Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
By the time we’d finished the tour, it’d been closing in on dinnertime. Not surprisingly, Isaac had invited us to join their entire family for dinner. I’d begun to politely decline since I knew Theo had no clue that the entire family meant much more than just Newt and his parents, but when Newt had started to beg his new Uncle Theo to stay so he could show him all his “stuff,” Theo had accepted. When I’d pulled him aside to make sure he really was okay with staying for dinner, he’d looked at me with a strange but not unwelcome look of contentment.
Dinner with the Kent brothers—one of whom was Maddox, the other his younger brother, Dallas—and their respective partners along with Sawyer and his boyfriend, Jett, made for a loud, busy meal full of laughter, jokes, looks of longing, and a lot of finagling of curse words so no one would have to put money in Newt’s infamous swear jar. The only thing missing had been a certain hard of hearing, foul-mouthed old man who would have filled Newt’s jar inside of five minutes.
I’d kept a close eye on Theo to make sure he hadn’t been getting too overwhelmed but much like our own dinners, he’d tuned into the conversations and people-watched as he’d quietly eaten a small amount of the food that had been dished onto his plate. As promised, after dinner he’d allowed Newt to talk his ear off, and we’d ended up accompanying Newt and Dallas’s soon-to-be husband, Nolan, back to Gentry’s pen to watch them play their violins for the bear. After saying our goodbyes, Theo and I had walked hand in hand to the car. He’d been quiet but just like the drive home, I hadn’t been able to read what he was feeling.
I hadn’t wanted to push him in any kind of way to tell me how he was doing, but as the minutes continued to tick by and my arms remained painfully empty, I couldn’t help but second-guess everything I’d said and done today.
I rolled back to my side so I could stare at both the clock and bathroom door without getting a crick in my neck. A narrow strip of light beneath the bathroom door had me quickly sitting up. I’d purposely left the door open for Theo but now it was closed.
I held back on my need to open the door and ask Theo why he hadn’t come to what I’d already begun to think of as our bed. I waited for the sound of running water or a toilet flushing but there was nothing.
Then I heard it.
Barely.
A soft sob.
“Lincoln?”
I’d already gotten to my feet at the sound of the sob, but Theo’s barely there voice had me rushing into the bathroom. Panic consumed me while thinking of all the possible things I could find, so it took half a second to process what I saw.
Theo was dressed in just his sweatpants, so I was able to see his upper body and thankfully there wasn’t a spot of blood anywhere. He was standing in front of the vanity, his hands gripping the edges of the countertop so hard that his knuckles were practically bloodless. His head was hung, and his shoulders were hunched like he was in pain. I only had a profile view, but I could see tears slipping down his cheeks. I kept my distance from him because from just the way he was holding himself, it seemed like he’d shatter at any moment. My eyes fell to the spot on the vanity that he was staring at. It was all I could do not to move when I saw the shiny double-edged razor blade sitting there.
“Lincoln?”
“I’m here, baby,” I said as I inched forward until I was about a foot away from him.
“I don’t know what to do,” Theo whispered. “Tell me what to do.”
Before I could even ask him what he was talking about, he continued with, “I know they’re not real. Like the panic attacks. I know it but I’m so fucking scared because I don’t know how to…”
Theo let out a harsh sob. Tears stung the backs of my eyes as I watched his own tears fall onto the counter, some of them landing on the razor blade. The mere fact that the blade was sitting on the counter like it was gave me at least a little information. His instinct was to use the blade to rid himself of whatever was hurting him.
“Sweetheart, can you look at me?” I asked. I needed to see his eyes, but I needed him to see mine even more. I needed him to know where he was and that he was safe.
He shook his head slowly but then he was easing his body upright so he could use his hands to wipe at his face. Even from where I stood, I could see the pulse point in his neck throbbing, which meant his heart was racing. His breathing was erratic.