I Really Can’t Stay (A.R.’s Holiday Standalones #1)

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

“ S weetheart, are you okay? You had us worried sick. You shouldn’t be out in this weather!” Lincoln‘s mom rushes to the door the moment I push it open, wrapping me in a tight hug the second she sees me.

“I’m okay! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.” I hug her back, but don’t tell her about my walk to the Christmas tree farm.

Lincoln comes through the kitchen alcove and pulls me from his mother's arms and into a hug of his own. Pressing his lips against my hair, he says loud enough for his mom to hear, “You had us worried,” then he drops his voice, “I thought we had overwhelmed you, I know you were a little uncomfortable a couple times tonight, and I’m sorry for that. I’ll admit the ruse has me feeling guilty too. I almost came clean while you were gone.”

Looking up at him, I wrap my arms around his waist, burying my nose into his sweater. Right now, he feels like an old friend rather than a practical stranger.

“Not at all. You and I are in this together. I guess you can call us besties now,” I say, keeping my voice low so only he hears. Smiling at him, he looks at me and returns the gesture.

Part of me wishes I felt something deeper for him. My mind flashes with the image of Miller, and I’m surprised he’s already infiltrated my thoughts. I had a feeling he would—I just thought it would be later, when I was alone in the dark, if you know what I mean.

Rubbing my arms, Lincoln declares, “Come on. You’re freezing.”

Not giving me time to take my snow gear off, Lincoln leads me into the living room, and we sit on the couch together around the fire.

“Up for another game?” Tim asks, tipping his head toward the stack of board games sitting on the coffee table.

I glance at my watch. “I’d love to, but just one. I think I want to get on the road within the next thirty minutes or so. It’ll probably take me close to an hour and a half, if not a little longer, to get home. I don’t want to rush it in these conditions, and I hurt my ankle on my walk, so I don’t want to overdo it.”

“You hurt your ankle?” Lincoln asks immediately. “Are you alright? Let me see it.”

“I’m fine, I just rolled it. I sat for a few minutes to let it rest before I headed back.”

“Which one?” His voice is strictly business.

Sighing, I relent. “My right.”

Pulling my ankle into his lap, he unzips my boot and pulls it off.

“Holly! Your ankle is the size of a softball. How did you walk on this?”

“Er, carefully?” I laugh nervously, looking down at my ankle, which is, in fact, the size of a softball. “Honestly, it didn’t even feel swollen.”

“Probably because you’re cold and in shock,” he says in a chastising tone. I can tell by the way he’s examining my ankle that he’s in doctor mode. “Holly, we need to get some ice on this. Hey Mom, could you please get me an ice pack?” he yells at Tina, who’s in the kitchen.

“Of course,” she shouts, and a few seconds later she emerges with a bag of frozen peas in her hand. “Oh sweetheart, you walked on that? You must be in so much pain!”

“I’m fine, honestly. I didn’t even feel it or know it was swollen until Lincoln pulled my boot off.”

“I’m glad you said something,” Lincoln’s brow laced together, “but I really wish it hadn’t happened. You shouldn’t drive on this. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s only going to make it worse.”

Groaning, I cover my face with my hands, talking through my fingers, “I know, but I need to get back.”

He looks at me with questions in his eyes as I lower my hands.

Lincoln doesn’t know about my family or that I have no one to go home to.

Well, no one, except for Potato, and he’ll be pissed if I don’t make it back to feed him his wet food by morning.

“Sweetheart,” Tina drawls. “Are you sure you won’t just stay?”

“You can take my bedroom,” Lincoln encourages. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Tim gives his son a sideways look at that suggestion, but thankfully keeps his comments to himself.

“I really can’t stay,” I stress. “I have to get home to my cat.”

“You don’t have a friend who can check on him?” A worry line creases Tina’s forehead, and it sends a pang through my heart. Hesitating, I glance at the three sets of eyes on me.

“I mean…” I sigh. “Let me make a quick call.”

Tina claps her hands together with excitement. “Yes! Call whomever you need to. Because you driving at night, in the snow, with that ,” she looks at my ankle, “is not safe. And I’d never forgive myself if you left and something happened to you.”

“You’re very sweet,” I tell her. “Let me try to get ahold of my friend who lives in my building and see if she can keep an eye on Potato for me.”

“Your cat's name is Potato?” Tim chuckles.

“You should see him! It’ll make so much sense.”

“I’d love for you to show us a picture when you’re off the phone.” He smiles, then waves his hand in my direction. “Go make your call.”

“I will.”

Hobbling down the hallway of the Stokes’ home, I pull up my messages and send a text to Genesis, not really wanting to bother her on Christmas Eve, but grateful we exchanged keys shortly after becoming friends.

