Page 29 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

Do you know how hard you are to find?” The sound of Lincoln’s voice made me frown deeply. Damn it.

“Clearly not hard enough,” I muttered. My fingers slid off the strings of my guitar as I debated ignoring him—not that it’d do any good. The man was persistent. I’d give him that.

I’d found a new spot in a different part of town, something across from a coffee shop. The owner was a nice guy and didn’t mind my presence there at all. Hell, he usually brought me a fresh cup of coffee at the start of the day.

I’d managed to avoid Lincoln for a week.

It’s not hard to avoid someone who isn’t looking for you, the voice commented.

Considering he was here… I found that notion hard to believe.

“Is there a reason you’re avoiding me?” Lincoln asked when I finally glanced up at him. Did the man always have to look so goddamn good? Put together, fucked over, or dead asleep, he was too attractive for his own good. And my own.

“Never said I was avoiding you,” I grumped and leaned back against the brick wall. I sighed. This man would wear down my resolve to avoid him just by existing. What the hell was wrong with me? Why did he affect me like this? “I’m just… out here doing my thing.”

He made a sound, nodding and completely unimpressed with me.

“Come on, Nash,” Lincoln said. “I want to take you to dinner.”

“No.”

“I mean it, anything you want. I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“And if I said I wanted a steak and lobster dinner?” I didn’t. I hated seafood of any kind. I just wanted to get under his skin for having audacity.

“Do you want a steak and lobster dinner?” Lincoln demanded. When I said nothing, he rolled his eyes. “That’s what I thought. Stop being so difficult, and let’s go.”

“That is my middle name,” I told him without standing up.

“All right, Nash Difficult Calhoun, get your ass off the ground and let’s go.”

“Yeah,” I drew out the word as I considered him, “you sure as hell like being in charge, don’t you?”

“Please,” he scoffed. “We both know you’re just fine with being told what to do.”

Under the right circumstances, absolutely. This wasn’t that.

“Now, get up.”

I refused the idea of a nice restaurant—though he fucking tried—and settled on a simple diner just to get him off my back.

In the end, he looked more out of place with his thousand-dollar suit than I did with my worn clothes and old work boots.

At least that small fact made me feel a little better about the whole situation.

Even still, I struggled with ordering anything.

I was trying to save what little I did have to get my ass out of town.

The items on the menu were out of my budget, which was gas station protein bars at most.

“Order whatever you want, Nash,” Lincoln said as if sensing my struggle. That was easy for him to say. This was pocket change to him. “I offered, which means it’s on me.”

He pities you, the voice cut in.

Yeah, he did, and I knew that. It wasn’t hard to figure that shit out when there was a gaping canyon between the two of us. Lincoln and I weren’t a little different. We were from completely different worlds, just two men pretending like we existed in the same space.

“I mean that,” he added softly, and my gaze flicked to him. He nodded slightly to the menu that sat open in front of me. I realized it was pointless to argue with him. If I did, he’d probably order the whole damn menu to prove a fucking point.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” I grumbled but grabbed the menu anyway. He said nothing as he waited for me to make a decision.

I picked something simple—something bland—because I didn’t think my stomach could handle more. I’d lived on quarters of protein bars, water, and alcohol for so long that I wasn’t sure my stomach could handle a full meal.

“I have a proposal,” Lincoln began after the waitress left with our orders. I arched a brow but said nothing. “I want you to marry me.”

He what?

I scowled because I had to have heard him wrong. There was no way in hell this goddamn man had said those words out loud.

“I’m going to need you to repeat that.”

“I said, I want you to marry me.”

“Oh, you meant an actual proposal,” I said. Yeah, I was imagining things. That’s what was wrong with me. This whole moment was some wild figment of my imagination.

“I did.”

“You don’t even know my middle name.”

“We covered this.” He smiled in that disarming way of his. “It’s Difficult, remember?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I demanded, unable to comprehend this stupid shit from him. “Did you wake up and hit your goddamn head today? Who in their right mind grabs a stranger off the street and just asks him to get married?”

“Let’s face it, we’re not strangers,” Lincoln retorted. He paused as the waitress dropped off his Diet Dr. Pepper and my water, flashing her a quick smile as she did. I frowned at the damn near flirtatious exchange that happened between the two of them. Stupid, charming man.

Not sure why you care, the voice said. It’s not like he’s yours. Anyone is a better choice.

“I don’t use coconut oil like that with strangers,” he continued when she was gone, and I snorted. “You said you get migraines—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, leave it alone!” I cut him off, my voice loud enough to draw attention our way. I wasn’t going down this road with him. It was stupid and pointless.

“Shut up and let me talk, Nash,” Lincoln snapped.

Crossing his arms, he leaned on the table.

That intense stare was unnerving as I did exactly that.

In a hushed voice, he said, “I’m not an idiot.

It’s clear that your headaches are more than just a regular headache.

I’ve spent all week researching the VA and hearing stories about how hard it is to get anything done through them.

There are a lot of veterans who suffer because it’s just easier, which is bullshit.

I have damn good insurance, and I want to help.

Unfortunately, the only way I’m getting you on my insurance is if we get married. ”

“Well, that’s a dumb fucking plan.”

“Maybe, but you could see a real doctor and get real help.”

“And who says I want real help?” Once, a very long time ago, I had tried to see a doctor about the migraines, but jumping through hoops just wasn’t me.

When it became more difficult to deal with the healthcare system than it was to deal with the headaches—which was saying something—I gave up.

I didn’t have it in me then and certainly didn’t have it in me now.

“The healthcare system is broken, Linc.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But it’s easier to navigate when you have good insurance. I’m not saying I have the best insurance—I’m not even sure there is such a thing in this country—but I know it’d be a hell of a lot easier for you.”

“Right,” I murmured.

“Hell, I pay for the insurance every month, and I never use it. Think of it as you doing me the favor of helping me stick it to my insurance company.”

I had a hard time believing that. No one wanted to help, not without getting something from it. No one did anything out of the kindness of their heart. That whole concept was a fucking myth.

Everything has a price, the voice commented.

It was right.

“What do you actually get out of it?” I asked.

“I just want to help,” Lincoln said.

“You’re an idiot, you know that, right?”

“Maybe.”

“You are,” I insisted. I used the waitress’s appearance to just sit there and run through the entire conversation again in my head.

I struggled to make it make sense. This man wanted to marry me just so I could use his insurance.

Who the fuck did that? I couldn’t understand what he got out of it.

Sure, I’d get his insurance, but how the hell did it benefit him?

“This isn’t a relationship,” I said, clarifying that boundary real fucking fast. Neither of us needed that complication. But I also needed to make sure that wasn’t the benefit he got out of it. “I’m not dating you.”

“Please,” Lincoln scoffed. “I’m asking you to commit a felony with me, not date me.”

Well, when he put it that way…

“You could get in serious trouble,” I stated. “You know that, right? It’s a fucking felony, Lincoln.”

“Considering the amount it’ll cost my insurance, I could be looking at up to ten years in prison if we’re caught,” he replied. Ten years? Fuck, that was a long time. “I know. I did the research, Nash, but I won’t get caught. We won’t get caught.”

“You’re a cocky little shit.”

Are you going to let him go to jail for you? the voice asked. Drag him down with you?

I shoved back the thoughts. I needed a clear head as I processed his proposition, not tainted by my own self-loathing. Was I crazy for even considering it?

Selfish and crazy, the voice replied.

Wasn’t I the same person trying to get the hell out of Seattle just to avoid him?

And now what? I was going to marry him for his insurance? I knew I was crazy, but this would make me certifiable.