Page 16 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

Whatever Lincoln was, it was nothing short of magic.

I’d resigned myself to jail time, but he’d gotten them to drop all of the charges against me.

And true to his word, I got three long-winded apologies coupled with thank yous for my service.

Even the officers in the precinct took the chance to shake my hand when they could.

I hated it. I hated being thanked for something they had no real comprehension of. Thank you for my service? Did they even understand just how much I’d sacrificed for this country? What I’d given up? What had been taken from me?

Their appreciation was sincere, but they had no real clue what it meant. What it encompassed. I hated it.

But even as they did, my focus was honed in on where Lincoln stood with a dark-haired man. Everything in Lincoln’s body language and expression screamed discomfort, like he’d rather be anywhere than where he was.

And the other guy? I recognized a bully when I saw one.

It took every ounce of restraint I had not to storm across the room and do something stupid all over again.

Punching someone in a police precinct probably wasn’t my best idea, but the look on Lincoln’s face?

It did something inexplicable to me. I couldn’t escape the conversations fast enough.

As soon as I was within earshot, I coughed loud enough to interrupt. The man turned while Lincoln’s expression turned appreciative.

“Sorry, but I need to talk to my lawyer,” I said, making it real clear I had no intention of leaving without Lincoln in tow.

“Right,” Lincoln replied softly. He gestured toward the exit, looking ready to run. “Let’s go.”

I was quick to put myself politely between the two of them—though I was real tempted to accidentally hit him with my guitar case as I passed.

“We’ll talk soon, Lincoln,” the other guy called after us.

Not if I could help it.

And what are you going to do? the voice demanded. He doesn’t need you or your help.

Lincoln didn’t say a word, but I did catch how the tension in his shoulders wracked up at the comment. He remained silent as we made our way to the elevator corridor, and I didn’t say a word, even as we just stood there waiting for one to open up.

“Friend of yours?” I asked when the doors shut.

“Hardly,” he muttered, pushing the button for the basement garage. He didn’t offer anything else, and I found myself oddly curious—wanting to know who the guy was.

And why would he? You don’t matter to him, the voice reminded me.

Right. It was right. Why would Lincoln tell me a damn thing about his life?

I didn’t push another button for a different floor, opting to just follow him to the basement garage. To at least make sure he got the hell out of there safely. I owed him that much. I could find an exit from there.

“Thank you,” I said into the uncomfortable quiet that had settled between us. His anxious, angry energy was palpable. I’d been around enough angry men to know what silent anger felt like.

“For what?”

“I’m not going to jail for one,” I retorted. That shit was obvious. “Not sure what the hell you did to pull that one off.”

“I threatened to destroy their lives as they knew them,” Lincoln replied a little too casually.

The door dinged as it opened. I just stared at his back as he exited, completely bewildered by the words that had come out of his mouth.

He what? When I didn’t move, he called over his shoulder, “Get off the elevator, Nash, before the doors close.”

“What the fuck do you mean by you threatened to destroy them?” I demanded while I followed.

“They’re assholes, so I was a bigger asshole.”

“Is there a video?” I asked because I wanted to see that shit. Hell, I’d pay to see that shit.

“Not a chance in hell,” he retorted, leading us across the garage. “Besides, it wasn’t all that spectacular. I know their type. Rich kids like that need their asses handed to them from time to time.”

A-fucking-men to that.

A quick double beep echoed off the walls, and the headlights of a sports car blinked.

I stopped to admire it with its custom blue color, sleek lines, and tinted windows.

It was the kind of car that cost a pretty fortune all by itself.

It was the kind of car I couldn’t fathom sitting in, let alone owning.

Lincoln paused as he opened the door, turning toward me.

Those blue eyes considered me with a stare that made me uncomfortable.

I shrugged my shoulder slightly, adjusting the straps of my bag and my guitar to sit better, while I tried to come up with something to say.

This was it. This was where our weird little encounter ended.

The best thing was to say goodbye and get the hell out of town.

It only made sense to put some distance between Lincoln and me before I continued to do stupid shit because of him.

