Page 146 of What's Left of Us

We stare at one another silently.

There’s no way he’s willing to take himself down too. I don’t buy it.

“If there’s nothing else…” he says, standing.

“There is, actually.”

His eyebrows go up in wait.

“Scores Tech.”

He keeps a neutral face, but I see the smallest twitch in the corner of his mouth. “What about it?”

“It invested in this company recently.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

We both know that’s bullshit. “If you give me a name, I can have the fire station on standby when you light the torch,” I propose, staying seated as he slides a hand into his slacks pocket.

For a moment, I think he contemplates it.

But then he says, “A valiant effort,” he praises. “But not a successful one. I have a meeting to tend to, so I think it’s best you go.”

Standing, I don’t bother shaking his hand and exchanging pleasantries. Picking up the coffee I barely drank, I walk over to the door and pour it into the garbage. “You’ll probably be able to use this shit as lighter fluid. Tastes like jet fuel.”

He chuckles as I set the empty cup back on the table. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

“And Luca?” I meet his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and my wife, but she’s wearingmyring for a reason.”

His lips curl up, the amusement back on his face. “Friendship.” When I’m quiet, he casually adds, “That is what I’m offering your wife. It may not be gold or diamonds, but I’d fathom to guess it’s far more valuable to her right now.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Georgia/ Three Years Ago

The sound ofsomething sizzling perks my ears up as I walk toward the welcoming smell coming from the kitchen. Rubbing my eyes, I poke my head around the corner into the open pocket door to see Lincoln in front of the stove, flipping eggs in a pan.

When he sees me, his eyes rake down the borrowed shirt I fell asleep in. He doesn’t compliment me like he usually does, but his eyes glimmer with unspoken appreciation when they land on my bare legs.

“Did you come to bed last night?” I ask, leaning my shoulder against the doorjamb and letting the shirt ride up my thighs.

He begins plating the food onto two plates, not paying any attention. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the gym and did a little overtime at the station.”

I frown. “All night?”

“I’ve got court coming up,” is all he says.

Heaviness settles onto my lips, pulling them down further. When he turns to me, holding a plate of eggs, bacon, and sausage, I see the bags hugging the underside of his glassy eyes and realize he hasn’t slept at all since yesterday morning when he left.

“Lincoln,” I say, taking the plates and setting them on the counter. “You need to get some sleep. The last time you stayed up past twenty-four hours, you nearly crashed the truck when you were driving home.”

“I want to have breakfast with my wife,” he says. “Is that too much to ask?”

Biting on the inside of my cheek, I relent. “It smells delicious.”

We sit at the cherry table he found online for six hundred dollars. His father helped him go to Long Island to pick it up. I’d offered to come. He said he and his father could handle it.

So, I stayed home.

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