Chapter Twenty One

Raleigh

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask for the second time since getting back in the truck twenty minutes ago.
He just chuckles and shakes his head back and forth, not taking his eyes off the road. With a huff, I cross my arms across my chest and stick my bottom lip out in a mock pout.
“You’re really going to pout because I won't tell you where I’m taking you?” He asks, glancing from the road to me and then back again. “I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t figured it out yet.”
“No, I don’t know,” I grumble. “For all I know, you got me all blissed out on orgasms, and now you're taking me off somewhere to feed me to the bears or something.”
“Feed you to the—fuck, baby—what kind of man do you take me for?” He asks with a look of shock on his face.
I shrug, not really knowing how to answer. It was supposed to have been a joke, but I don’t think he took it that way.
“I would at least cut you up into pieces first, make it easier to hide the evidence and make it easier for the bear,” he says as he pulls back onto Highway 34.
“You would *what*?” I shriek after it takes me entirely too long to realize what he’s said.
At my outburst, Lincoln takes his eyes off of the road as he nearly folds in half in a fit of laughter. Mid freakout, not from what he said about chopping me to bits, but because he’s not watching the road, I reach out and grab ahold of the wheel, the action not only causes Lincoln to bring his attention back to the road but also jerks us into the other lane slightly, which makes a car blare its horn at us at it swerves to miss us as I scream, “Oh, shit!”
Lincoln takes the wheel back from me, gently prying my fingers from around it, looking both utterly confused and concerned as he once more glances from the road to me as tears pour down my cheeks.
When he finds a safe area, he pulls off and puts the truck in park. Turning to me, he pulls me into his arms, wrapping them around me as he runs his hands over my hair and up and down my back, repeating, “It’s okay,” over and over again.
“Baby, talk to me. What happened back there?” he asks tossing a thumb in the direction that we just came from once I’ve finally calmed down enough for him to put some distance between us. “I was only joking. I would never do something like that, you have to believe me.”
I just shake my head back and forth, my cries getting louder and tears coming faster as I get lost in thoughts of another time, another accident that wasn’t so narrowly avoided.
“Fuck, baby. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you would freak out over the joke since you started it,” Lincoln says as he runs his hands over his face and through his hair, pulling at the ends when he gets to the area at the back of his head just above his neck.
“Tha—that i-isn’t i-it,” I finally manage to say through sobs.
“If that’s not what has got you upset, then what is it?” He asks, his eyes moving back and forth between both of mine as if that will somehow give him the answers that he’s looking for.
“An—anxiety,” I tell him, hiccupping out the word. I break eye contact to focus on my hands in my lap, unable to see the look of disgust on his face at my freaking out at something that most would find silly.
I watch as he reaches down, threading his fingers with one, just as I feel the other caress the side of my face. I’m not surprised when he cups my jaw and guides my face back up to meet his still-confused one.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks gently, his thumb gently rubbing along my cheek.
“I don’t—it isn't something that is easy for me to talk about,” I mutter, breaking eye contact once more, even though I don’t lower my head this time.
“Would it be easier, or make you more comfortable, if you were to drive?” He asks, his voice so gentle and soothing that I find myself actually *wanting* to tell him the actual reason behind my freak out. “Is that why you keep asking where we’re going?”
I shake my head back and forth, trying to gather up the courage to just tell him the truth. “It’s not that,” I start and then stop. Lincoln just sits back, clasps ahold of both of my hands with both of his and doesn’t force me to look at him this time. Instead, he gives me the time that I need to work through everything before speaking.
And for that, I'm so incredibly grateful.
“For the last four, almost five years, it’s just been me and my three brothers,” I start.
“Where—” Lincoln starts to say, but I cut him off, saying, “Please, you can ask all the questions that you want once I’ve finished, but please just let me get this out first.” At my request, he nods in understanding and then waits for me to continue.
“When I was thirteen my parents and I was in a tragic car accident that took them from me—us—my brothers and me.” I hear him mutter, *Christ* under his breath, but I’m once again grateful when he doesn’t interrupt or say anything more.
