“Can we have banana popsicles now?” Eric asked.
“You got it, mister.” Miss Adeline tugged on his bow tie. “They’re in the freezer down here.”
One by one, we filtered out of the bathroom area. Lincoln hung back, Mr. Stoic on steroids.
“I should’ve driven the van,” I said low so no one else could hear. “That way we could’ve gone straight home.”
He flinched.
“You don’t get to do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Have a reaction like what I’ve said hurt you.” I stepped closer. It was a mistake to be in his space. “You chose this. Because you care.” I spoke the word like it was the nastiest thing I’d ever heard.
Nothing. That was his response. What had I expected? An apology?
Yep, it was final. I couldn’t be around him any longer. It hurt too much. After tonight, I’d have to suck it up at Pepper’s wedding, but that was it.
Lincoln Hollingsworth needed to be scrubbed from my memory.
“I lied to you last night.”
I’d taken two steps away when he opened his mouth. I drew in a deep breath before I turned around, not sure I wanted to face him again.
He was too beautiful. And too far out of reach.
“I don’t care for you,” he said evenly. Of course he didn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t be running away. “I love you.”
I closed my eyes. The words deflected off me instead of soaking in.
“You can’t say stuff like that.” Because your version of love and mine is different. Mine doesn’t let go . . . unless like now, where I was being forced to.
I managed to speak, though how I didn’t know. Thank goodness he hadn’t said he loved me before. Because I would’ve believed him.
Now. I didn’t.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Lincoln
I hated this house.
Almost as much as I hated my empty apartment.
Old memories assaulted me. I’d taught Beau to ride a bike down the front walk. Teague and I had tossed a football in the yard until he’d left for college. When was the last time we’d done that?
My mother had blared Cher for all the neighbors to hear while she’d let me drive her Cadillac up and down the driveway. Father had yelled. And she’d laughed at him for being so serious.
After she died, I’d sit in her old car. Father had kept it, which I always found odd yet understood. She’d been murdered by the car, but somehow it was a piece of her goodness. A reminder of how carefree and kind she was.
Lexie reminded me a lot of her. They both lived as if it were their last day. Lexie laughed at my seriousness the way Mother had at my father. And they were both nurturing.
Why couldn’t it have been him instead of her?
I’d had the thought a million times over the years and never felt sorry for it.
I hated this house because of the good memories that would never be. But mostly I hated it because of him.
For every ounce of joy my mother had, he robbed and pillaged it. From all of us.
I rang the front doorbell like a guest at the home I grew up in. How absurd. To hell with it.
I turned the knob, surprised when it gave way, and entered the cavernous foyer.
Winston blinked a few time as he approached. “Lincoln. I don’t believe he’s expecting you.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come to the house without being summoned. This time, I’d initiated the visit. We were on my terms now.
“Is he home?”
“Yes. Upstairs in his study.”
I nodded, placing a foot on the first step. I twisted. “I’m not sure I’ve ever thanked you.”
He’d raised us, been more of a father in most respects than my own.
“For what, sir?”
I snorted. “You’ve called me sir since I was five.”
“I fail to see why you feel you owe me a debt of gratitude for that.”
I’d always thought my mannerisms were like Father’s, but maybe I had more of Winston than I realized.
“For making growing up in this house without her bearable.”
He recoiled. I’d never spoken of such matters to him, but he was getting older and I was tired of keeping my mouth closed.
“It’s been my pleasure to watch you become a man she’d be so damn proud of.”
I lifted my chin in thanks. No more words needed to be spoken.
I climbed the stairs, ignoring the portraits lining the walls. My focus remained on the destination.
“I thought you might pay me a visit,” he said without looking up as I entered his study.
Always keep the upper hand. Never act surprised under any circumstances. Never react.
Those principles had been ingrained in my head. To think that once upon a time, I’d wanted to be like this man. Now I was, whether I liked it or not.
It was like looking at an ugly version in a mirror.
“You certainly seem to know my every move, even before I make them.” I avoided the chairs in front of his desk. They put my mindset into that of my childhood when my feet didn’t touch the floor. I was a man now. It was time I stopped allowing my father to treat me as anything less.
“I made you. I taught you everything you know. Of course I know what you’re going to do before you do,” he said haughtily.
There were pictures of us as a family and them as a couple on the mantel. A fake shrine to something he’d never understand. His heart was too hard.
“Why did she marry you?” I picked up the framed photograph of their wedding day. Joy radiated from both of them. Sometimes I wondered if this was actually my father in the photo.
“Because I understood what would make her happy.”
“I don’t think being an ass would get the job done.” I set the frame down.
“What did I tell you about name calling when you were six?”
I rolled my eyes. Every chance he got he reminded me of how he molded me.
“It isn’t name calling if it’s the truth.”
He smirked as if he were enjoying this. Why wouldn’t he? I was giving him everything I wasn’t supposed to. It was obvious he affected me . . . and he loved that more than anything.
“Are you here for relationship advice?”
Do not react. He’s mocking you to push you.
“You gave a wonderful example of what not to do.” Except in these old pictures, Mother did look happy. And she had been in all my memories too.
Had he actually tried to do what pleased her?
I leaned against the mantel at the possibility that Mother had been happy and he’d had a role in it.
“I don’t like him.”
Mother sat me on the swing on the back porch. “We don’t always like the people we love.”
“I don’t love him.” I folded my arms over my chest. He yelled at Teague for leaving his tricycle in the foyer. It wasn’t a big deal.
She brushed the hair back from my forehead. “Oh, sweetheart. You can’t get that angry at someone you don’t love.”
I could. Father was awful. I did everything he said and he still got mad.
“He hates us.”
I felt it. I’d been over to Kenny’s house and his dad played basketball with us. My father wouldn’t allow us to have friends over.