In the night, Lynn clung to her brother, her head resting on his chest. His heart beat a steady, rhythmic tempo, and it lulled her to the cusp of sleep; she had never been so relaxed in her life.
"I should probably get going," she muttered sleepily, though she made no move to get up. Lincoln groaned. "I know," she said, "I don't want to either, but I'm falling asleep."
She sat up, and Lincoln followed, rubbing his eyes. They had lain that way for at least an hour. Before that, they lay side-by-side staring into the darkness, each absorbed in their own thoughts. What have I done? Lynn asked herself, thinking clearly now that the pressing need had been quieted. I had sex with my brother. She thought back to the feeling of his hands on her breast, and on other things, and shivered; so what? She turned her head to look at him, and her heart overflowed with love. He was kind, gentle, loving, considerate. If a better man than him existed, you'd probably find him walking on the water in Galilee.
"I don't want you to go," Lincoln said now, rubbing her shoulder. She leaned her head against his hand.
"I don't want to either, but we have to be careful. Lisa already knows."
"She does?"
"She said the 'mounting sexual tension' between us was 'painfully obvious' and that if we didn't cool it even Leni would notice. That's why I waited so long to come over."
Lincoln sighed. "Alright," he leaned in and kissed her neck, and she sighed. "I'm going to miss you."
"I'll be right next door," she giggled. "Then tomorrow we go home, and maybe we can spend the whole night together."
"That sounds nice," he said.
While Lincoln watched, she grabbed her shirt and pulled it on, then looked around for her panties. "Where are my underwear?" she asked.
"Here," Lincoln said, tossing them to her.
She caught, then handed them back. "You keep them," she grinned, "as a trophy."
Lincoln laughed. "I'll stick them in the trophy case when we get home."
"You better not," she said, and lightly hit his shoulder. "I want them back. Keep them in your room for when I come over."
He leaned in and kissed her. "Goodnight," he said.
"Goodnight, Lincoln," she replied, and kissed him back, running her fingertips over his head.
She unzipped the flap and crawled out, Lincoln catching a flash of her bare butt. When she was gone, he got into his sleeping bag and tried to get warm, but without his sister, he was cold.
He wished she stayed.
For a long time, he sought sleep but did not find it. Cold white moonlight bathed the tent, and the night chorus of crickets and bullfrogs seemed to swell. He thought of Lynn's eyes. For some reason that's what stuck out the most. Not her breasts, not her lips, but her eyes, warm and brown and shining. His heart throbbed, and he turned onto his side, grabbing his bag and hugging it tight, pretending for a fleeting moment that it was her.
It wasn't, however, and eventually, he pushed it away, sighed, and rolled over.
In her own tent, Lynn used a baby wipe to clean the crusted expression of her brother's love from her stomach. Naked, she crawled into her sleeping bag and tried to recapture the sweet exhaustion she felt with Lincoln, but it would not come. She laid awake, thinking of how she felt in his arms: Warm, safe, as though they were an island and nothing else existed in the world. She squeezed her eyes tighter and willed herself to sleep, but visions of Lincoln danced through her head: His face, his smile. She thought of all the times she had no one to play football or baseball with. Luna wouldn't play with her, neither would Lori or Lucy or Luan. But Lincoln...Lincoln always would, even if she could tell he didn't really want to. She smiled. That was Lincoln. He would go out of his way for his sisters, and they didn't always appreciate it. She knew she didn't, and that made her feel awful. He was so sweet and giving, and half of the time they all took it for granted.
She sighed. Never again, she vowed. She would always love and appreciate him, and if the others didn't, she'd kick their asses. Lincoln was special.
And she had him all to herself.
That thought made her giddy, and she grinned.
I'm so lucky, she thought as sleep began to creep into the edges of her consciousness. I'm the luckiest girl in the world.
Next door, Lincoln was thinking much the same thing. As the moon sailed across the sky, closer and closer to dawn, he searched his soul and his mind. He realized that sometimes, he felt threatened by Lynn; she was his closest competition in terms of being a "boy." At times, he resented her; he should be the one who liked sports, not her. Only he didn't like sports. He didn't mind playing now and then, but it was not an interest he actively pursued, and in his darkest moments, he imagined his father was disappointed in him.
Even so, he had always admired Lynn, her strength, her tenacity, her refusal to give up and accept defeat. Whenever he watched one of her games, his heart swelled with pride, and though he was jealous, he wanted her to succeed.
He rolled onto his side and drew a deep breath. He was lucky to have her in his life. She always looked out for him. The few times someone made the mistake of bullying him, Lynn would beat them up. He didn't like his sisters getting involved, especially when it involved bullies: What kind of man sends his sister to beat up a bully? It made him feel an inch tall. But it also warmed his heart that she cared enough to go out and defend him. Not everyone has something so beautiful, and even if he felt weak and emasculated because of it, it touched him.
Breathing a sigh, his eyelids growing heavy, he felt such love for his sister that it scared him. He would do anything for her. She was special.
So special.
He loved her.
