My Hero, Lincoln : Chosen Book 19 Read online

  Copyright © 2019 J.D. Light

  Edited by Ann Attwood Editing and Proofreading Services

  Prologue One

  The yelling woke me, but it took a couple of groggy moments to realize it was coming through the open window. I left it open more often than not, now. Always hoping to catch a glimpse of Crawford moving around since his window faced mine.

  I moved slowly through my dark room, stumbling, because I both couldn't see and was still only half awake.

  There he stood, just inside his door, completely shirtless. His muscles moved smoothly as he breathed through his obvious anger before turning his back to me and facing the door to his room. John Russell stumbled through then, obviously drunk as he bounced off the frame and glared at it like it had moved into his path.

  "Don't think I won't knock the shit out of you, boy! Where the hell did you put my keys?"

  "Would you stop yelling? Leboney has a test in Spanish tomorrow. She can't afford to be kept up all night by your drunken bullshit!" Crawford said, squaring his shoulders.

  I watched the anger bunch in his body from where I was, the tightness of his skin bringing out the weirdly shaped scar on his left shoulder blade. It looked like a burn in the shape of some kind of knot. Maybe a net? I knew he liked his piercings and tattoos, though he really was too young to have the latter, but a burn seemed so extreme and I wondered if he'd put it there.

  The fist that connected with his face had him stumbling backward, but he managed to keep his feet under him before he fell.

  I gasped, throwing my hand over my face and praying that I hadn't cried out. The man actually hit his son in the face. He'd balled up his fist and punched his son in the face. What was worse, Crawford recovered and turned back to his father like it was completely normal to be punched in the face by the man.

  "Give me my fucking keys!"

  "You don't need to be on the road. You'll kill somebody!"

  John glared at his son. "I'm not that drunk. Just a little buzzed," he said reasonably, but the slur called him a liar.

  "I'm not giving you the keys." Crawford's voice sounded so cold and hard. Not at all like the way he usually sounded. "Go lie down and sleep it off and I'll give you your keys in the morning."

  "You think you're the fucking boss of me, now? You're a big man, now?"

  "Just go to bed, Dad. I'm not giving you the keys." He was firm, but I heard the dejection in the words.

  Eighteen seemed too young to be broken by life.

  I was surprised to see John turn and stumble back out of his son's room. The man must have realized he was in no state to continue the fight.

  Crawford walked to his own window and leaned out. I couldn't see his eyes. Only his silhouette, but I imagined he was looking in the direction of my window. I was far enough inside, and my room was pitch black, so I knew he couldn't see me.

  I almost flipped the light on to let him know that I was there, but something about the moment and his slumped shoulders made me feel like he would probably be embarrassed that I'd witnessed it.

  I knew he would when he slid to the floor and put his face in his hands, resting his elbows on the sill.

  I sat there for almost an hour, watching him struggle to get himself under control. And the entire time I fought the urge to go to him and comfort him while crying silently in my own room.

  The next day, everyone asked about his bruised cheekbone. He gave them all some bullshit story about bending to get something off the floor and catching it on the corner of the table, but I knew. And with every lie he told, my heart broke a little more.

  Crawford Russell had to be so lonely.

  He would graduate the following week with my brother, and soon they'd be off to college together, leaving me behind. But maybe he'd be able to make a happy life away from this place. Away from his horrible father.

  Prologue Two

  I couldn't allow myself to regret what had happened. Even if it meant that I would have to give up any chance I might have had at college. Even if it meant never seeing my best and only friend Decker or Decker's beautiful younger brother, Lincoln.

  Lincoln. Sweet, gorgeous, Lincoln. He'd saved me. I knew that. I'd like to think that I would have eventually had enough of my dad beating the shit out of me and would have finally hit back, but I knew I wouldn't have ever gotten the nerve unless he'd hurt Leboney. My father's horrendous discipline from the one and only time I'd fought back, had ingrained in me the lesson it was meant to. Just stand there and take it.

  Tonight had been different. My father had been too far gone in his rage to stop. John Russell had been well on his way to beating his son to death. And then what would happen to Leboney? The thought of my sweet sister being left to take care of herself in the system, left me cold.

  But she would be safe now. I'd make sure of that. I'd been saving up for a day like this since I was fifteen. I hadn't expected it to happen quite so quickly. Had actually expected to work another summer to save for it, but Lincoln knocking my dad out cold had forced the issue a bit.

  It had started the way all the bad nights started. It was the weekend, which meant my dad had popped the tab on his first beer at ten o'clock in the morning and had been passed out drunk by three. I should have known better than to stick around. I should have taken Leboney and the keys to my dad's car and stayed somewhere else for the night. But I'd had yet another freaking migraine and the idea of going outside in the bright summer sun had been too much.

  John was always meaner when he passed out in the middle of the day. When his eyes popped open at seven that evening, he'd taken one look inside the beerless fridge and boozeless cabinet and gone in search of his keys. Key's I'd had been hiding from my dad since I was twelve after seeing a horribly graphic video on drunk driving.

