Page 18 of Dancing With Guilt

“Fine, I’ll get up,” he said to the otherwise empty room. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the darkness.

The smell of Roxie wouldn’t leave him alone, so he got up, angrily snatching at the bedding, pulling at the pillowcases until he nearly tore one. With rushed steps, he went downstairs to the washer and threw everything inside. When that was done, he went back up to the linen closet to pull out fresh bedding.

New bedding took away her smell, sure, but not his memories of her in that bed. Lincoln stared down at it and wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep in it again if he was sober. It was too early to start drinking and he needed something more substantial in his stomach than toast if he was really going to drink himself into a stupor again tonight.

What if he was wrong?

That question gnawed at him while he drove out to get some food. It plagued him as he put each tasteless bite of whatever it was that he’d ordered into his mouth. And later, when he sat staring at the churning ocean, as angry as he’d felt yesterday, sipping at a brand-new bottle of scotch, he questioned again. What if he was wrong?

Did two wrongs make a right? She’d not told him about Lily. She had her reasons. Were those reasons enough? Especially now, when she knew he could protect the girl better than anyone else could. His PI found her quite easily, therefore anybody could, if they knew about her. Roxie might have thought the girl was safe, but she wasn’t, and that was the simple truth of it.

Another measure of amber liquid filled the glass, the top off the bottle to make refilling easier, and Lincoln drank again. His phone was off, the doors were locked, and he’d dragged one of the recliners over to the window in the kitchen, so he could stare out at the rain-drenched scenery outside. The storm was a surprise, but he hadn’t really paid attention to much of anything since June left. Lightning flashed, filling the world with brilliant white light.

The flashes pierced into his brain each time, but the alcohol was already at work, numbing everything but the deep empty ache in his gut. That wasn’t a hunger for food, or for the child he’d yet to meet. It was a feeling of loss.

Somehow he couldn’t turn off what he felt for Roxie. He couldn’t tell himself to stop loving her, needing her, despite the seething anger that boiled beneath the surface. He was royally fucked now, he decided, taking another sip. No matter what he did, he was fucked. So where did that leave him?

9

Roxie

Roxie woke up to the sound of the ocean, but it wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be able to hear the ocean from Lincoln’s bedroom. She frowned before she opened her eyes. Reality came flooding back in as the dark sky outside came into view.

That’s right. She wasn’t at Lincoln’s house; she was at one of Nick’s places.

Hiding.

From Lincoln.

Not out of fear, but because she couldn’t be anywhere he could find her.

He was too angry with her, too hurt, and the pain of knowing he was that upset with her was one of the worst hurts she’d ever felt. Nothing would ever trump losing her parents, or leaving her daughter with Aunt Katie, but this? This was a different kind of hurt.

She’d spent most of the day lost in thought, to the point she’d ignored her phone. Then she’d fallen asleep. Something woke her up.

A stronger knock at the door than the one that woke her sounded. Roxie knew it had to be Nick, nobody else knew where she was.

She was still dressed in last night’s pajamas, but it didn’t really matter. She had a bra on, that was all he was getting as far as being properly dressed went.

He smiled, obviously relieved, when she opened the door. “Hi, I’m so glad you answered the door finally. I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon.”

Nick was tall, really fucking tall, at six foot five inches, and slim, but not in a way that made him look like a beanpole. Rather, he had a broad chest, deep blue eyes that were certainly good enough to drown in, and silky blond hair. He was a god amongst men, but not what Roxie wanted. She wanted Lincoln, even if that was done and over with now.

“Sorry, it’s been a shitty day for me.” She opened the door to let him come in and closed it behind him. “I turned my phone off, and I’ve been asleep.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said softly, walking to the small table in the kitchen to take a seat. “Are you hungry? I can order something.”

“No, I’m good.” She brushed the offer off and sat with him. “I think there’s some coffee if you want or some tea?”

“No, I’m good, too. I mainly just wanted to check on you, Roxie. What’s up?” He leaned back in the chair, at ease, but then he should be, this was his place.

“Things aren’t great with Lincoln.” She hated to admit it, she’d gone running to Nick once before and made a fool of herself. She wouldn’t make that same mistake again. That connection wasn’t there, and Nick was the marrying kind. Handsome he may be, but she wasn’t looking to marry him. “I hid something from him, that I obviously shouldn’t have, and well, now that’s bit me in the ass.”

Nick, as always, was gentle, and not pushy at all. “Was it something that he needed to know?”

“I didn’t think so at the time, but yes, I should have told him. I thought I was doing what was best for all involved, but it seems not.”

“Well, it’s like this my lovely, you weren’t born with the name Roxie, but that’s not important to me. And no,” he said quickly, when she started to speak, “I don’t need to know if I’m right or not. You have your reasons, and that’s all that matters. But if that’s what he’s upset about, then he needs to get the fuck over it.”