𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐄𝐘
For the past five years, I've managed to avoid him. I've managed to forget about him and move on from him. Mostly. Alex Lancaster and I have history, but nothing will ever change between us.
At least until he shows up at my dad's work...
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With the cookies done, I let them cool down on the stove and grab a plate and a cup. I fill up her glass with water and set a collection of cookies on the plate. Deciding to take it up to her, I carry it to our room and set it down on the nightstand.
The bathroom door is shut, so I'm assuming she's in there. Finding my shirt discarded on the floor, I bend down and pick it up. I guess she decided to change into her clothes.
But my eyes snag on something under the bed and I reach for it, pulling out a small box. Confused, I set it on the bed and open it, finding items stock-piled inside. Clothes, jewelry, small stuffed animals.
Photos.
Photos among photos rest in the box. I skim through them, smiling as I recall the memories, finding pictures of me and Lindsey at the fair, in my garage, at school, at parties, with Theo and Lucas.
There's more pictures than I ever remember taking. And she kept all of them.
I start to put the pictures back, but a piece of blue catches my eye, and I move the pictures away to look in the box. Inside is a small basket with...hospital items?
I slowly reach inside, my brows furrowed, and grab the basket. There's a wristband with Lindsey's name on it, but what makes my heart drop is the baby wristband sitting inside.
Lindsey didn't...
She would've told me if she did. Wouldn't she?
But even deep down, I know that she wouldn't have. She was getting death threats and didn't bother to tell me. She didn't tell me about why she left. She didn't tell me about how her dad had hit her or forced her to leave.
She doesn't tell me anything. Not because she doesn't trust me, I know she does, but because she's afraid. She doesn't like to communicate because she's afraid of the confrontation.
Which I can only assume is because of her father.
I hear the bathroom door click before it opens. Slowly, I turn to look at her, brows furrowed. "Why do you have hospital stuff for a baby?"
She glances at the bed, where the box sits, then the basket in my hands before her eyes land on mine. She doesn't say anything, color draining from her face.
"Answer me, Lindsey. Why do you have things from the hospital for a baby?" I know I'm being harsh. But I need to know. Did she have a baby without me knowing?
She hasn't moved. She's frozen, staring at my hands. Or more like what's in my hands.
"Lindsey, did you have a baby?"
"No." She replies quickly. Too quick.
"You're lying." I glare. "Tell me the truth. Did you, or did you not, have a baby?"
Her eyes turn glossy as she stares and I can't tell if it's from her lack of blinking or if it's because she's on the verge of crying.
Within seconds, she breaks from her trance, grabbing the basket from my hands and putting it back in the box, covering it with the photos. "It doesn't matter." She whispers, closing up the box.
