Page 73 of Carry On

“He’s diff—Jesus Christ, Lincoln,” he scoffed. “You got attached to this guy, didn’t you?”

And therein was the problem.

I said nothing. I didn’t need to. From the look on Dean’s face, my attachment issues were written all over my expression.

“Are you a masochist?” Dean demanded. “After everything you’ve been through, you have to be a goddamn masochist to put yourself through this.”

“He’s not a bad guy!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do—”

“No, you don’t!” he snapped over me. “You’ve known him for what? A couple of weeks?”

“I don’t expect you to understand it,” I said, “but we have a connection.”

One I had no idea how to explain to anyone. I was painfully aware of Nash right down to my very core. I couldn’t put words to it. Try as I might, I couldn’t make heads or tails of this wild and inexplicable thing between us.

“Lincoln.” His voice dropped in volume but not in frustration. “You need to use that beautiful fucking brain of yours for five minutes here—theone that got you that law degree. Letting your heart do all the talking is what got you in that whole mess with Chris.”

“That wasn’t my fucking fault,” I shot back.

“No, it wasn’t,” he agreed quickly. “But we also have to take accountability for the choices we made while in the situation, and you, my friend, think with your heart and not your head. You can’t do this.”

“Are you saying I’m not allowed to date?” I frowned.

“What I’m saying is you can’t marry a man you just fucking met!” he hissed. “Date? Fine. I don’t fucking care. But be smart about it, or you’re just going to end up hurt again.”

“I’m not…” My words trailed off as I glanced around the bar. I wanted to believe that I was right, and he was wrong. I wanted to believe that Nash wouldn’t hurt me. And maybe he wouldn’t. Not intentionally. But the dark stuff he battled? That scared me. There was so much depth to Nash that I couldn’t touch. He was an amalgam of things I couldn’t begin to understand. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. “Have you ever thought about killing yourself?”

“Lincoln.” His entire demeanor changed, and I backtracked quickly, realizing he thought I was talking about my own thoughts.

“Not me. I’m fine.” Or at least as fine as someone with my history could be. “Nash has a history with suicide, and I just… I don’t understand why. I don’t understand how someone gets to that point. How does someone want to kill themselves?”

“Because sometimes the pain is too much,” Dean whispered, “and you’ll do whatever it takes to make it go away.”

The absolute certainty in his voice was harrowing. I scrutinized him. Dean’s life was nightmare fuel. I was all too aware that I only knew a fraction of the awful things he’d been through. I knew how much it affected him—how he couldn’t handle being touched, how he couldn’t maintain friendships, how he’d been alone for most of his life. I couldn’t begin to fathom the depth of his pain.

“You’re lucky, Lincoln,” he said. “You’re lucky that you don’t know what that’s like. That’s a burden you don’t want to understand.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied softly, but he just shook his head.

We sat in silence, but Dean’s tortured thoughts were loud, written clear as day on his face. The guilt nagged at me. That was my fault, and I couldn’t fix it for him either.

“What I’m trying to say,” he began with a sigh, “is that I love you, Lincoln, and you’re the only person who gets me. We don’t hang out or talk regularly, but I do care about you. I care about what happens to you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I kept my mouth shut and merely nodded, not really sure how to respond to that.

“Just be careful,” Dean continued. “Please?”

“I will.”

CHAPTER 52

NASH

Myfingersdancedalongthe guitar strings, each note etched into my soul. The movements were muscle memory, ingrained into every inch of who I was. Music was easy. Music made the darkness roll back, even for just a moment. It quieted the voice in my head that tormented me.