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I felt my heart constrict in my chest at Lincoln’s admission.
I’d been certain he was trying to urge me to share all of my own shameful secrets, using the stray dog as a way to talk about it without really talking about it.
Even though it had only been maybe an hour or so since I’d awoken and carefully extricated myself from Lincoln’s embrace, I’d felt like I was walking through some surreal version of my life. I didn’t have a clue how I’d behaved when I’d left the house or if I’d even spoken with someone before I had. The subconscious part of my brain must have been in control because one minute I’d walked out the door, and the next minute I’d been atourspot.
Mine and Lincoln’s.
But sitting down there without him apparently hadn’t worked for my brain either, so I’d ended up walking downstream a bit farther. After that it was like my mind had gone blank and then at some point, I’d returned to reality only to find the black dog lying next to me, its head on my lap.
I would have liked to just focus on the poor, battered creature but my thoughts had inevitably strayed to the night before. I’d known that Lincoln would come looking for me and I’d had this brief moment of indecision. My plan had been to rebuild the wall in my head but for a few precious seconds as I’d sat there with the dog who had no reason to trust me but apparently did, I’d wavered and thought about facing the truth about myself.
The entire truth.
But as I’d run through all the truths I’d have to accept, the need for self-preservation had kicked in like it had from the moment I’d walked into my parents’ home after Ford had turned on me and I’d discovered that not only had I lost my best friend, I’d lost control of my own life.
So Ihadended up going into my mind to repair that wall and then I’d started to make plans for what I was going to do next.
And then Lincoln had arrived, and he’d experienced the same thing I had countless times over the years. I’d always had a razor blade to pull me free of that terrifying sensation of not being in control of anything, even something as natural as being able to breathe.
Lincoln hadn’t had anyone.
I’d watched him try to bring himself out of the attack before it had become full blown but the more he’d struggled, the harder it had been for me to keep my promise to separate myself from the man and all the cracks he kept putting in my wall.
Knowing how terrified he’d been as his mind had made him believe he could no longer breathe, I’d done the only thing I could.
I’d touched him.
I’d talked to him.
I’d taken the trust he’d given me, and I’d cherished it as I’d brought him back to himself. That was when what he’d been saying about the dog—before the panic attack—had really set in. He’d likened himself to the dog. He’d been trying to tell me that for some reason even he couldn’t understand, he needed me. Not in a sexual way, although the night before had proven the chemistry between us was off the charts.
No, he needed me to be the person who could share his burdens.
Help him escape whatever fucking secretshewas on the run from. It didn’t mean I could solve anything for him or give him any kind of forgiveness he might be seeking… all I could do was listen as he got it out.
I began running my thumb over Lincoln’s as he seemed to lose himself for a moment. I knew I had him back when he squeezed my hand. When he looked at me and gave me a sad smile, I realized that listening to what he was going to tell me wouldn’t be just that.
My feelings for Lincoln ran too deep to just listen.
I was going to hurt for him, I was going to cry for him, I was going to fear for him. Could I even do that? The last time I’d taken on anyone’s secrets had been Ford’s when we were kids and since we’d shared the exact same secret, it wouldn’t be the same thing.
“His name was Robert,” Lincoln began. “But we all ended up calling him Rabbit because whenever he tried to say his own name as a little kid, it always came out sounding like rabbit. My mother died when I was eight… drunk driver hit her while she was on her evening walk.”
I knew better than to interrupt with condolences, so I kept my mouth shut while I kept rubbing my thumb against his.
“My dad remarried pretty fast and Rabbit was born within a year of the wedding. My stepmom treated me okay, but she always made sure to remind me that she wasn’t my mother. But me and Rabbit were brothers through and through. From the moment he was born, all I knew was that I was his big brother and my job was to protect him no matter what.
“As a baby he used to cry constantly. His pediatrician told my dad and stepmom that he was just a fussy baby and he’d grow out of it. Our folks spent a lot of time traveling, so we didn’t see them much. We were pretty much raised by nannies and the various servants who took care of the house while my father and his new wife were jet-setting around the world. Sometimes I think they just didn’t want to deal with Rabbit’s behavior. I knew in my gut that something was wrong with him, but who was going to listen to a little kid who hadn’t even reached double digits in age yet?”
He stopped long enough to pull in a deep breath. “I knew he wasn’t just being ‘fussy.’ Once he was able to talk, he’d constantly complain about different parts of his body hurting but being so young, he really couldn’t describe the pain so even when I managed to convince one of the nannies to take him to the doctor, the guy said Rabbit was just doing it all for attention; likely to try and get our parents to stay home more. I knew he wasn’t acting but I didn’t know how to help him. By the time he was eight, Rabbit was in constant pain. His legs, arms, feet, even his skin hurt. His own clothing against his skin made him scream in pain.”
Lincoln’s voice cracked and I could tell he was struggling to hold back tears. I wasn’t as strong and a few tears slipped free of my own pained eyes. Thankfully, he was staring at the water and not looking at me.
“I was already in the army when doctors finally diagnosed him just after he turned ten. CRPS. Complex Regional Pain Syndrome. Rabbit had type two CRPS which is pretty rare in kids. It’s caused by an injury that affects the nerves and if it isn’t caught soon enough, it spreads. When Rabbit was a baby, he fell off the changing table when a nanny was changing his diaper and broke his arm. The pediatrician who’d been treating Rabbit and telling my parents he was just being a fussy kid had ignored the symptoms that started to appear after the cast was removed. His arm was red and swollen but the doctor said to just put some ice on it. My parents had been overseas the whole time, so they never saw for themselves how bad it was. They just took the doctor’s word for it. It went on for weeks and then his arm began to turn cold. Rabbit’s nanny was too afraid of losing her job to tell my parents, who were in Switzerland at the time, that there was something really wrong. The doctor had talked to my dad and stepmom on the phone and told them Rabbit probably had some minor nerve damage in the arm that would eventually heal itself. He prescribed pain medications for Rabbit which would help for a while but then the symptoms would come back and the doctor would just up the dosage.”
Lincoln shook his head. “That fucking lazy prick…”
He didn’t finish the statement and he didn’t need to. It was clear what he wasn’t saying out loud. If the doctor had taken the time to consider Rabbit’s symptoms rather than writing him off as just being a fussy child, things might have turned out differently.
