Page 20 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

Ahand touched my shoulder, and I reacted, pulled blindly out of my sleep. Instinct guided my every move.

Tug.

Pull.

A yelp.

Twist.

I dragged the enemy to me, an arm locked around their throat. My heart galloped wildly in my chest as I saw red.

Had to kill.

Had to survive.

I drew in a deep breath while my hold slowly tightened.

“Hey, hey, hey!” a panicked voice exclaimed, tight and strangled. The sound of it sliced through the sleep-ridden haze. He slapped my arm rapidly. “Just me! Just… me! Nash!”

The trickle of awareness took a moment to filter in.

Hard floor.

Four walls.

Two windows.

Inside.

Just Lincoln.

No bombs.

No gunfire.

No enemy combatant.

No threats.

Just Lincoln.

I released him and surged to my feet, breathing hard as I put some distance between us. I ran a hand through my hair and tugged slightly on the strands for the pain. I ran through it all again.

Hard floor.

Four walls.

Two windows.

Inside.

Just Lincoln.

No bombs.

No gunfire.

No enemy combatant.

No threats.

Just Lincoln.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered a little pathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he said. The words came out without hesitation, like it didn’t matter to him. Like I hadn’t just tried to choke him out. He adjusted his tie and fixed his suit.

“No,” I shook my head, “I shouldn’t have…”

I faltered, struggling to figure out the right words.

Shouldn’t have fucked it up like always, the voice cut in.

Yeah, that sounded about right.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. There wasn’t much else I could say about attacking him in his own home.

“You’re fine, Nash,” Lincoln assured me.

He took a moment to shove his hands in his pockets as he glanced around the room.

I could see the way his brain turned as he took everything in.

I hadn’t touched the bed. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep on something so nice.

Some part of me was positive I’d fuck that shit up too if I did.

Instead, I camped out on the floor, using my bag as a pillow like always. “You could’ve used the bed.”

“I know. I wasn’t…”

I wasn’t sure what I was trying to say—what I could say. My brain was too jumbled to make any real sense of shit. Somewhere far away, I could still hear gunfire and screaming. Could still feel the heat on my skin.

I made myself run through it again. To ground myself.

Hard floor.

Four walls.

Two windows.

Inside.

Just Lincoln.

No bombs.

No gunfire.

No enemy combatant.

No threats.

Just Lincoln.

“It’s okay.” He smiled, an affection so easy that I envied it. Did he know how beautiful he was when he smiled like that? Easy and unencumbered. Carefree and genuine. “I have to go to work.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t sure why he was telling me that.

“I’ll be home…” He paused, clicking his tongue as he thought about it. “I have court today, so… probably around six after everything is said and done. Make yourself at home. Whatever you need, just help yourself to it, okay?”

I nodded because that was a foreign concept. I hadn’t had a home in a long time, and that wasn’t changing. This wasn’t my home. I didn’t belong here.

You don’t belong anywhere, the voice not-so-politely reminded me.

Right as always.

“I’m leaving my personal phone,” Lincoln continued, completely unaware of my sliding spiral.

I ran another rough hand through my hair as I turned away from him to glance out the window.

The sun was barely up, leaving the sky a pretty shade of pink.

I clung to that as I ran through it all again, feeling that my hold on reality was wobbly at best.

Hard floor.

Four walls.

Two windows.

Inside.

Just Lincoln.

No bombs.

No gunfire.

No enemy combatant.

No threats.

Just Lincoln.

Just sweet and gentle Lincoln with his inexplicable desire to help me.

Does he want to help you, or does he pity you? the voice asked.

Probably the latter.

“My work phone is saved under my name,” Lincoln kept on talking, and I did my best to keep up, “so if you need something and need to call me, just call my work phone.”

“You have two phones?”

“It’s a necessity in my line of work. I work with a long list of people who I’d rather not have my personal contact information,” he explained. That made sense. “If you need me, just call me.”

“Okay.” I wouldn’t.

“Your clothes are in the dryer for you as well.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem. It’s not like you need to argue with all the fucking buttons like I do.” He chuckled as he started out the door.

“And, Linc?” I called after him. He paused in the doorway. “Thank you for everything.”

“Anytime,” he said with another one of those smiles I liked. I knew he meant it. I didn’t know much of anything about him, but I could tell he was one of the good ones.

I could feel the pending migraine building in my skull, the ache minimal. I had to get the hell out of there. I refused to crash and burn while at Lincoln’s place. Besides, I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.

My clothes were warm straight from the dryer and taunted the line of being dangerously comfortable. I didn’t need to get comfortable with something like this. I didn’t know the next time I’d have access to these kinds of luxuries.

I double and triple-checked everything to make sure I left his home exactly as it was before I arrived. I’d taken the time during his little house tour to make sure I knew where shit was and made sure not to affect it.

The only thing I took was a loaf of bread.

Stealing from the guy who opened his home to you isn’t a good look, the voice chastised.

Except I wasn’t stealing. I planned to pay him for it.

Inside my underwear band was the best place to keep little bits of extra cash I managed to earn.

I had a little pocket cut and sewn in there for exactly that.

Some people stole bags, and other people stole the clothes right off your back, but no one touched your fucking underwear.

That was just the reality of that shit, and I used it to my advantage.

Not that I blamed them. I knew the kind of diseases and crap that went around the homeless crowd—not everyone, but definitely some of them. It wasn’t their fault, either. That was just the reality of this life we were stuck with.

It was also the same reason why I hadn’t had sex in over eight years. I couldn’t afford a doctor, and I wasn’t about to fuck around with that kind of thing.

The bread was some brand I’d never heard of, probably something organic and expensive. I didn’t have much, and it probably wasn’t even enough to cover the cost, but I tried. That had to count for something.

It doesn’t, the voice commented.

I ignored it as I left the few bucks I had neatly organized on the counter for him to find, along with a thank-you note.

Easing my bag and guitar case onto my shoulder, I double and triple checked the door to make sure it was locked before I left with the intention of never seeing Lincoln again.