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“Wh-where did you get this?”
“Look at me.”
Jay couldn"t tear his gaze from the photo, couldn"t let go of it.
“You know where it came from.” Lincoln leaned toward him and seized the
picture.
Jay grabbed the photo back, and his hands trembled as he looked at the image
again. “She"s dead.”
Lincoln yanked off the thin hospital blanket, swung his legs off the edge, and
stood. “Was I some sort of sick game for you?”
“What?”
Lincoln invaded his space in an instant, pushing him backward until Jay"s
calves smacked into the plastic chair. “What were you playing at?”
“Playing?” He shoved at Lincoln, ignoring the part of him worried over hitting
any injured body part. “You think this wasn"t real for me? You think I"d actually go
to bed with the man who caused the accident that resulted in this”—Jay held up the
picture—“if I wasn"t seriously interested? Fuck you!”
It was the first punch Jay had handed out since the time he"d tangled with
Todd for stealing a video game from his room and the hardest ever, and it hit
Lincoln square in the jaw, thrusting him backward into the bedside tray. The tray
skidded and rammed into the bed frame. The pitcher of water flew through the air,
raining droplets of room temperature liquid onto Jay"s face. Lincoln toppled over.
His uninjured arm smacked the floor, his head just missing the same outcome. The
newsprint floated in the air between them, and the picture of Katie landed on
Lincoln"s chest. The man"s breath came in heavy pants, his brow furrowed and his
face scrunched up. Pain.
“Oh God. Are you okay?” Jay looped an arm around Lincoln"s waist. What the
hell had he been thinking?
Lincoln tried to push him away, but Jay wouldn"t let go. He helped Lincoln
stand and eased him onto the bed. “I shouldn"t have—”
“Leave me alone.”
“What"s going on?” Nancy rushed to Lincoln"s other side. “Are you okay? What
happened?”
“Nothing. I"m fine.” Lincoln"s breathing had calmed, but he still held the look
of a man in serious pain.
How had Jay gotten to a place where he punched his injured lover?
“I think you should go,” Nancy said. “You"ve hurt him enough.”
Lincoln shook his head. “Don"t, Nance.”
Jay stepped back. She was right. He wasn"t good for Lincoln. Had he ever
been? “Whoever shot you might not be finished yet. Please be careful.” He left
without another word. They"d either believe him that Lincoln wasn"t safe, or they
wouldn"t. Jay couldn"t do much more than state the truth.
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Chapter Twenty-eight
“So we"re back to the no talking thing?” Todd asked as he entered the garage.
Jay took another swig of his second beer since the tour of Todd"s new home had
begun an hour earlier. He"d finally managed to sneak off to the garage while his
parents carried on about the brass bathroom fixtures, precise tile work, and ceramic
soap dispensers. If he had to hear Todd ask their mom if she liked something one
more time, Jay would"ve lost it.
He set the beer on a storage shelf. Todd already had the garage stuffed with a
riding mower, a two-person motorboat, fishing poles, boxes of tackle, and a new
Kawasaki motorcycle Jay didn"t know Todd had bought. With one look at that bike,
Jay was back in Lincoln"s garage, the two of them naked, Lincoln bent over the
Harley"s seat, the orange flames on the tank visible with each shift of his hips.
Jay forced the image aside. “Mom and Dad still here?”
“Yeah. We"re grilling steaks for dinner. I told them you promised to help me
unload the pickup. We"ve got a little time before they come looking for us.”
“Thanks.” Jay finished off the beer while Todd untied the boxes, tossing the
red nylon rope aside. It coiled on the floor beside Jay, looking oddly like a pool of
blood. Or maybe that was all he could see anymore. Blood. Death. Pain.
They worked in silence, unloading boxes from Todd"s truck.
“I don"t mind the no talking,” Todd said when they neared the end of the load,
“but I do mind you letting your life turn to shit.” He dropped a box onto the floor
near the entrance to the house and added, “He isn"t worth it.”
“Don"t.”
“Don"t what?”
“Don"t talk about him like that.”
Todd"s voice was low when he spoke again, and Jay had to strain to hear him.
“I hate that he hurt you.”
Jay picked up the third beer he"d brought with him. The bottle was warm. He
didn"t care. He twisted the cap and downed half before speaking. “I don"t want to
talk to you about him.”
“Why not?”
“You won"t like what I have to say.”
Todd wrenched the last box off the truck. “I"ll never understand how you—”
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“Stop. It was an accident that destroyed him as much as it did me.” Jay
swallowed the last of the warm beer, wishing he had brought out another. He set
the empty bottle on the wooden workbench that stretched the length of the back
wall. The bench was covered with various handheld electric tools, spools of the red
nylon rope, a gas can, and more boxes of fishing tackle. A crossbow and a large foam
deer sat beside the bench.
Jay bent and stared into the fake deer"s dark eyes. He wanted to ask the deer
what it felt like to get shot with an arrow. He"d officially had too much to drink.
He straightened and said, “It"s a real nice house, Todd.”
“Thanks.” Todd glanced around the garage. “Didn"t realize how much shit we
had at the old place. I"m going to mount plastic storage units on the ceiling.” He
kicked at a couple of the boxes they"d unloaded. “Put this crap up there.” Another
fishing pole and gas can sat beside the boxes. Todd didn"t glance at Jay as he said,
“I just have to know, did you go after him to make him see what he did, like you
said you wanted to? Was that why you kept seeing him?”
“No. I fell in love with him.”
“Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
“I think the Shaws might have done it. The threats. Shooting Lincoln. I think
they planted all the evidence. I told the police so.”
