"It's going to sting, but I don't think it will scar where anyone will see it. It's sort of up in your hairline." He spread some antibacterial ointment on my cut, giving me the promised sting. Then he placed gauze and tape over it. He was so focused, intent, his movements small and smooth.
"Okay, good as new."
He dropped his hands to his lap and studied me. He searched my face, though I didn't know what he was hoping to find. There was no redemption in me anywhere, just the fog and the darkness.
"How do you feel? Headache?"
"No, just a little fuzzy." I shook my head, trying to clear it without much luck. At least the ringing in my ears had cleared.
"Look me in the eyes. I need to see your pupils."
I did as he asked. His eyes were brilliant green, almost sparkling even in the low light. His hair, still wet, looked even darker than usual, setting off his lighter complexion beautifully. I didn't even deserve to look at him.
He stared into one of my eyes and then the other before going back and forth.
"I've had a few concussions in my time. You got knocked a good one, but I think you're okay to sleep now. You've been awake long enough for everything to have settled down."
"It was that bad?" I still couldn't remember all of what happened. I knew there was a wreck, but the other parts were missing. I felt like I'd gotten a mail-order piece of furniture without all the screws, and now I was sitting on my living room floor with a half-built side table and no clue about how to finish it.
He leaned in and brushed his lips against mine. "Let's discuss it over breakfast."
"I should get home?" I meant it as a statement.
"Absolutely not." He tensed and gripped my arm.
It was disconcerting. Someone else had grabbed my elbow like that. Earlier that night, maybe? The piece of a memory that filtered through the fog made me feel sick. I looked at the floor to stop the room from spinning. Lincoln loosened his grip.
"It's okay, angel. Everything's okay. I promise. Just sleep here with me tonight." His voice was so soft, gentle, like a lullaby.
I let out a breath, the feeling of panic fading along with the air from my lungs. Whenever he called me angel, I knew things were going to be all right. No one had ever called me something so endearing.
He cupped my jaw and dropped another light kiss on my lips before pulling me into him. I calmed against his steady warmth, breathing him in until I fell asleep.
Holy fucking headache, Batman. I was in a strange bed in a strange room. But that didn't really matter. No, what was of utmost importance at the moment was the railroad spike that seemed to be embedded in my temple. I tried to open my eyes, but the light filtering into the room only made the spike vibrate, jarring even deeper into my brain. I needed to figure out where I was, so I kept on blinking, ignoring the pain as best I could.
Lincoln's bedroom. I remembered it, mostly because it was the size of a walk-in closet. I struggled to sit up. Bad idea. The pain swirled around me, putting black dots in my vision. I stilled, one hand at my head, the other clutching the sheet to my chest. Lincoln was nowhere to be seen, and his apartment had an empty feeling, like when you know you're the only one home.
I moved my head slowly to look around. A note lay on the bedside table. I struggled to focus on the words. Take these. Don't go outside. Don't call anyone. Only open the door for me. No one else. I'll be back soon. "These" were some painkillers next to the note. I followed that instruction to the letter, downing the pills with the glass of water he'd set nearby. Slick.
The alarm clock said 9:14 a.m. I'd been out all night and into the day. Night. Last night. My memories hit me, dwarfing the pain in my head until it was laughable. I had been kidnapped, was going to be murdered, but I'd saved myself. I'd wrecked the bastards, and Lincoln had pulled me to safety. I was alive because he'd found me.
Even more incredible, he'd said he'd forgiven me. What I'd done was unforgivable, something that I could never live down. But Lincoln, the man with a violent past, had given away his forgiveness like a freebie. It was too good to be true. More accurately, he was too good to be true. I would never deserve a man like that, a soul like his. But I could try to do better. Scratch that. I would try to do better. I didn't know how, not yet. But I would make it up to him somehow.
Where had he gone? Was he safe? Would the men who'd kidnapped me be back, assuming they'd survived the crash? I shivered. The fear raked its claws across its cage in my breast, a threat. I took a deep breath. If I was going to have any chance at being a better person for Lincoln, and for me, I was going to have to change. To do things differently. I approached the fear and set it free.