Page 131 of Carry On

CHAPTER 86

LINCOLN

Nashwasgone.

Nash was just… gone.

My brain couldn’t comprehend that. I knew it, but I didn’t want to know it. Tears had long since dried up. I didn’t have anything left in me, but I couldn’t move either. I just sat there, curled over Nash’s body, trying to soak up whatever little bit of time I had left with him like it’d make a difference.

Like I didn’t have to suddenly figure out how to move on from this moment.

“Hey,” Dean whispered. His hand smoothed between my shoulder blades. “We have to let them take him.”

“I don’t…” My voice broke.

“I know, Lincoln,” he said. “But it’s time, okay?”

He was right—I hated that he was right.

“Okay.” I didn’t want to, but I made myself sit up. Dean held onto my forearms lightly as he watched me closely. “I…”

I drew in a sharp breath, scrambling to try and regain some semblance of control. I couldn’t fall apart all over again.

“I know,” he replied softly. “I know, Lincoln. I know.”

At least one of us did. Everything was numb as I let him help me stand. Every time I faltered, desperate to collapse right back to the floor next to him, Dean kept me upright. He whispered small words of encouragement and directions, walking me across the condo.

“Where is everyone?” I asked when he sat me down in the bathroom and shut the door. I reached for it, wanting to open it—wanting to see—but he caught my wrist.

“You don’t want to watch, Lincoln,” Dean said. “You don’t need that as your last memory.”

A last memory…

Those words hit like a truck, slamming into me hard, and I drew in a shuddering breath. My eyes burned all over again, and I blinked rapidly.

“I don’t want a last memory,” I admitted pathetically. “I don’t want a last anything.”

“I know.” He grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom closet and turned on the sink.

I zoned in and out of it, trying to crawl back from the slippery slope I was sliding down. I lost sight of everything as I began to obsessively replay the day through my head.

The day.

The week.

The month.

I obsessed over every little detail, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong. Why hadn’t I seen it? Why hadn’t I paid better attention?

“Lincoln.” Dean’s voice cut through the haze. He knelt in front of me and brushed the warm rag over my cheeks, wiping away the tear stains. It wouldn’t help when I couldn’t stop crying.

“What did I do wrong?” I managed to say.

“You didn’t—”

“I did,” I insisted over him. “Maybe if I’d paid better attention… or done more or…”

“You couldn’t save him, Lincoln,” Dean interjected. The words cut like razors, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “You did everything you could, but sometimes… sometimes it just isn’t enough.”