Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“I will.” Linc sounded so sad and full of regrets that Jacob had to kiss him back, trying to push some of his certainty into Linc. What they had was good. And special. And worth fighting for. And all he needed was for Linc to see that.
Stay, his heart asked as they kissed. Stay with me. Fight for us. Don’t be such a fucking coward. The words were all right there along with other even scarier declarations, the contents of his heart spilling out in every caress, every touch, every sigh and groan. His body was far braver than his mouth, willing to risk what Jacob himself couldn’t, not yet, maybe not ever.
With his lips and hands, he demanded more from Linc, demanded his full participation until Linc was tumbling him back into the nest of blankets, hand cradling Jacob’s head like he was something rare and precious. Something worth protecting. And maybe that would have to be enough, the stories their bodies were able to tell each other. Maybe he wouldn’t ever get anything more than these stolen moments from Linc, maybe it was unfair to both of them, and maybe it was foolish, courting this kind of pain. But then Linc moved against him, deepening the kiss, and Jacob knew it was all already too late for him. Linc owned him, body and soul and heart, everything Jacob had in him to give.
And he refused to believe it wouldn’t be enough, refused to give in to the sadness and frustration, refused to give up on this, on the future that was right there, as sparkling as the night sky, and every bit as hard to hold on to. But Linc was here now, and he was real, a bulwark against the chilly air and unwelcome reality. So fuck the future. He was clinging to the now, to Linc, and to the hope that it would all be worth it in the end.
Chapter Sixteen
Linc was in hell. A sunny, pleasant hell filled with Hartman family members and chocolate cake and coconut-caramel frosting, but hell nonetheless. He arrived at the birthday brunch for Jacob somewhat after the appointed time, and instead of Jacob answering the door, he got his relentless matchmaking brother, who was seriously barking up the wrong tree.
“May’s outside,” Jon said as he led Linc into the house, helpfully and way too damn casually, pointing out the window at the play structure. “With the kids. You could go help. Junior sure loves you.”
“I should put this in the kitchen.” Linc gestured with the dish of pea salad he’d brought. He figured the bacon made it nominally a brunch food, and he’d had a bumper crop of peas, some local cheese and a promising-looking recipe.
“And you cook.” Jon laughed exactly like a dude who was proud of barely being able to make toast. “Like I’ve been saying, you’ve secretly been a family man all along. You just need the right—”
“You came!” Jacob appeared, all wide smile and backslapping bro-hug that had zero in common with their one-more-kiss routine the night before when they’d been tangled up on Linc’s couch. Yup, Linc was secretly something all right, but it sure as fuck wasn’t a straight bachelor needing a ready-made family. And no offense to May, who deserved a whole lot better.
I’m not suggesting we march into brunch at my mom’s on Sunday holding hands or anything. Jacob’s words from Friday night echoed back to him. Would it be easier? Would even the absolute worst be better than this torture of being right next to Jacob and unable to say a damn thing?
“There’s three types of French toast casserole. I think it’s a competition of some kind. You can come judge.” Jacob steered him away from Jon and toward the kitchen, plucking the bowl of salad from his hands.
“Here’s a card to add to your collection.” Linc pointed to the envelope on top of the plastic-wrapped bowl. Didn’t matter what private present he’d given Jacob Friday night—he knew enough to come to this thing with a bland cartoon card and a fast-food gift certificate. And if he’d seen a card he liked better, one with a vivid sunset and a line of poetry, well, maybe he needed to work on being a little less fanciful. Getting sentimental would serve exactly nothing and no one.
“Lincoln. Come fix yourself a plate.” Jenna greeted him with a huge hug, clucking over his attempt at a salad and shoving a plate in his hands. Jacob was dragged away by two of the nephews, but she continued to hover as he dutifully served himself eggs and bacon and some of each casserole. A three-layer cake stood at the end of the buffet, undoubtedly tasty but the uneven icing and haphazardly placed two and five candles gave it a homey air.