Everything he owed the Hartman family, Wyatt especially, plowed through him, guilt and grief in equal measure.
“Saved you a seat, Linc.”
“It’s okay. You can share my lunch.”
“Easy there. You almost fell off the edge.”
“I’ve got this.”
“Stay away from my little brother.”
All the echoes of Wyatt through the years wound through his thoughts like tendrils of pea shoots. Wyatt, young and fearless. Wyatt, gangly and giving. Wyatt, hard and mean. Wyatt, gone. He knew Jacob missed him too, but it was different. He’d never known the Wyatt Linc had grown up with. Never seen the guy who’d saved Linc’s ass so many times in the field. He hadn’t been there at twelve when Wyatt brought extra lunch for a solid six months because Linc was so often without. Or at fifteen when Linc almost took a one-way trip down one of the rock faces. Hadn’t been there the night Wyatt met May, seen his whole body light up. No one could infuriate Linc more, and no one could take his place.
But who’s going to take Jacob’s place? The niggling question poked at him, thorn to every one of his good intentions. Instead, fresh grief kept smacking into him. Goodbye to more sleepy smiles and lingering touches and jokes he only made with Jacob. Wyatt might be irreplaceable but so was Jacob. The way Linc figured it, Jacob would get over this, the way he had that Tyler kid. He’d find someone to take Linc’s place soon enough, someone he could be proud to take home to his family, someone without complications. And—
Fuck. Without thinking, he’d moved, crushing a young tomato plant under his knee. It was toast now, crumpled beyond saving. Damn it. It had been a new variety of cherry tomato, one he’d hope to share with—
Breathe in. Breathe out. He’d known better than to go building castles in the air. Future plans were a one-way trip to disappointment. Planting vegetables for the guiltiest secret he’d ever kept was the height of stupidity. And yet, here he was, all wilted hopes and broken stems.
And fucking hell, if there wasn’t an active fire to worry about, he’d call in today. He’d had time off pushed onto him when Wyatt died, but otherwise hadn’t ever missed a shift, had worked through twisted ankles and summer colds and wrenched shoulders, but this, this hurt.
Left with no other option, he showered, headed to the air base. And such was his fucking luck that the two people he least wanted to see were deep in conversation with each other, Garrick and Jacob, standing over by one of the towering trees near the headquarters. For several long minutes, he sat there in his truck, watching them.
This was going to be his life now. Watching Jacob move on, move away from whatever they’d had, knowing he had no pull over him, no right to demand he stay away from Garrick and anyone else who might be interested. He had to force himself out of the truck, each step feeling like a solid mile of a pack-out test.
Say what you want, this isn’t just sex. It’s not. Jacob’s pained words echoed in his ears. And God, like Linc had needed that declaration to know in the very marrow of his bones that this was the very opposite of casual, no matter what either of them said. The certainty he’d had back in the garden returned, a smothering blanket of loss. He wasn’t ever getting over Jacob.
Jacob’s gaze left Garrick, darted across the parking lot, landed on Linc. The pain in his eyes was enough to make Linc stop, take a step back, like that could fix anything. Am I not enough? That question still lingered between them. That he’d come to that conclusion was entirely Linc’s own damn fault. Hell, one might even say it was by Linc’s design, part of the necessity of pushing Jacob away for his own good.
But not enough? Truth was, Jacob was everything. Everything Linc could ever want. Ever hope for. And more than he deserved. More than he’d get to keep. Too much, maybe. But not enough? Never. He was the embodiment of Linc’s heart and—
Fuck. He was Linc’s heart, and Linc had squashed him, sure as he had that tomato plant. The hurt was there, open and undisguised, in Jacob’s eyes. But fuck it. Linc didn’t know the first thing about how to heal it. Some things simply stayed broken, no easy solution. Giving Jacob everything he wanted might be the worst thing for him, and Linc simply didn’t know how to reconcile his urge to give in with his duty to protect him. You’re doing a bang-up job of that, Reid. He hadn’t been able to save Jacob from this pain, a guilt he’d carry to his grave.
But still he stood there, tethered to the spot. If only he could believe he was worthy of Jacob, that being together might not cost Jacob more than he should have to give. Then he might march over there and...