regardless, the scars he left are deep and ugly.

  Looking out the small circular window, I swallow, trying to keep the tears at bay. Little did I know it then, but my return from break set off four months of an awkward semester between the two of us. Lincoln was everywhere. Our friends were all connected.

  We ran into each other almost daily.

  Breathing anywhere near him became an impossible feat most days.

  When the anger finally dissolved between us, we tried being friends.

  Not our best idea.

  No matter how hard we tried to be normal, we just couldn’t pull it off. At some point, he broke up with Shayla, but the damage had already been done. What started as a small tear soon became a gaping wound. In the end, Lincoln was right. Some things are just not meant to be. No matter how hard we try to make them so, or how much we want them.

  I settle back in my seat just as the pilot is about to announce our descent into Heathrow Airport. During the first month of school, I’d applied for study abroad. I was told there was a two year wait list. After mono hit our campus this spring, the wait list dwindled and I was able to slide into a two-semester program in London, England.

  After I declared architecture interior design as my major with a focus in interior design, my advisor was able to extend the program for two additional semesters, which will be less focused on practicums. Instead, I’ll be earning work-study credit by interning at a top design firm.

  As hard as it was to leave Kennison, she knew I needed to go.

  I needed distance.

  And now, here I am, ready to land and put the last year behind me.

  Start fresh and forget everything.

  Including Lincoln Daniels.

  11

  SENIOR YEAR OF COLLEGE

  Two years later . . .

  Normally, I despise waking up at the asscrack of dawn. However, my body is still on London time and hasn’t adjusted back yet. I squeeze my eyes shut, then pop them open, roll over, and glare at my digital clock. It’s only three o’clock in the morning. Ugh.

  Tossing off the covers, I slide out of bed and stumble out of my bedroom toward the kitchen, tripping over several boxes in the process. Each clumsy stagger will no doubt leave ugly bruises on my skin. Groaning, I keep stumbling until I finally reach the kitchen.

  “Shit!” I whisper, trying to locate the light switch on the wall in the dark.

  Once I find it, I flip it on and then groan as the lights blind me. Immediately regretting my decision, I shut them back off. With a sigh, I feel my way into the kitchen with my hands until I reach the handle on the refrigerator door. Yanking it open, I find the interior light less assaulting. I grab my half-empty Starbucks java chip frappuccino and sip on it, willing the extra shots of espresso to work their magic. Time changes are hard.

  When I’d first arrived in London, adjusting was difficult, but over time, I came to realize that studying there was the best decision. Over the past two years, Kennison visited me every chance she could, so we remained really close. During her last visit, she mentioned finding an affordable, two-bedroom apartment off campus for senior year. I was beyond thrilled.

  After living on my own for two years, I hated the idea of moving back into the dorms. Luckily, I had been working at the design firm in London while studying, and they paid well, so I saved up enough to afford it without having to dip into my trust fund.

  I squint my eyes and take in all the boxes. Since I’m awake and our furniture is supposed to be delivered later today, I should probably start unpacking and moving stuff out of the way in preparation. That way it’s organized for Kennison’s arrival.

  A few hours later, most of my junk is as put away as it’s going to be without furniture. With a smile, I look out through the sliders that lead out to the balcony. The soft colors of the sun rising and awakening the morning skies ease me into the day. Feeling energized, I decide to try to bring all of the empty boxes down to recycling before I shower.

  Placing the flattened boxes in a pile, I tie them up with a string, attempting to keep them together, and drag them to the door. Fighting to get it open, I make several attempts before I back out, dragging the boxes behind me. Just as I’m about to make it, the string breaks and my bundle falls apart. The boxes slip and get stuck in the doorframe, causing me to have to try to yank them out, which is impossible, since they’re so wide and the doorframe is so tight.

  Hot and sweaty from the effort, I growl into the empty apartment, only to hear some asshole behind me chuckling at my predicament. With a sharp exhale, which pushes the strands of long hair out of my face, I give up and face whoever thinks this is amusing.

  “Something funny?” I ask, spinning around.

  The moment I turn, my eyes tangle with a familiar steely gaze. My heart pounds harder and beats faster as my lips part. I stare, riveted to the stormy swirls in his irises.

  Lincoln Daniels.

  He looks the same. And yet different.

  My chest heaves with deep breaths as a mix of anger and intense yearning clash inside of me. The gray in Lincoln’s sparkling eyes is striking as he takes me in. His hair is a bit longer on the top but still looks perfect and soft to the touch. And he still has the light bit of scuff on his jaw, but it makes him look even more good-looking, as if that were possible. He looks older. More filled out. Hotter and just all-around . . . remarkable.

  Even his shoulders and arms look wider under his shirt. Without speaking, I take in every inch of him. As I do, that all too familiar lump of emotion forms in my throat, making it hard to swallow. No matter how much time or distance we put between us, the sight of him still draws me in, possessing me with an ache that only belongs to him.

  “Em?” He lets out a slow breath.

  When I meet his eyes again, a playful smile falls across his lips. He stares at me for a few seconds before standing up straight and approaching me slowly, as if not to scare me.

  I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I’m actually speechless.

  “Holy shit. I never expected to see you here,” he says.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and try to drown out the smooth sound of his voice as it slides over me, warming me in all the places that only Lincoln can reach. When I open my lids again, he eyes me hard for a few seconds, then tilts his head slightly forward and arches an eyebrow, probably at my lack of speech or movement. I can’t help but just stare at him.

  When he looks back at me, his gaze hides nothing, and everything.

  “Do you live here or are you visiting?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say simply, not able to manage much more.

  He smiles and dips his chin. “Yes, you live here? Or yes, you’re visiting?”

  When I don’t reply, he just continues to stare at me until I come to my senses.

  I clear my throat. “I, um, I . . . live here. With Kennison.”

 
; “You live here?” he says, more to himself than to me.

  “I . . . live here.” My voice wavers over the words as I repeat them.

  “Since when?” he counters. “I mean, Josh and I have been here two years and—”

  “Wait, Josh lives with you?” I interrupt, coming back into focus.

  “Yeah. After freshman year, we moved out of the dorms and in here.”

  “Where is Tyler?”

  “He’s still in the dorms.”

  Josh. Of course. Now it all makes sense. Josh is why Kennison was so excited about finding this apartment. He lives across the way—with Lincoln. Ever since she broke up with Josh freshman year, she’s made it her life’s mission to win him back. Damn it.

  “This is . . .” He takes a step forward, so he’s close enough to whisper. “I don’t even know what this is, Em. I mean, you’re here. And . . . living across from me now?”

  Every single part of me tenses as I meet his unfathomable stare once more. I shift uncomfortably, because he’s making me feel all weird and awkward. The way Lincoln has always watched and studied me makes me feel like I’m some sort of confusing piece of artwork on display. One he’s trying to figure out if he likes or not.

  “My study abroad ended. I’m back for senior year,” I blurt out.

  Lincoln takes in a calming breath and nods absentmindedly. “Seven hundred and eighty-five days ago, you left. Without so much as a goodbye. You just . . . disappeared.”

  My heart stutters in my chest and my breath hitches at his words.

  “You counted the days?” I ask, swallowing the thickness that just swelled in my throat. My lips mash into a straight line while I dissect the meaning of his words.

  His eyes move slowly over me. “You ran away. You took the easy way out.”

  I look at the floor for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle in.

  “I didn’t run,” I lie. “I picked a major and immersed myself in it.”

  When I return my gaze back to his, hurt crosses his face before it disappears.

  “A major?”

  “Architecture. With a focus on interior design.”