Page 136 of Carry On

LINCOLN

Therewasonemoreperson I needed to talk to, but finding an old man feeding pigeons wasn’t an easy task. To be honest, I had no idea what Jay looked like or exactly where to find him. All I knew was that he was the one person Nash cared about that wasn’t family. It was only right that he knew before the paper ran his obituary.

Fuck, I hated that thought.

Unfortunately, all I had to go on was a name, pigeons, and a handful of parks that he might be in.

I spent an entire morning wandering from park to park in a rough attempt to find a man feeding pigeons. Apparently, feeding pigeons was a common activity for older men. By the time I approached a sixth man sitting on a bench, I was feeling defeated. There was no way this plan could work.

This was just one more way I’d fail Nash.

“Are you Jay?” I asked someone for the umpteenth time.

“I am.” Faded green eyes met mine. The color was a little too familiar for comfort, but I swallowed my unease. He gave me a warm smile. “Have you come to feed the pigeons with me, young man?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever fed a bird in my life,” I told him in earnest. Still, I sat when he patted the bench beside me. He offered me a slice ofbread, which I took. “Truth be told, I don’t like birds. And pigeons are just nuisances.”

“Did you know… that people are to blame for the sheer number of pigeons in cities?”

“I did not.”

“People used to keep pigeons as a hobby… messengers, racing, pets,” he explained as he gave my piece of bread a light tap. I followed his example, tearing off small pieces and flicking them toward the birds surrounding us. “People outgrew their interest in pigeons and just discarded them like they were trash. It’s not the pigeon’s fault that they did what they do best: fucking, flying, and feasting.”

I barked out a laugh, taken aback by his brashness.

“I guess that’s one way to do life,” I commented.

“I’d say it’s a hell of a way to live life,” he replied. “Now, with that little lesson out of the way, what can I do for you, young man?”

That same discomfort and sadness blossomed in my chest. I hated telling people. I hated saying the words outloud. Charlotte, Peter, Sebastian, my boss… every time I said it, it just hurt more.

And every time I told someone that Nash was gone, it made it all the more real. That little hope I was holding onto that this was some horrible dream fractured and faded.

“Do you know Nash Calhoun?”

Jay’s entire demeanor changed, his shoulders tensing and his lips pressing together in a frown. He said nothing, and neither did I. I just waited as he tossed bread to the birds.

”When?” he asked softly. There was no question of whether it was even a possibility. No disbelief. No shock. It was like he knew this was coming.

“Four nights ago,” I whispered.

“Damn it.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I had hoped things would change for him.”

“You knew?”

“Nash has been battling his darkness for a long time,” Jay said. He reached inside his jacket to grab his wallet. I watched in silence as he pulled out a crumpled picture and handed it to me. Two men sat on an old couch with a little kid between them. Despite how young he was, I recognized Mitchell. The other guy looked a lot like Jay, only decades younger.

And the little boy… I’d recognize Nash anywhere. The toy guitar and mop of blond hair helped.

“Who…”

“That’s three generations right there.” He tapped a finger on the picture. “That was the last time I saw my son.”

“You’re his grandfather.” Nash had never told me that piece of information.

“He didn’t know,” Jay explained. “I wasn’t a great father… no, I was a shitty father. It took me a long time after Vietnam to fight my demons and get my life back, but it wasn’t enough to fix my relationship with Mitchell. I wasn’t there when he grew up. I was…”

“PTSD sucks,” I muttered.