Page 79 of What's Left of Us

“You’re too good to me,” I murmur, toying with the piece of bread I’ve only eaten half of.

“That’s not true, Peaches.”

But it is.

In the year we’ve been together, my father has made our lives…challenging. The library got a call that I’d been stealing money from the late fee lock box, which I don’t even have a key to. I was told not to come back until they finished their “investigation” and determined I was innocent. The head librarian, Marian, had always been nice to me. But even when she called and said I could come back two weeks later, she never looked at me the same. I’d asked her who accused me of stealing, and she said she couldn’t say for privacy reasons.

But I knew it was someone close to my father.

Because a month after that, Lincoln’s sergeant had gotten a complaint that he’d been using excessive force during an arrest. Since he was new to the job, he was still on probation and at risk of losing his job. Thankfully, body cam footage proved he hadn’t done anything against policy. It was still put in his record, though.

Two months after that, I’d been followed by a black car with tinted windows that nearly ran me off the road on my way home from work. I’d only had my license for six months after Lincolnand his father helped teach me how to drive. They found a used Chevy Impala with over one hundred thousand miles on it for cheap online and pooled together money to buy it for me so I had something dependable to take to and from work. Somehow, the accident had been deemed my fault, and I lost my license for a year and had to take a course on safe driving.

The car that had driven me off the road was the same one I’d seen outside of Millie’s house before she told me I had to leave. In my gut, I knew it was someone my father hired. I’m sure the person who called my job, and Lincoln’s, throwing accusations about us, was associated with him too.

Mrs. Ricci’s warning is still alive and well, replaying in my head every time something new happens to derail what life I’m trying to build for myself. I wish she’d taken my number or given me hers so I could reach out and ask her questions.

But maybe that’s why she didn’t.

She wanted me to live my life. Not fear it.

There are days I wonder if Lincoln regrets ever taking me home. When he’s tired from work and figuring out how to make a relationship work that was built on nothing but sex and desperation, it’s hard to fathom how he could be happy with me. Especially when I wasn’t working for two weeks and he was going through an investigation of his own.

Regardless of my doubts, he shows up.

Every day.

He always says good morning and good night, checks up on me, asks how my day has been, and does what he can to be present.

We have date nights once a week, even if it’s just pizza and a movie at home.

He brings me to the bookstore to browse.

Takes me to his parents’ house for dinners.

He’s allowed me into his life without a second thought.

It’s more than I ever expected.

Sometimes, I think it’s more than I deserve.

Lincoln grabs his drink and holds it while he studies me. “One day,” he says, “you’re going to realize there’s more to you than your family, Georgia. You deserve a lot more than you think you do. I hope I can help you figure that out.”

I swallow, staring at him in awe. How does he keep doing that? Surprising me, making me feel like the luckiest girl on the planet? He could have anybody. I’ve seen how women look at him.

Yet he chose me.

Got stuck with me.

Marriedme.

“You’re not afraid of my father?”

His eye twitches at the mention of the man who’s done his best to get between us. But Lincoln never lets him. “There’s a lot to be afraid of in my job, Peaches,” he tells me. “If I constantly looked over my shoulder at every little thing that could be after me, I’d never live my life.”

That doesn’t answer my question, but I have a feeling it’s the best I’ll get.

Because he doesn’t want Nikolas Del Rossi to be part of the life we’re creating. But I have a feeling it’s not going to be that easy. Not when I see his advertisements on billboards and bus benches and his picture plastered on the front page of every newspaper for whatever new business venture he’s getting into next.

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