Page 10 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

Letting my guard down long enough to get deep sleep in an empty precinct office didn’t happen.

I was too wound up. Always was. The gesture was a nice one, though, and admittedly, the quiet and warmth of the space let me doze on and off intermittently.

It helped stave off the pain just a little, so I’d take it.

The few hours gave me a new starting point.

When I was confident enough that I could get back out there without drowning from my headache, I forced myself to get up.

I didn’t want to overstay my welcome here. All kindness had limitations.

Talking in the hall made me pause with my hand on the doorknob.

“Why are you helping that guy?” someone asked.

“Oh, come on,” Bellingham replied. “The poor guy was blown up serving our country.”

I tensed, my temper flaring. I hated talking about my history, but I hated hearing others talk about it even more—like it was something that deserved to be discussed.

“The guy’s brain is broken,” he continued. “Sometimes we help him out. He’s a good one. It’s the least we can do, you know?”

My hand shook with anger on the handle as their conversation carried on down the hallway. I didn’t like people talking about me, especially not like that.

Broken. Pathetic. Useless, the voice ticked off qualities like it was making a goddamn list.

And it was. A list of all my best qualities.

At least you know your place, the voice insisted.

“Fuck off,” I grumbled. I was fully aware I was speaking to no one, but I didn’t care. I wanted out of there. The sooner I was gone, the less likely I was to hear any more stupid commentary about me. I knew I was being pathetic, but I didn’t need to hear how pitiful others thought I was.

I made my exit quietly, trying to avoid everyone. I managed to do so until I hit my third hallway, where I found Lincoln standing with some kid. Anger graced that gorgeous face of his.

“Now, listen to me closely, you little shit,” Lincoln snapped, making the kid scoff. “You have the right to remain silent, so use it. Use it. Do you understand me?”

Well, well. It looked like Lincoln Cassidy had a little bit of a temper underneath all that composed demeanor. That little tidbit of information fascinated me.

The kid mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like he didn’t give a fuck about the whole thing. Disrespectful little shit.

“I know you don’t care. I know I owe your father a favor,” he retorted. “But I can’t do my goddamn job if you keep shooting me in the foot every chance you get.”

“It’s not my fault you suck.” The kid shrugged. “Maybe you should do your job better.”

Snarky little shit.

Lincoln’s nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath, clearly trying to keep himself composed. Good on him. I would’ve hit the kid.

“Fine,” Lincoln bit out, conceding after a long moment. It made me real damn curious as to what kind of favor the kid’s father had done for him. “But stop talking to everyone who listens about what happened that night. Practice restraint, please?”

I still would’ve hit him.

I didn’t get a chance to dwell on it as Lincoln’s gaze flicked over the kid’s shoulder and met mine. Surprise crossed his face. It passed quickly, replaced with a hard expression that I couldn’t read.

Without a word, he ushered his client in the opposite direction. Something akin to disappointment weaseled its way through my chest at his quick departure without so much as a word to me.

Did you really think he’d be happy to see you? the voice scoffed.

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but I sure as hell knew that I didn’t understand what I was feeling. Why did I care if he ignored me?