Page 5 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

Ishouldn’t have called him Linc. What a stupid fucking mistake. If I hadn’t, he would’ve just brushed me off. Would’ve left me the fuck alone. But now? Now, he knew.

Just because he remembers you doesn’t mean you matter to him, the voice retorted.

And it was right. Just because Lincoln Cassidy knew who I was didn’t change a damn thing. We were worlds apart. He was probably somewhere having a good laugh about the whole thing.

Nash fucking Calhoun: broken, homeless guy.

Yeah, I knew what the world thought of people like me. I had no reason to believe Lincoln was any different.

And yet… here I was, standing across the street at the park once more and staring up at Lincoln’s condo. I stood there and brushed my teeth in the dark as I watched him.

Call it what it is. You’re stalking him, that voice taunted.

Maybe I was stalking him. Just a little bit.

I spat out the toothpaste and ran my tongue over my teeth. A toothbrush and toothpaste were a few of my essentials. We all had certain things we’d squirrel away whatever change we collected so we could buy them.

Toothbrushes, toothpaste, alcohol, and protein bars were mine. I could make a protein bar last for days, I needed alcohol to make the voice inside my head shut up, and I couldn’t stand the buildup taste in my mouth if I didn’t brush.

Everything else was subjective. Even water.

Somehow, it felt like Lincoln was weaseling his way onto that list—the list of things I needed to get by. I had no other reason to explain why I was standing outside his place. Why I was watching him. Stalking him.

I wanted a glimpse of his life. I wanted to see what he’d made for himself.

What was his condo like? Was it nice? Cozy and comforting? Or was he one of those guys who had a bachelor pad? Cold and unwelcoming. Meant to make sure people left in the morning.

If I had to guess, I’d say it was the first. The potted plants by the window were a good hint at that. The rest? Well, I just fantasized about the little details.

Fantasize away, the voice said. It’s not like you’ll ever know.

It was right. It was always right.

But man, the fucking fantasy sounded like a nice alternative to my reality.

I watched how he paced back and forth, talking with someone on the phone. He looked mad. Upset? Something in his twisted expression made me wonder what was wrong.

It stirred something deep inside me. Something I long thought dead. The fixer part of me. The protector. The part of me that once would’ve swept in to solve the problem.

I couldn’t fix Lincoln’s problem. Hell, I couldn’t begin to imagine what his problems were. Still, a part of me wanted to help him.

You’d fuck it up. You fuck up everything, that voice reminded me.

Yeah, that part was true.

But it clashed with the fixer part of me—the part that wanted to know why he was upset and how to fix it. Or even just be the person he talked to about it. The conflicting nature of both things frustrated me to no end.

A throat clearing caught my attention and dragged me back from the ledge of wallowing and fantasy. I rotated slightly to find a very well-dressed woman standing rigid on the sidewalk. She carried her dog while she stared at me, the disdain on her face clear as day.

“Ma’am,” I greeted, trying my best to keep my voice pleasant. I didn’t need the cops called on me. Most of them never did shit. They just told me to move along, and that was it. Some were real assholes, though, and I didn’t feel like dealing with that kind of shit tonight.

Her gaze swept over me once more, and her mood soured further. Fuck.

She sees you for what you are, the voice commented.

“This is a private park,” she told me. In other words, I didn’t belong in her corner of the fucking world.

“Message received loud and clear, Ma’am,” I said and shouldered my stuff. Her glare damn near burned a hole in my back as I walked away in search of somewhere else to put up for the night.

And obsess over why Lincoln Cassidy had me thinking thoughts a man like me didn’t deserve to have.