Page 8 of Chasing Secrets

“You’re okay. We’re okay,” came the response. It was accompanied by a deep, heavy breath that told me I was once again plastered against the man’s chest. He sounded as worn out as I felt.

Reality was a bitch as she slowly made herself known bit by achingly little bit. My arm burned like someone was pressing a hot poker against it and my stomach felt like it was going to keep trying to expel something that wasn’t there. I was so fucking dizzy that I couldn’t have moved even if I’d wanted to.

Lincoln was literally the only thing keeping me upright on the bed. Shame coursed through me as one fact after another began to hit me.

The bed I was in was his, not mine.

He was the one clothed now while my sweatshirt was gone.

The spittle that was clinging to his shirt was mine because I’d thrown up all over him.

I was in the gorgeous man’s bed, nearly naked, clinging to him like a frightened child, and he was covered in my puke.

What fresh hell was I in?

I was horrified to hear a ragged laugh leave my lips as I considered the fact that maybe Father Abbott had been right—maybe Godhadforsaken me, because surely if I was in His good graces, He would have saved me from showing nearlyallmy weaknesses to a virtual stranger in one fell swoop.

I wasn’t sure how long Lincoln held me against his chest—or maybe I was the one holding on to him, I didn’t really know—but when he gently forced me to sit back, I instantly missed his warmth.

Okay, and maybe his strength a little too.

I could feel his eyes on me but try as I might, I couldn’t meet them with my own like I knew I should. I was basically exposing my throat to the man; something he’d likely use to his advantage. How many times had I done that during the treatments meant to save my soul? How many times had I thanked the very man who’d stripped me of every dignity in his determination tocureme? How many times did Istillthank him?

“Theo—”

White-hot anger had me jerking away from Lincoln when he tried to touch my cheek with his fingers. I didn’t miss the momentary flash of hurt in the man’s eyes before he hardened his expression.

“Stay here,” he said. The words were clearly a command but there was no hint of anger in the man’s voice. His body seemed completely at ease as he stood and disappeared into the bathroom.

Maybe I’d been wrong about that flash of pain…?

I glanced at the array of windows that overlooked the backyard. It was still dark out, though I had no way of knowing how much time had actually passed since Lincoln had found me in the bathroom. For all I knew, I could have lost an entire day.

And if that was the case then what had Lincoln told Ford? Jesus, had Ford seen me like this?

“What day is it?” I snapped the second Lincoln returned to the room. It didn’t even occur to me that I hadn’t taken advantage of the opportunity to get out of bed and return to my room until Lincoln once again sat on the bed, his big body taking up way too much of my personal space.

“Drink,” was all he said as he handed me a glass of water.

“What day is it?” I repeated stubbornly as I ignored his offer. I really, really wanted that water so I could get rid of the sour taste in my mouth, but I’d be damned if I let Lincoln have the upper hand for even a second longer.

“Drink,” Lincoln repeated.

I held out for all of fifteen seconds. I snatched the glass from his strong fingers and took a big sip, not caring that some of the water sloshed over my hand in the process. The cold liquid felt good on my tongue but as the bile was washed away, I realized I’d have to swallow it along with the water.

“Spit,” Lincoln said. I glanced up to see that he’d procured a small garbage can at some point and was holding it beneath my chin. The man’s eyes watched me knowingly as I debated whether or not to swallow the water out of pure spite.

My pride may have been all I had left—and that wasn’t saying much—but at that moment, personal comfort won out. I spit the water into the trash can. When Lincoln didn’t move it, I took the opportunity he was giving me to rinse my mouth out again.

“Better?” he asked, his voice annoyingly calm and patient.

I nodded. Lincoln put the trash can on the floor between the bed and the nightstand. “Take small sips,” he warned the second I put my lips to the edge of the glass again.

Once again, I found myself doing ashesaid rather than whatIwanted.

“What day is it?” I snapped after the first sip.

“You’ve only been asleep a few hours,” Lincoln responded. This time, his eyes weren’t on mine… they were studying the hand I was holding the glass with. When I followed his gaze, I was surprised to see a bloom of blood on the back of my hand. The bright red liquid was staining a small bandage. I was so surprised by the sight that I barely noticed when Lincoln took the glass from me and set it on the nightstand. His fingers were warm and gentle as he took my hand in his and began removing the bandage.

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