Hey! I got stuck in Julian, hurt my ankle and can’t drive home tonight. Would you mind feeding Potato his wet food in the morning? I’m so sorry to ask for a favor on Christmas.

Pressing my back against the wall, I slide down and sit on the floor, waiting to see if Gen texts back quickly. She has an addiction to technology and usually her responses come through immediately. I’m unsurprised to find that tonight is no different.

Of course! Are you good? I could drive up and get you if you need me to?

That’s way too generous. I am fine, just going to spend the night at a friend's parents' house. I should be back by mid-morning.

Sounds good, Zee, enjoy your night. Don’t stress about Potato. He’s in good hands.

I know he is. Thank you so much for helping me.

Stowing my phone in my pocket, I use the wall to push myself to stand. When I go back into the living room, I meet Lincoln’s eyes. “My friend is able to feed Potato. I’ll stay.”

“Good,” Lincoln says with a nod. “Now let’s get you off that ankle.”

The next three hours go by full of laughter and fun as we play board games and sip eggnog while the fire roars. The snow has started up again, and from the large bay window in the living room, we’re able to watch it fall gracefully. It’s lovely, and for the first time since my family died, I feel at peace.

Somehow, the Stokes family went from being complete strangers to making me feel like one of their own in a matter of hours.

Later, when Tina declares it’s time for her to go to bed, she pulls me in for a long hug when I stand, too. “I just want you to know,” she whispers against my hair. “No matter what happens between you and my son, you always have a place here. I know you haven’t opened up to us about your family, and I don’t expect you to, but my motherly instincts tell me you have a story to tell—something you’re not ready to talk about. When you’re ready, I’m happy to listen. I know you don’t know me from Adam, but I feel truly blessed to have you in my life now. Merry Christmas, Holly. Thanks for bringing me some peace of mind by staying here rather than brave the roads.”

A tear streams down my face and I wipe it away as Tina and I part. She squeezes my shoulders and I give her a small smile, as much of one as I can muster when my heart feels like it’s shattering.

I hate that I’m lying to her. It makes a part of my soul ache that I wasn’t even aware existed.

It feels like betrayal .

“Well, I better get to bed too,” Tim says with a yawn as he stretches his arms straight out. “G’night, you two.” He winks at Lincoln, then follows his wife upstairs.

When we’re alone, I sit in Tim’s recliner.

“Look, Holly—” Lincoln says, at the same moment I say, “I think I’m going to?—”

“I’m sorry.” He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “What were you going to say?”

“It’s been a long day. I’m going to turn in too.”

“Of course. Let me show you to the bedroom, and where the linens are. There’s a bathroom just down the hall if you want to shower, and extra blankets in case you get cold.”

“Thanks.”

We stand in unison and he leads me up the stairs, pointing out the bathroom he mentioned and then showing me to his old bedroom.

Baseball memorabilia lines the walls, with old photos and knickknacks from his childhood. A full-sized bed sits in the center, and the room smells clean, like it’s frequently tended to even though it’s clear Lincoln doesn’t live here.

“I thought your parents moved here after you moved out?” I question, bending to look at an old photo of him when he was around nine or ten.

“They did, but my mom is a sucker for nostalgia. She decorated this room as best as she could from memory of my childhood bedroom, in case I was ever homesick.”

“That’s sweet.” I check out the books sitting on the nightstand. Old classics, like Call of the Wild and Catcher in the Rye.

“That’s my mom.”

“You’re lucky, you know.”

“I know,” he says softly. “Do you need anything?”

Slightly embarrassed, I turn to him and ask, “Got anything I can sleep in? An old shirt?”

“Of course. Top drawer. Want me to wash your sweater and jeans? At least they’d be clean by morning.”

“You don’t mind?”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Okay, thanks. Give me a minute.”

Nodding, Lincoln leaves the room and closes the door quietly behind him. Wasting no time, I open the top drawer of his dresser and pull out an old NASA T-shirt.

Stripping out of my clothes, I neatly fold my sweater, jeans, and socks, before tugging his T-shirt on. It hits just below my bottom, so I only crack the door when I thrust the clothes in his direction.

“They’ll be waiting for you outside the door when you wake up,” he says, respectfully keeping his eyes on mine as we speak through the crack.

“Thank you, Lincoln. For everything.”

“Get some rest, Holly. There’s ibuprofen in the bathroom if you need it for your ankle, and the door locks, if you feel more comfortable that way.”

“I appreciate it. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The exchange feels awkward, like we’ve gone six steps backward since we met this morning.

Has it really not even been a full day since we met?

The thought is wild, but my mind doesn’t give me much time to dwell on it, because the moment I sink between the comfortable down comforter and bamboo sheets of Lincoln’s bedroom, my body immediately gets pulled into dreams of sugar plum fairies, and a ruggedly sexy man in plaid with a last name as a first name.