Page 55 of Lillian

Lincoln is leaned over the kitchen counter with his phone to his ear, trying to call his sister. When he told me he calls her every few days to talk to her, to check in, I couldn’t help my dreamy smile. There’s nothing more attractive than a man who loves his family.

A furrow appears in his brow, he pulls the phone away, taps the screen a few times, and then puts it to his ear again. A couple seconds later, same thing. He frowns at his phone, but seemsotherwise unbothered, and lays it screen down on the island before walking over to me.

The couch dips as he sits next to me, and my body slides into his. Usually, it would make me laugh, the way my body falls into his because of the size of him weighing down the cushion. Not tonight, though.

“You couldn’t get ahold of your sister?” I ask, heading off the questions in his eyes at my morose mood.

“No, it kept going straight to voicemail. I’ll try again tomorrow. It’s a Saturday night, she’s probably busy.” He doesn’t sound worried, so that’s at least one thing we don’t have to stress about. “You okay?” The gentleness in his tone has my throat tightening and tears lining my eyes. The last thing I want to do is cry right now, though.

In answer, I shake my head and look in the opposite direction to dry my eyes before he has to see me lose it.No,I absolutely am not okay.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks, draping an arm around my shoulders and gently rubbing my arm, trying to soothe me. I shake my head again, afraid that if I talk, my words will come out choked or unintelligible. “Want me to put on a movie?” His voice is worried, like he doesn’t know what to do to make me feel better.

But that sounds great. Something to distract myself. Or at least something to put on so I can give the appearance of being okay while I have a two hour long internal meltdown.

I nod. He breathes a sigh of relief and leans forward to grab the remote from the coffee table.

A movie starts to play on the TV, but I’m not watching it. I’m half fixated on the feeling of Lincoln’s hand tickling my arm as he continues to rub circles on it. The touch is lazy now, automatic, like he’s forgotten he was doing it but doesn’t want to let go.

The other half of me is distracted by my own thoughts, and after a minute, Lincoln’s too. I realize neither of us is actually watching it. His own eyes are unfocused, lost in his own thoughts, and he’s chewing on his lip. A nervous tell.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I peek up at him from my comfortable spot against his side.

“Hmm?” he responds, then his eyes refocus, and he looks down at me. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

I pull back out of his embrace so we’re facing each other. “I asked what was wrong. You seem distracted tonight, too. Is it your sister?” An automatic shake of his head. “Then what?”

A sigh. “I told you I went to the office this morning, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly for work,” he mutters, looking nervous, which in turn makes me nervous.

“What was it for then?” The caution in my tone is hard to miss, and I sit up straighter in anticipation.

“I’ve mentioned the PI I have on retainer,” he starts.

“How could I forget?” I mutter wryly under my breath. The PI that looked into my background and told Lincoln I was going to the Wicked Temptation party last weekend.

“Right. I sort of asked him to do another background check for me.”

I frown at him, confused. “Okay…” I say slowly, “Who?”

“Talia Wilson,” he confesses.

“Talia…You had a background check done on Grace’s mom?” I whisper harshly, distinctly aware of my daughter sleeping soundly just down the hall.

Lincoln goes on the defensive at my tone. “Biologicalmom,” he corrects me. “And I prefer the term egg donor.” His unilateral and vehement acceptance of my relationship to Grace cools any rising emotions. My shoulders unbunch, and my posturerelaxes. The tension in the room fades as fast as it comes when Lincoln sees this.

“Don’t leave me in suspense. What did your PI say?” I lean against the back of the couch, fatigue hitting me all of a sudden. But I muster up the strength to stay focused long enough for this. For Grace.

“Most of what you probably already knew. A wrap sheet as long as my arm. A handful of OWIs, a few counts of theft, possession, intent. He was able to request the run history for her home address from the local police department to see a few calls for domestic violence. None of which were on Mycase. So she’s got a habit of staying with men who beat her and not pressing charges.” The look in his eyes as he tells me the last part says he’s thinking exactly what I am.

I put a voice to our thoughts. “Gracecannotstay with her. Lincoln…”

“I know, Lil.” He wraps me up in his arms as nightmare after nightmare scenario runs through my head.

Grace caught in the middle of one of those fights.

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