Todd lifted his head. “That"s not possible, Jay. You"re making this more
complicated than it is. He was in jail. Who knows what people he pissed off there. A
man like him probably has a lot of enemies.”
“He doesn"t. He"s not like that.”
“You fuck a man, and you think that means you know him? You"re such a kid
sometimes.”
“I do know him.” Jay snatched the empty beer bottle off the bench, needing
something to hold on to. “I want to get him back.”
Todd ripped the bottle from Jay"s hand. “He killed your wife.”
“It was an accident.” How many times would Jay have to say those words
before people understood them?
“God, you"re a fucking idiot.”
Why should he expect Todd to get it? From an outside perspective, what he
and Lincoln had been doing didn"t look healthy. For either of them. Jay leaned
against a metal shelving unit. It scraped along the concrete floor as it shifted with
his weight; the gas in a can beside him sloshed. Not one gas can. Two more. No.
Three. “What"re you doing with all the gas cans?”
“You wouldn"t believe me if I told you.”
“What?”
Todd set the empty beer bottle on the bench, then picked it up again and
moved it closer to the door leading inside.
“Todd…”
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Sloan Parker
“We had to get a generator. Marge is scared we"ll lose power after the baby
comes, and we won"t be able to feed him.”
“It"s a baby. It doesn"t need filet mignon.”
“Yeah. I tried to tell her. I"m guessing it"s a woman thing.”
Jay nodded. Katie had been the same, wanting to make the house perfect,
wanting to make sure every part of their lives was ready for a baby they hadn"t
conceived yet.
“I hate this,” Todd said as he finally faced Jay. “I hate talking to you about the
baby. I feel like a shit for having a kid when you—”
“Don"t. It"s a good thing. You shouldn"t feel like you have to hide that from me.
Not anymore.”
“Things are just so fucked-up.” Todd sighed. “It"s not how it should be.”
“It"s not fucked-up. We all have to move on.”
“How can you?” The pity visible on his brother"s face, in his eyes, was worse
than it had been months before. Todd didn"t get it.
Would anyone in Jay"s life ever understand?
It didn"t matter. “I have to get him back.”
Todd walked to his truck and slammed the tailgate shut. He threw the last coil
of the red rope onto the workbench. “I have to pick up Marge from the hospital.
She"s off in ten minutes. Tell Mom and Dad I"ll be right back.” He yanked open the
driver"s-side door, but stopped short of getting in. “No way a man is going to date
the widower of someone he killed. You need to let this go.” Todd climbed into the
truck and drove off.
Was he right? Was there any way Jay would ever have Lincoln in his life?
* * *
“I"ll take that as a good sign.”
Lincoln bent and added paint to the brush from the open can on the floor,
ignoring his sister.
She reached around him and grabbed the brush. “Let me do some of this.” She
pointed toward the new box spring and mattress in the corner of the room. “You,
take a break.”
He hadn"t bought a bed frame yet, but the mattresses on the floor worked well
enough. He eased himself onto the makeshift bed, keeping his weight on his right
arm. Every muscle ached. Probably had done too much work. His body was healing.
He just wasn"t sure about the rest of him.
The police hadn"t made an arrest, and fear for his family"s safety weighed
heavily on him. Despite searching the Shaws" house, the Millers", and Jay"s, as well
as questioning everyone, the cops hadn"t found evidence any of them had shot
Lincoln. The major suspect? Jay. Which made sense. What with the inhalers,
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197
papers, and photos all found at his house. But all that had warranted was a couple
of rounds of questions by a detective. Since Lincoln had been the one to find those
items—and hadn"t handed over the earlier threats before the shooting—the
matching stationery and the medications weren"t much proof of anything. To the
local cops, the case was a dead end.
Nancy continued painting. She hadn"t come to Lincoln"s room to help him with
the walls. She"d come to say something. Probably nothing he wanted to hear. He
wouldn"t help her get started.
He was grateful for the assist on the room, though. He was still limited in the
use of his hand. Even with the additional surgery, it might never be the same again.
Now driving a race car wasn"t just something he was legally banned from. It was
something he physically couldn"t do. So much of his old life—of who he was—had
disappeared. Was he sorry?
For the accident? For the death of Katie Miller? Hell, yes.
For meeting Jay? Nothing could make him regret the time they"d had together.
Nothing.
But his career, his love of the sport, the thrill of the ride—all had been ripped
away from him, and it killed him to know he"d done it to himself.
Blame. That"s what it all came down to. He blamed himself for the accident—
had since the moment his truck collided with the little red car.
But did Jay blame him? How could he have been with Lincoln knowing he was
responsible for the death of his wife? How had they fooled themselves into
continuing along a path that had no future?
It didn"t matter.
It was over.
Jay would never be his. Not his lover. Not his friend or partner. He"d always be
the person Lincoln had hurt most in the world. That"s why he"d said what he did to
Jay in the hospital. Why he had pushed away the man he loved.
He wouldn"t deny something had sparked between them, hidden under their
passion, the touches, the kisses. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn"t escape
the past, couldn"t put aside the one thing keeping them apart.
After a few more round trips of paint to wall, Nancy spoke. “Mitch called. He
said they are okay with your request for half days.”
Great
. He had hoped to keep that news from her a little longer.
She stilled the paintbrush in the middle of an upstroke. “Why are you going
back to work so soon?”
“We need the money.”
“I can pick up some extra shifts. Your arm is still healing, and you need to
start physical therapy. They can"t expect you to work.”
“Mitch said I could do paperwork and inspections.”
“No lifting?”
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Sloan Parker
“None.”
“I want you to take it easy. You"re doing too much around the house. You don"t