Page 15 of Finding Peace
Her lips are soft. Real.Warm.
She makes a quiet sound of surprise against my mouth, then relaxes into it. When I pull back, my forehead rests against hers, and my hand frames her face as if she might disappear if I let go. “You scared us,” I breathe, brushing my thumbs beneath her eyes. “You scared the hell out of me.”
She gives me the softest smile as a small tear rolls down her cheek, much like the one I feel falling down my own. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” I say immediately. “Don’t you ever apologize.”
Her eyes search my face, slow and tender. “You’re here.”
“Always,” I answer without hesitation. “All of us were. We took turns watching you.”
She swallows, her fingers tightening slightly in mine. “I knew you’d find me.”
My chest feels like it cracks open as she whispers those words.
“We found you.”
I press a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, unable to stop myself. Unable to pretend I’m still the man who keeps everything locked neatly behind his ribs.
Abigail exhales softly, her gaze drifting for a moment before snapping back to mine, confusion flickering there like a shadow passing over the sun. “Linc?”
“Yeah, Sweetheart?”
Her voice trembles when she speaks again. “Where’s Kat?”
Chapter six
Abigail
Idon’trealizeI’mcatalogingthem until I’ve already started.
It’s instinct at this point, though. It’s also proof. Proof that I’m awake. That I’m here. That this is all real.
Lawson is standing close to the fireplace, one shoulder braced against the mantle. He’s in a pair of dark jeans and a sweatshirt, and the light from the flame reflects across the scar along his jaw, the same one that’s covered in stubble that somehow looks significantly longer than it did yesterday. His eyes have yet to leave me. Not once. They track every movement I make like he’s afraid I might vanish if he so much as blinks.
Lincoln is sitting in the armchair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles are white. He’s in a thermal Henley and a pair of black sweats. He looks wrecked in a way I’ve never seen him. Like everything he’s feeling has been folded inward, stacked neatly, and locked in the depths of his soul. His gaze is gentle.Devastatingly so. And every time our eyes meet, something in his face softens, like relief is still catching up to him in waves.
Beau’s perched on the edge of the coffee table directly across from me, restless and unable to sit back. He’s in gray sweats and a faded ranch tee, blond curls still damp from jumping out of the shower when Lincoln told them all I was awake. He keeps flexing his hands open and closed, like he’s trying to give them something to do besides run them all over my body—desperate to be sure that I’m in one piece. That I’m really okay.
And Jasper…
Jasper’s pacing.
Barefoot, with his hoodie sleeves shoved up his forearms, allowing me to see them flex every time he makes a fist at his sides. His jaw is tight, and his eyes have a wildness to them that I’ve only ever seen that day in the alley. He keeps dragging a hand through his black hair, stopping only when he catches me watching him—then he freezes, like he’s been caught doing something wrong. Likeneedingme this much might bring him to his knees.
They all look different.
I was out only a little over twenty-four hours, and somehow it looks as if every tick of the clock chipped away at them piece by piece.
They look exhausted. Frayed. Terrified in ways they’re not used to being.
And yet…
There’s something else there, too.
Something hidden behind all the worry. Behind the anger. Behind the bone-deep fear that they almost lost me.
Something that looks a lot like—
