Crossroads

Chapter 4

"Vodka." His voice is raw and raspy and filled with so much pain, that I almost just want to hug the misery out of him. But that's not the right way to go at this, I'm pretty sure about that.

"You're lucky I hate that stuff." I try lighting the mood a bit as I grab the bottle of Goose vodka right behind me, and to my surprise he even shoots me a thin smile when I glance over to him.

After pouring him his drink and mixing myself a gin tonic, I make my way back over to him, handing him the glass as I sit down on the couch opposite to him.

Once again the mood shifts, and I feel the heavy weight on his shoulders as he sighs deeply, his eyes staring into the glass filled with translucent liquid. There's a tension seeping off of him, almost like he's thinking so hard, his body doesn't know what to do with it, and it just makes me feel really goddamn sorry for him.

Because I can feel his pain, even though I have no idea what caused it. But I can't imagine someone like him ending up on the ledge of a bridge without a proper reason for it.

"You must be loaded." His blue eyes look around the room, studying it intently with a crease between his brows.

Of course he'd comment on that. It's not like I just almost died in an attempt to stop him from jumping off a bridge.

"You don't exactly look like a poor mouse, either."

And it's true, because I'm simply unable to stop looking at the way his clothes so perfectly fit his frame, almost like they were tailored just for him.

But he just laughs, a laugh that could also have been a scoff with the amount of derision in his voice when he speaks.

"Yeah. Sure."

He downs his drink before running a hand through his thick hair. I can't deny that usually I'd feel attacked if someone talked to me that way, but for some reason I decide to let it go. It's good practice for my job later on, I guess.

"Want another?"

I'm pretty sure getting him drunk is not the best idea, but I definitely need a second drink to understand what on earth happened tonight before I can even try to start forming a plan on how to deal with it.

"Yeah." He hands me his glass without even looking at me, and I can't help but sigh as I get up and walk back to the bar. I can feel his eyes on me as I prepare the drinks, but as I look up to meet his gaze he immediately looks at his hands in his laps.

And then we just sit there, both of us sipping our drink but not speaking to each other, the tension in the air being almost palpable as I rest my head on the armrest of the couch, stretching out my legs before I cross them with a sigh.

I need to come up with a plan. I'm not a psychologist, yet. And everything I have learned until now does not help me at all with the situation at hand.

Fuck.

Believe me, I've had my fair share of misfortunes in life, one of them actually connects me to him. But I've never ever been at a point where I was even contemplating taking my life. Like I said, my parents have strong opinions on that, and I'm pretty sure my whole family would come haunting me if I did ever decide to do it.

Maybe I should call grams tomorrow. She seems to know everything about every aspect of life. It's almost scary, sometimes.

Yeah, that's what I'll do.

"Can you shut up?"

His voice startles me, and I snap my eyes open as I turn my head to look at him, his eyes settling right on mine as our gazes lock.

"Excuse me?"

"You're thinking awfully loud. I can't hear my own thoughts."

Jesus, this guy.

I can't help but laugh as I sit up straight, downing my drink before slamming the glass on the couch table. And god am I thankful for all those training sessions dad and grammy gave me when I was younger, because I am so, so close to exploding right into his face, the tension of this evening giving me an ugly headache. But I learned to control my anger, my feelings, and my surroundings. And so I just take a deep breath before I look straight into his eyes, trying to get my point across as good as possible.

Good Lord, those eyes are still as intense as they were before.

"Look. I don't know what's going on in that pretty head of yours, but I'm giving you the chance to sleep on it. Just think about..."

"I've thought about it enough." He interrupts me, his large frame now leaning forwards to face me directly. We're only inches apart now, both of us bracing our elbows on our knees as we stare each other down.

"Did you, now?" I can't help but raise my eyebrow at him.

"Yes. Not that it's any of your business. You don't even know my name." His words are venomous, cold, and meant to cut right through me. I can literally see how he's pushing me away, not wanting to let anyone into this head of his. He's defensive, and I guess I understand that. It's a good sign, though. It means he's starting to regret his actions, his decisions.

"You're right, it's not." Deciding there's no use in diving into our shared past - which he clearly has forgotten - I get up from the couch, looking down at him as those precious blue eyes immediately find mine, obviously confused as hell. Because as much as I can take his rude behavior, I have a heart as well, and I do not intend on letting him break it, again.

"I'll leave you to it, then. Bathroom is right next to the kitchen to your right, I have some spare toothbrushes in the cabinet beneath the sink. There's blankets and pillows in the closet over there, and if you need anything else just knock on that door to your left. That's my bedroom."

Surprisingly he's just looking at me with wide eyes, the atmosphere filled with tension again as I turn on my heels and walk towards my bedroom.

"Oh, and one more thing." I say before spinning around to look at him.

"No drinking when I'm not there. Believe me, I know how much is in which bottle, and I will check each of them in the morning."

And I'm not sure if I'm mistaken, but it almost looks like there's actually a smirk playing on his lips as he looks at me, his eyes once again settling on mine as he nods his head.

"Got it, boss." He responds, and I can't help but roll my eyes before I step out of the tension and into the quiet comfort of my bedroom. I'm just about to close my door when I hear his dark voice again, the sound of it sending a shiver down my spine.

"Oh, and Mia?" His voice resonates through the room, the raspy and raw reverberation making me look at his handsome but so goddamn infuriating face, only to find him standing right behind me in the doorframe, his face only inches from mine.

I'm suddenly hyperaware of my surroundings, the scent of musk and lime filling my nostrils as he stares me down, making me lose myself in this ocean of emotion in his eyes. And I can literally feel his body heat, can feel the pain that's lingering inside of him as he breathes deeply, his breath gently fanning my face as I hold onto the doorframe to keep myself upright.

"The name's Lincoln." And with that he just turns back around, leaving me breathless with a racing heart and a confused mind.

Because one thing becomes clear as day already.

Lincoln is danger. Danger with a big, fat capital D, screaming at me to stay away from him.

And even though the past should've taught me that already, I have a feeling that I'm about to make the same mistake, over and over again.