  But when my father wanted more to drink, he wanted more to drink, and the fact that his few hours of sleep hadn't been enough to combat the drunkenness from earlier in the day, wouldn't stop him from getting behind the wheel of a car and hunting down the nearest liquor store.

  I couldn't allow him to drive. It was my responsibility to keep the town safe. Just like it was my responsibility to keep my father away from my sister when he was like this.

  If I'd just fought through the pain and gotten us out of there, I wouldn't have found myself in the middle of the same fight I always had with my dad. Over the fucking keys.

  We'd had this fight so many times. I honestly couldn't say what was different this time around. Usually it was a shot to the jaw or a few to the ribs. Stuff I could easily blame on football or a fight.

  But this time was different. My father had followed me to my room, punched me in the face and then jumped on me, trying to strangle me. Because of the migraine, I'd never seen it coming. Hadn't had time to send Leboney out of the house or to her room.

  It was her screams that kept me coherent when the blackness tried to take me the first time, but even they couldn't save me the second.

  But Lincoln had. One minute I'd been looking up into the unrecognizable and horrifyingly angry face of John Russell and the next I was coming to and looking into terrified, tear-filled, sable eyes, while soft hands brushed the hair away from my face, his melodic voice begging me to be okay.

  I would have given anything for him not to have seen me like that. Anything for him not to have to see anything like that. But, as I focused on the man lying on the floor of my bedroom next to a broken beer bottle, I'd never been more thankful to anyone in my entire life. He'd done what I never could. He'd fought for me.

  "Is he dead?" My voice was hoarse and my throat hurt almost as much as his head. Leboney's sobbing was background noise to the thundering of my heart.

 
"I had to," Lincoln said, wrapping his arms around my neck and sobbing against my shoulder. Later, I would remember that he'd wrapped himself around me completely. His arms, his legs. Holding on for dear life. Something I'd always dreamed about. But at the time, all I could think about was the way my father didn't seem to be breathing.

  Still holding Lincoln, I scooted closer to my father, careful to avoid the broken glass and felt the man's neck for a pulse. The fluttering against my fingers made me breathe a sigh of relief, but the knowledge of what the man would do once he woke up had me scrambling.

  Lifting Lincoln off of my lap, I stood and then dragged him up with me. "He's alive, Linc. But you have to go home. He can't know that you were here, okay? He'll hurt you."

  "What? I'm not leaving you two here!" He sounded hysterical and my heart throbbed with something I didn't understand at eighteen.

  I grabbed his face and looked into his beautiful brown eyes for what I suspected would be the last time and wished I was brave enough to kiss him. "I promise, I'll take care of Leboney and me, but I need you to swear that John Russell will never know you were here tonight. Please, Linc. I need you to swear."

  His forehead creased in confusion, but he nodded. "I swear. But, what about you? Are you going to call the police?"

  "We'll be fine. No police, okay?" I couldn't tell him I was leaving. I was afraid he'd convince me to stay, and if we called the police, I couldn't leave town with my sister and she'd end up in foster care.

  "Okay."

  "Just go home, Linc. Please. I have to know you're safe."

  He nodded and I gave him a gentle push toward the door. Again, I was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, or hug him. Something to convey how much I cared for him and how grateful I was, but even knowing I was leaving town didn't give me the bravery needed to make a move on the most amazing human I'd ever known.

  "Linc?" He stopped and turned to look at me and I smiled. "Thank you." It was a whisper. Maybe less than, but he heard. Nodding, he smiled sadly and walked away.

  Chapter One

  I gave the gorgeous man on the screen a dry look and rolled my eyes. "You have to tell your brother before he shows up for the graduation ceremony only to watch you not walk across that stage."

  Lincoln lifted his shoulders and then flopped, letting his head fall back. "I don't wanna," he whined, sounding pathetic. "You tell him for me. He likes you better."

  I laughed. Decker might listen to me a little more than he did Lincoln, but he loved his brother fiercely. Maybe sometimes a little too fiercely, considering poor Lincoln felt smothered more often than not. And from the outside, I could see it.

  "No way," I grumbled, shaking my head. "I was the one who had to tell him about you switching majors." I smirked, crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair. "Part of being a man is talking to stubborn assholes about stuff you don't want to talk about."

  "But––" He swept his hand up and down like he was indicating me from head to toe even though he could only see my face. "You have all those tattoos and muscles… and a big growly voice," he said, his voice dropping like he was trying to mimic me. He licked his bottom lip and swallowed before pointing his hand in his direction and doing the same thing. "I'm just perfect, smooth chocolate skin and bones with this small little baby voice. You're made for talking to big dumb idiots."

  I grunted, trying not to let my mind dwell too much on what it wanted to. He was right. He was perfect, smooth chocolate skin. Though, I wouldn't by any means call him skin and bone, he was tall and thin, but I'd seen him wandering around his room more than once without a shirt, and I happened to know that he was absolutely stunning.

  Good job not thinking about it, Crawford.

  I shook my head, giving him a little smirk. "Calling me an idiot whisperer won't get you any leeway in the telling your brother you're skipping the actual ceremony part of your graduation department."

  He did that flop thing again, pouting his full lips. "He's going to do what he always does and try to make me feel guilty."

