Page 14 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

Punching the kid? Probably not my best idea, but fuck, it was satisfying, even if I was paying for it now.

I fussed with the handcuffs that kept me secured to the table.

Three broken noses and a few black eyes equaled three charges of assault.

No one even gave a fuck about my side of the story.

Not that I bothered to tell it. No one wanted to know what the violent homeless man had to say. I wasn’t worth it.

No, you’re not, the voice agreed.

I groaned and let my head fall to the table.

Napping in an interrogation room didn’t look good—I knew that—but we all knew I was guilty of beating their asses.

They were lucky I hadn’t done more damage, especially considering I could have.

I was trained to do a hell of a lot worse.

I might as well have used the time to take a nap in a warm space for a while.

When the door opened, I glanced up. Instead of an officer, Lincoln stepped in. He looked composed and professional as he stood there in an expensive suit, like I hadn’t just pinned him against a wall and kissed him a few hours ago.

He’s trying to forget it, the voice said.

I wouldn’t blame him.

“Seems like you got yourself in a hell of a predicament,” Lincoln commented as he pulled out the only other chair in the room. He sat down and folded his arms, leaning on the table. Those blue eyes stared at me and sent the temperature in the room skyrocketing with his intensity.

“Are you going to represent me or not?” I asked. I had no desire to entertain the back and forth with him.

“How do you know me?” he replied instead. My brows furrowed together. What kind of question was that? Was this some kind of game? If so, I wanted no part of it.

“What?” I demanded.

“I’ll ask you again, and if you don’t answer or choose to be a dick about it, you can find a different lawyer.

The public defenders are mediocre at best in this district.

I wouldn’t count on them getting you out of jail time for three counts of assault.

They’ll probably have you taking a plea deal—”

“Yes, I fucking know you,” I interrupted with frustration as I realized this had everything to do with what had happened outside the coffee shop. “We met once—”

“Twice,” Lincoln corrected.

“I don’t think it was twice.” I would’ve remembered that.

Would you, though? the voice asked.

“You were drunk,” he told me.

Of course you were, the voice said. Always drunk, never remembering.

“I was in a bad place,” I said, mostly talking to the voice, but it benefited Lincoln as well. At least this time.

“I could tell,” he conceded. Thankfully, he didn’t ask for anything more.

“So, yeah, I lied,” I continued to give him exactly what he wanted: the acknowledgment that I’d been full of shit outside the coffee shop.

“Why?”

“Why the fuck do you think?” I scoffed. The handcuffs rattled as I awkwardly attempted to gesture between the two of us.

“You and me, we aren’t the same, Linc. There’s not a thread of fucking anything that connects us.

We’re just two people living in the same goddamn world. That doesn’t warrant chasing after.”

I didn’t deserve to be chased after.

No one is chasing after you, the voice said.

“Right.” Lincoln nodded slowly. “That’s a load of bullshit. You know it, I know it, and everyone else knows it. Just say you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Fine, I didn’t want to talk to you,” I retorted angrily. “Happy now?”

“No.” Well, at least he was honest. “Tell me what happened tonight.”

“I can’t pay you,” I told him. This was stupid.

He was a private defense attorney. Why the hell had I asked the officer to call him?

It wasn’t like I could pay for his services.

My drive to stay out of jail had made me a little more than desperate.

I liked being able to disappear into the world.

Being locked up with idiots didn’t sound appealing.

He doesn’t owe you for your own stupidity, the voice commented.

“I gathered that. Tell me what happened tonight.”

And so I did. At least mostly. I left out how impulsive I’d been for kissing him or how he was the reason I broke my routine. I couldn’t exactly blame him for my brash behavior.

When I finished, Lincoln took out his phone and had me tell him all over again. He took notes, asked questions, and irritated the hell out of me as he pried information out of me that didn’t feel pertinent to my case. Why? I didn’t have a fucking clue, and he didn’t bother explaining it.

“All right.” He pushed out his chair as he stood.

“All right?” I demanded. “What the hell does all right mean?”

It means you’re not worth helping, the voice offered up.

My scowl deepened as a result.

“It means, sit tight,” Lincoln said. “I’ll have you out of here shortly.”

“Have me out of here?” I repeated ludicrously. “What the hell—”

“Do you want an apology?” he interrupted, one hand on the door.

“What?” I just stared at him dumbly. Was he fucking nuts?

“I’m thinking they need to apologize,” he mused. “Yeah, all three of them. Sit tight. I’ll have you out of here shortly.”

He was gone before I could say another word. Whatever the hell he was on, I wanted some of it. I’d rather be his kind of delusional than mine.