You do the stupid things all on your own, the voice commented.

“Get in the car, Nash,” he ordered. He wanted me to do what?

“I don’t need a fucking ride.” I didn’t need him driving me around. I could take care of myself.

“You do if you’re coming home with me,” Lincoln shot back. “You owe me, so get in the car.”

What exactly did he think I owed him? The whole going home with him to do so didn’t go over well with me.

“I play for money, Linc,” I said, minding my words. “I don’t do other… stuff.”

He recoiled quickly with a look of surprise on his face.

“Jesus fuck, Nash! I’m not asking for that!” he exclaimed. “You need somewhere to stay that won’t have you calling me again to bail your ass out of jail, and I have a guest bedroom. So, you’re coming home with me, eat something, maybe take a shower, and get a good night’s sleep. Let me help you.”

Oh.

“No, I’m good.” I didn’t need his fucking charity or his pity.

Well, you are pitiful, the voice cut in.

“I’m good,” I repeated. “I don’t need your fucking charity.”

“Okay.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip as he considered my words.

I naturally tracked the movement, drawn to it like a moth to an open flame.

“My initial consultation fee is five hundred dollars, and it’s three-fifty for every hour after that.

I’ve been here almost two hours dealing with everything. ”

“Three hundred and fifty?” I demanded ludicrously. “That’s what you make an hour?”

There was no way in hell I could afford even a few minutes of his time.

“Yeah.” Lincoln nodded. “So, either you can pay my fee, or you can come home with me for a night and let yourself breathe a little. You pick.”

I frowned, his words touching a nerve. I couldn’t say no. It wasn’t like I could afford to pay him, and he knew that. And why was I fighting him anyway? The man was offering me a bed, a shower, and food. Most people in my position would kill for an opportunity like this.

Yes, but most people deserve to be helped. Not you, the voice stated.

“Fine,” I bit out. But I wasn’t going to like it.

Driving there had been an uncomfortable endeavor. I didn’t know how to exist inside a car as expensive as his. I was dirty head to toe. That was the reality of my life. I worried about what kind of mess I’d make just by sitting there, even after he assured me that it didn’t bother him in the least.

Lincoln’s condo was ten times nicer on the inside than it was on the outside. So much so that I didn’t know where to step when we entered the lobby. The floors were made of marble—the kind you could tell was real and not some fake lookalike shit. Each tile was worth more than my entire life.

While he stepped into the mail room to grab his mail, I waited awkwardly in the lobby. The security guard at the desk watched me like a hawk. Like I’d fuck something up, even without moving.

As I stood there counting the minutes, the front door opened and the park lady walked in. Her expression transitioned to horrified when she saw me. That horror gave quickly to anger as that nose turned up at me.

“I told you that this is a private area of town,” she sniped. This fucking woman. “You don’t belong in here.”

Even she knows where you belong, the voice chimed in.

“I’m sorry, ma’am—”

“He’s with me, Mrs. Moore,” Lincoln announced loudly as he stepped out of the mail room. “He’s my guest.”

The bewildered expression on her face was entertaining.

“And do you pick up men who sleep in the park often?” she demanded. “I caught him brushing his teeth across the street the other day! Just staring up at the building.”

“He’s a friend from back home.” He plastered a well-practiced smile on his lips. “You do know what friends are, don’t you, Mrs. Moore?”

I couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or sarcastic, but my money was on the latter. He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he tipped his head toward the elevator, and I trailed after him.

Jesus fuck, even the elevator was top-notch. Everything was digital and fancy. The damn thing even greeted us as the doors closed.

“You could’ve come upstairs, you know,” he commented as the elevator started up toward the third floor. “You didn’t have to stare through the windows.”

“Woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” I grumped. “Fucking senile.”

“She’s forty-two.”

“Young and fucking senile,” I corrected. Lincoln chuckled, a smooth sound I felt in my core. I glanced at him briefly to catch the smile he wore. Fuck, I liked that smile. I shouldn’t, but I did.