Page 94 of Carry On

“Do you need me to explain how you lost?” Nash asked, his mood flipping as the curtains closed once more.

“No,” I muttered. “Maybe….”

“Set the pieces back up,” he ordered as he took another bite, “and I’ll show you.”

And I did just that because it was far easier than pushing him back toward the darkness.

CHAPTER 63

LINCOLN

NASH: They put the wrong fucking number in.

What do you mean they put the wrong number in?

NASH: Can you fucking read? What the fuck do you think that means?

Rulenumbersevenappliesto text messages too,” I snapped under my breath when Nash answered the phone. He was grumpier than usual this morning, which I suspected had to do with the weird chess analysis at the park.

“Yeah, well, then maybe don’t ask stupid fucking questions,” he shot back, his tone downright volatile. My skin prickled in response.

“I will not be your punching bag,” I retorted. “We talked about this. I’m trying to fuckinghelp.”

“Yeah, and what the fuck has your help gotten me? Another goddamn headache I don’t fucking need,” Nash said.

Ah, he had a headache. That explained so much. I sighed as I pinched the bridge of my nose and reclined in my office chair. Pain turned him into an asshole—the kind I had a hard time getting through to.

“What did the doctor say?” I asked. I chose to redirect the conversation rather than engage his anger. It was the smarter choice.

“Your fucking insurance company denied the fucking referral because the fucking doctor put the wrong fucking number in the wrong fucking spot!” he raged. That was a whole lot of fucks for such a short sentence. “I thought you said he was good at his fucking job.”

“He is.”

“I doubt it. He can’t even put in the right fucking number.”

“Accidents happen, Nash,” I assured him. Did it suck that it was onthisthat the doctor screwed up? Absolutely. Nash’s trust in the system was paper-thin at best. This wouldn’t help that. “They’ll correct it—”

“No! No, I have to fucking call them to ask them if they can correct it,” he cut me off. “And you know what happened when I tried to fucking call?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“I—”

“I can’t get anyone to fucking answer the phone. They wanted me to leave a goddamn message and wait seventy-two-fucking-hours to get a call back! That’s seventy-two hours in business days! Fucking business days!”

“That’s—”

“The whole fucking system is broken.”

“I—”

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this stupid fucking plan.” Nash kept on raging, and I tuned him out for a moment as I did my best to maintain my calm. Even through the phone, his anger set me on edge, each angry bite cutting through my resolve.

After a few minutes, I knew I had to shut him up. There was just no way I could keep going like this. His anger was too much.

“Okay, look,” I said loudly over him. Thankfully, he shut up. “I understand it’s frustrating, but yelling at me won’t do a damn thing.”

Other than piss me off.