Page 87 of Roses in Summer

My hands shoot forward, gripping my steering wheel as though it’s Mitch’s neck. “What did he say to you?”

Her head begins to shake before I finish my question, a refusal already springing from her lips. “Idle threats. He and I both know that he can’t come near me, but—”

“But he did, Seraphina.” I release the wheel and reach for one of her clenched hands, prying it until her palm is open. Scissoring our fingers, I clutch her hand in mine, reminding her with my touch that I’m here with her. “And that scares the shit out of me that he’s here. It makes me fucking irate that the piece of paper stating he can’t come within however many feet of you is useless and that you’re vulnerable, and he knows exactly where to find you.”

“I can’t stop living my life,” she whispers, sounding so goddamn broken that my heart splinters at her admission. “He took everything from me—from Olivia, and I can’t allow it to happen again.”

My brow furrows at her words. “He knows Olivia?”

She nods solemnly, turning her head to look at our entwined fingers. “He hurt her too.”

“Fuck,” I say under my breath. “Did you call the police?”

“My parents know; I called them before I went into the bar.”

“Fuck, Seraphina,” I repeat, bringing her knuckles to my mouth, needing to taste her and confirm that she’s here and whole and safe. “What did he say to you?”

Her sigh is heavy, simultaneously defeated and annoyed. “He told me I ruined his life, and it was only fair he returned the favor. He didn’t say much more than that before I threatened to call the police. He left right after that.”

“Seraphina, I don’t care what time it is or where you are. If he ever approaches you again, you call the police and then me. Do you understand? I don’t care what I’m doing. Nothing is more important than you. Tell me you get that.”

“I get it.”

“Good. Now let’s go inside before I drive to that fucker’s parents’ house and light it on fire.”

“Arson isn’t funny, Lincoln.”

“Good thing I’m not joking.” I punctuate my words by releasing her hand and opening my car door. I don’t waste time getting out of my seat or rounding the car to meet her in front of her door. The moment she stands and shuts the passenger door, I crowd her against it, pinning her with my hips while my arms cage her in. “We wasted a long fucking time, Seraphina, and I’m done wasting it. I don’t care about the other people, the shit you had to do, the bullshit existence I lived. None of it matters anymore. Nothing is going to keep me from you anymore, especially not Mitch Abernathy. So you tell me if he ever bothers you again, him or that snot-nosed friend, and I promise you, they’ll never breathe in your direction again.”

Her gaze is firm on my eyes, and I will my stare to convey the conviction of my words. Whatever she sees must confirm that I’m serious because she nods slowly. “Okay, Lincoln.”

“Promise me?”

She swallows, eyes still pinned to mine. “I promise.”

Leaning down, I bend until my lips are at her ear. “Mój maly ciern,” I whisper, letting my lips graze her earlobe as I speak Polish into her skin. Her stuttered inhale lets me know she’s as affected as I am, and I press a kiss against the pulse point at her neck before standing up and stepping back. “Let’s get inside.”

I hold my hand out, and she takes it.

33

Seraphina

I didn’t tell Lincoln everything Mitch did or said.

I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t want to, but because the words lodged in my throat the moment I thought to say them.

I didn’t tell Lincoln that Mitch pinned me against the door in a similar way, except that instead of feeling secure like I do in Lincoln’s arms, I felt like my skin was crawling.

I didn’t tell him that he grabbed at my throat and squeezed, cutting off my flow of oxygen in a way that told me he could have killed me if he really wanted to.

None of those confessions passed my lips, though I know they have to. I told my parents what he did, his threats, and how after he delivered them and laughed at my obvious fear, he walked off with the unhurried ease of someone with no cares. Someone completely at ease. I think that’s what made me the most repulsed: not his hands on my skin or the words he shot at me, but the unbothered way he spoke.

There was something cool and calculated in his eyes, a detachment that wasn’t there four years ago.

My parents told me they’d call the officer who handled my case in high school and then promptly begged me to come home and hide while they reinforced the restraining order I have against Mitch. I told them I wouldn’t run away, wouldn’t lose the life that I’ve created for myself because Mitch is back.

Tomorrow, I’ll deal with the reality that Mitch Abernathy is haunting me like an unwelcome ghost. But tonight, I’ll lose myself in Lincoln and pretend that Mitch’s reappearance isn’t real, that the threat he poses to Olivia is fake, and my anxiety is abated.

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