Page 108 of From the Ashes
"You know where your ring is," he went on. "When you're ready, I want you to put it on."
"I will." I twitched with the effort of remaining seated and not running up the stairs to his room. "Why did you leave it there on your desk and not put it in a drawer or safe?"
"To remind me of what I threw away." He pressed his forehead to mine. "To remind me of the things you said when you gave it back to me."
I winced. "They were awful things. I shouldn't have said them."
"You were angry and had every right."
"I spent too long being angry."
He scooped me round the waist and drew me against his body. I snuggled into him, my head beneath his chin and listened to the steady throb of his blood through his veins. "It was your anger that gave me hope that I could salvage something from the mess I created."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you remember leaving Barts Hospital after meeting Dr. Bell for the first time?"
"Not really."
"You were outraged with me for being nice to you. If you hadn't been angry, if you'd been indifferent, I would have known there was little hope for us."
I circled my arms around his waist. "It's fortunate that I don't know how to hide my emotions, then."
He laughed softly. "We balance one another in that regard."
"We work well together." I drew back to look at him. "Speaking of which…about the ministry leadership… are you going to insist you be reinstated?"
"Do you want me to?"
"It's part of you, Lincoln. You really are the best person to be leader. Think of the alternative."
He grunted. "Imagine Gillingham in charge."
"No thank you. So you'll tell them?"
He nodded. "But not today. Perhaps not tomorrow either."
I stroked his forehead near the bruise. "Good. You need to rest. Perhaps in the new year, if you're feeling ready."
He tipped his head back against the window frame. "I can't avoid the ministry anyway. I'm also now on the committee."
"You're Eastbrooke's heir?"
"As far as I know." He drew my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers gently. "It doesn't feel right."
"He thought of you as his son."
"I saw little evidence of that."
"Perhaps he had difficulty expressing himself." Of all people, Lincoln should understand that. "He was involved in a disastrous military campaign in Bhutan, many years ago. That affected him, and led him to search for a remedy for death. Perhaps it affected his ability to love you, too."
"Perhaps."
"He wanted me to tell you that he's sorry. He wants your forgiveness."
He twined his fingers with mine and gently lay our hands over his steadily beating heart. He kissed the top of my head. "I forgive him for his lack of affection for me, but I can't forgive him for trying to kill you."
It was, perhaps, too much to ask. I couldn't forgive the general for the lives he'd taken, and for almost taking Lincoln's, even if the explosion had been an accident.