  Decker would definitely do that. The guy liked to try and control Lincoln's life, even though he was less than twelve months older than him. If Lincoln showed any type of resistance whatsoever, he'd lay on the guilt trip, reminding Linc that he was the only one of us that actually went to college and everyone was living vicariously through him.

  Speaking of things that Decker is going to try to guilt Lincoln about.

  "Have you found a place to stay yet?" I asked, knowing he hadn't, because that had been the thing they'd been texting about earlier that day that had prompted the video chat in the first place.

  "Nope," he said simply, crossing his arms on the desk in front of him and leaning forward on his arms. When I just looked at him, raising an eyebrow in the air, he crinkled his nose and stuck out his lips, rolling his eyes. "What? I'm ready to get back. I don't want to stick around here anymore than I already have. I miss home."

  "So, are you going to break down and live with your brother?"

  "Fuck you," he grumbled, his face reaching a whole new level of pout. "I'd rather live on the streets."

  I laughed, shaking my head.

  Fuck, I love him.

  I sighed, a smile riding my face. I wished I could just move him in with me. I'd never had a roommate besides my sister, but she had gone off to college, living in the dorms. I was alone in the house our father had left us. I had no doubt Linc would be an easy person to live with. He was a bit of a mess sometimes, but I was obsessively neat, so my opinion probably didn't count for much.

  But having Lincoln Reed under my roof, watching him go about his days and knowing he was safe and taking care of himself, would make me so happy.

  "I have an extra room," I blurted out of nowhere, interrupting whatever it was that Lincoln was saying, and making him freeze for a moment with his mouth wide open.

  Closing his mouth, he continued to watch me through the screen with wide, hopeful eyes while I reeled, realizing I'd probably just dug myself an early grave. Decker was going to fucking kill me. He'd specifically told me not to do exactly what I'd just done, in hopes he could con his brother into moving in with him.

  "Are you for real?" he asked on a whisper, a giant smile brightening his already gorgeous face. "You'd let me come stay with you?"

  I shrugged, hoping I hid the inward cringe. This so wasn't going to go well. For more reasons than just Decker throwing a giant hissy-fit when he found out.

  "Of course," I said, barely choking the words out, but adding a bright smile, so he'd hopefully gloss over my hesitance. "I would have offered sooner, but I had to listen to you bitch about independence for three hours when your brother offered to send you money for your car when it broke down right before Christmas."

  "Yeah, well… he's an idiot," he said, sticking his nose in the air. "And I'm going to pay you rent."

  I narrowed my eyes. "No, you're not. The house is paid for. I don't even pay rent."

  "Fine," he said, narrowing his eyes as well. "Utilities then."

  This was an argument I knew he'd drag on forever. The one thing I knew for sure about Lincoln Reed was that he was every bit as stubborn as his overbearing brother. "We'll see. You might live with me for like a day and decide you can't stand me any longer."

  Especially when he came home to me cleaning his room when he inevitably left his shit everywhere. Leboney had point-blank informed me that it was the main reason she'd moved to the campus. I hadn't taken it personally since it was something we'd always laughed about, and I knew she loved me.

  But her loving me was probably the only reason she still talked to me. I really could be a pain in the ass about the house. I'd had a more than one therapist suggest it might have something to do with my having so little control in my life when I was younger, and the fact that the house had been trashed more often than not, because John Russell hadn't liked the idea of any son of his cleaning like a woman.

  He'd have shit a brick if he'd known I'd been half in
love with the neighbor boy most of my teenage life.

  "Please," the neighbor boy in question said, smirking. "You're like one of my favorite people in the world."

  I gasped slightly, my heart speeding up. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and hoped the video quality on his side wasn't that great, so he couldn't see.

  I chuckled to hide my reaction, once again leaning back in my chair. "So is your brother, but you can't live with him."

  He curled his lip. "You are not my brother." His eyes widened slightly, and I could swear his brown cheeks got darker, but he licked his lips and cleared his throat. "He's an overbearing idiot."

  "Still," I said, both wanting him to change his mind and praying he didn't. "You haven't actually been around me for five years. What if I've developed habits?"

  I often wondered how we'd managed that. He was one of my closest friends, yet I hadn't actually seen him in real life since that night when he'd brained my father with a beer bottle and knocked the asshole out. I'd been home for almost three years. He'd come home half a dozen times, but I'd always been out of town.

  Though, it kind of made sense. He only came home on Spring Break which was usually right before the bar owner's show they had in Las Vegas, and I always went up early to catch some shows before I spent all my time surrounded by hundreds of people and tons of booze.

  "I doubt it," Lincoln grumbled distractedly, leaning sideways in his chair, trying to reach something I couldn't see. "You're perfect."

  Again, I gasped, just as he let out a surprised yelp and toppled right out of his chair.

  "Fuck!" he said, growling and scrambling to get up. He was flailing limbs, more noise than was probably normal and when his leg actually came up, out of nowhere and bumped the monitor making the whole room look like it was in the midst of an earthquake, I started laughing.

  And I didn't stop until I couldn't breathe and my stomach was hurting. By that time, he was sitting upright in his chair, glaring at me through the computer with his arms crossed.