“We were on our way home from Christmas shopping when a semi-truck blew through a red light as we were turning into the intersection. It smashed into our SUV on the driver's side.” I take a deep breath as more tears fall from my eyes and down my cheeks, Lincoln attempts to wipe them away, but as soon as one set of tears is gone, they’re quickly replaced with more.
After a few heavy moments of silence, I continue, “My parents were killed on impact and I woke up in the hospital with only an excruciating headache. My brother, Rowan was the one who had to relay the awful news to me. And, ever since then…” I say with a shrug, not finishing the sentence.
“You’ve had anxiety when in cars,” he surmises, his voice gentle but filled with emotion.
“Not always, but yes, when I’m triggered,” I explain and I can tell he’s trying to figure out exactly which part of the last little while set me off. “It was when you stopped watching the road, and then we swerved into the other lane, it made it worse.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t know,” I say with a shrug. I can't be mad about something that he couldn’t have known.
“After we lost them, I lost myself,” I tell him, glancing up to check his reaction to my words. “I had been lost for so long, just throwing myself into school and cheering. I felt as though I'd just been existing, but not actually living. I threw myself into extracurriculars and academics, making sure that I didn't drop below a 4.0 GPA because I knew that if I wanted to go to college, it would have to be on scholarship. I threw myself into cheer because I thought that it would make me happy, and make me feel as though my life had a purpose. At least, until I moved on to college and figured out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, and then *that* would be my purpose. But, cheer didn't give me what I had been looking for, had been needing. It helped to fill my time and helped me to escape the loneliness that had become my life. But that was about it. Well, cheer’s also where Serenity and I met and became close. She transferred to Rydell at the beginning of our seventh-grade year.” I chuckle, a small smile forming on my face as I remember the lanky girl with long legs and knobby knees that she used to be. “Although you would never know it now, back then, she was the quiet and shy, new girl,” I tell him.
He waits a few moments as if to make sure that I’m finished before speaking. I can tell when he decides that it’s okay for him to speak though because he shifts in the driver's seat, his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, and one of his hands releases mine to cup my cheek again. “Baby,” he starts, but then has to stop to clear his throat when his voice comes out gravely, giving away just how much my story affected him. “The fact that you survived all of that, even if only just, makes you one of the strongest people that I know.”
“I’m not strong,” I murmur in argument, but he doesn't let the statement lie.
“But you are,” he declares, a fire now lit in his eyes, but instead of desire, this time I see determination within the depths of his light blue eyes. “You are so fucking strong because even though it would have been so easy to have just given up, you didn’t. You woke up every single fucking day and fought. You sought out a purpose for living when you felt like you no longer had one, and *that* is what makes you strong.”
I just nod my head, not exactly agreeing with him, but not arguing with his assessment either. I like that he sees me as strong, even if I know that I’m really not.
“You spoke about being lost and your life lacking purpose in past tense,” he says after a few more silent moments, and again, I just nod my head, waiting for him to continue. He cups both of my cheeks now with his big strong hands and looks so deeply into my eyes, that I begin to wonder what he sees when he looks into them. He surprises me when he finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, “So, you’ve found you’re purpose again? You’ve found a reason to wake up each and every day and continue living?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “Or, I’m working on my purpose, but I’ve found a reason to keep going, to wake up each day.”
“I’m glad,” he tells me, lowering his mouth to place a chaste kiss against my lips. “Because you deserve a reason to keep on, even when you don’t feel like you do.”
I pull back, surprised that he’s not asking about what changed, and decide to just ask instead of wondering. “Don’t you want to know why? What changed?”
“I figure that you will tell me if you want me to know,” he says running the tip of his nose along the ridge of mine. “But,” he says, his face completely serious as he says, “just knowing that whatever it was had enough of an impact on your life to become your reason, that’s enough for me.”
“I’m glad that Serenity dragged me to that party after we played each other that night,” I confess.
“Me too,” Lincoln whispers, his mouth just a breath away from my own.
He kisses me gently, not as if I’m fragile, but as if he wants to savor the moment as his hands stay cupping my cheeks, while my heart pounds loudly in my ears and hard against my chest.
“It was you,” I blurt, breaking the kiss.
“What was me?” he asks distractedly as he moves back in for another kiss.
“My reason. What changed. It was you.”