Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
So I had ended up going into my mind to repair that wall and then I’d started to make plans for what I was going to do next.
And then Lincoln had arrived, and he’d experienced the same thing I had countless times over the years. I’d always had a razor blade to pull me free of that terrifying sensation of not being in control of anything, even something as natural as being able to breathe.
Lincoln hadn’t had anyone.
I’d watched him try to bring himself out of the attack before it had become full blown but the more he’d struggled, the harder it had been for me to keep my promise to separate myself from the man and all the cracks he kept putting in my wall.
Knowing how terrified he’d been as his mind had made him believe he could no longer breathe, I’d done the only thing I could.
I’d touched him.
I’d talked to him.
I’d taken the trust he’d given me, and I’d cherished it as I’d brought him back to himself. That was when what he’d been saying about the dog—before the panic attack—had really set in. He’d likened himself to the dog. He’d been trying to tell me that for some reason even he couldn’t understand, he needed me. Not in a sexual way, although the night before had proven the chemistry between us was off the charts.
No, he needed me to be the person who could share his burdens.
Help him escape whatever fucking secrets he was on the run from. It didn’t mean I could solve anything for him or give him any kind of forgiveness he might be seeking… all I could do was listen as he got it out.
I began running my thumb over Lincoln’s as he seemed to lose himself for a moment. I knew I had him back when he squeezed my hand. When he looked at me and gave me a sad smile, I realized that listening to what he was going to tell me wouldn’t be just that.
My feelings for Lincoln ran too deep to just listen.
I was going to hurt for him, I was going to cry for him, I was going to fear for him. Could I even do that? The last time I’d taken on anyone’s secrets had been Ford’s when we were kids and since we’d shared the exact same secret, it wouldn’t be the same thing.
“His name was Robert,” Lincoln began. “But we all ended up calling him Rabbit because whenever he tried to say his own name as a little kid, it always came out sounding like rabbit. My mother died when I was eight… drunk driver hit her while she was on her evening walk.”
I knew better than to interrupt with condolences, so I kept my mouth shut while I kept rubbing my thumb against his.
“My dad remarried pretty fast and Rabbit was born within a year of the wedding. My stepmom treated me okay, but she always made sure to remind me that she wasn’t my mother. But me and Rabbit were brothers through and through. From the moment he was born, all I knew was that I was his big brother and my job was to protect him no matter what.
“As a baby he used to cry constantly. His pediatrician told my dad and stepmom that he was just a fussy baby and he’d grow out of it. Our folks spent a lot of time traveling, so we didn’t see them much. We were pretty much raised by nannies and the various servants who took care of the house while my father and his new wife were jet-setting around the world. Sometimes I think they just didn’t want to deal with Rabbit’s behavior. I knew in my gut that something was wrong with him, but who was going to listen to a little kid who hadn’t even reached double digits in age yet?”
He stopped long enough to pull in a deep breath. “I knew he wasn’t just being ‘fussy.’ Once he was able to talk, he’d constantly complain about different parts of his body hurting but being so young, he really couldn’t describe the pain so even when I managed to convince one of the nannies to take him to the doctor, the guy said Rabbit was just doing it all for attention; likely to try and get our parents to stay home more. I knew he wasn’t acting but I didn’t know how to help him. By the time he was eight, Rabbit was in constant pain. His legs, arms, feet, even his skin hurt. His own clothing against his skin made him scream in pain.”
Lincoln’s voice cracked and I could tell he was struggling to hold back tears. I wasn’t as strong and a few tears slipped free of my own pained eyes. Thankfully, he was staring at the water and not looking at me.