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I slow as we approach the Wolf Building. Lincoln is sitting on one of the benches nearby with his head in his hands. He’s soaking wet, and the muscles in his shoulders are rigid with tension. Trey and I glance at each other, and he gives me a small nod.
“Someone should walk Fi home,” I say.
“I’ll walk her,” Brantley says, his lips curving in a charming smile.
Fi follows my gaze, spots Link, and then looks back at me and nods, for once not arguing with Brantley’s gesture. Trey gives my hand one more squeeze and drops it, and the three of them continue into the building while I walk over to Link.
I don’t say anything when I sit. I just reach out a hand, running my fingers over the warm ridges of his shoulder muscles. He’s wearing joggers and a sleeveless T-shirt, which clings wetly to every curve of his body. He doesn’t react to my touch other than I notice some of the tension leaving his body.
“Lincoln,” I say quietly. “Are you okay?”
He shakes his head, wet strands sticking to his forehead. He has to be freezing, but I don’t see any goosebumps.
“What’s going on, boss?” I ask, scooting closer and running my hands into his damp, dark hair. The wind starts to pick up, stray raindrops dotting my hoodie.
At first, I think Link’s not going to answer, but he finally sighs and sits up straight, looking over at me. His eyes are the same tumultuous gray as the storm swirling above us.
“The day my mom left was the last day I allowed myself to feel anything other than anger, and even that was heavilyrepressed. Until you.” His voice is low and raspy and his gaze holds so much pain. “First that night at the Washington Prep party, and then again here, when I spotted you across the bonfire.”
“The way you glared at me. I was sure you hated me.”
“I never hated you,” he says, blowing out a weary breath. “I hated your mom, and you were part of her. I hated Matt because he wasn’t right for you—you were with him all those years, and it should have been me. And I hated the way you made me feel. The way you’ve always made me feel. When you’re around, I completely lose control. Fear, pain, guilt, lust…love—I just feel it all in its rawest form all the time. I had spent two years carefully building this emotional wall, and you just chipped away at it on a daily basis with a look, a touch, a few words. Even just your presence affected me.”
I frown. “I did all that?”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and he nods. “Trey thinks it’s because we’re so similar—that we’ve always needed each other to be whole, like two pieces of a puzzle.” I see his fists clench and unclench like he’s barely keeping himself in check.
I think back to Trey’s words. “You and him are cut from the same cloth, and he gives you something I can’t.”
“He’s right,” I say simply.
“But I don’t want him to be right,” Link shouts, standing abruptly.
A student rushing by to escape the weather startles at his outburst, but continues to stumble along.
Link’s words slap me in the face. “What’re you saying?” The rain is falling in steady sheets now, quickly soaking me through, and my teeth start to chatter.
“You deserve better,” he spits, and his response sends white-hot anger licking under my skin.
“Cut the I’m-not-good-enough crap, Evans,” I yell, standing and pushing my waterlogged hair from my eyes. “You don’t get to decide whatIdeserve.”
“You don’t understand!”
“Then help me understand!”
“Matt and I are the same.”
“What’re you talking about?” I ask, shaking my head. “That’s bullshit.”
“How is what I did for the sake of vengeance any different than what he did to you?”
“Well, for one, you didn’t try to rape me,” I say matter-of-factly.
He flinches and stares at me miserably. I take a few steps forward so I have to peer up into his face. His eyes are red, and rain clings to his dark lashes and falls in rivulets down his pale cheeks. He’s looks otherworldly and so fucking beautiful.
“Maybe I didn’t try to physically hurt you,” he begins, his breath warm against my chilled skin. “But my intent was to wreck you—to break you to pieces until there was nothing left in your heart but ash. Because that’s how I felt when my mom left.”
“But you didn’t, Link,” I say, begging him to understand. “You made a choice. And that’s the difference.”
