Page 55 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

LINCOLN

Iwas never drinking again. Not that much. My head throbbed, my body ached, and my mouth was dry. The alarm blared painfully in my ears, and I grabbed a pillow, smashing it over my face. I wanted it to help, but it did nothing to muffle the sound.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered.

“Good morning, pookie.” While I liked Nash, his voice wasn’t one I wanted. Not at that moment. I let out some grumpy, borderline feral sound in response. “Is that to me calling you pookie, or to me waking you up?”

“Yes,” I grumped. ”I’m never drinking again.”

“Mmm,” he hummed rather judgmentally, “I highly doubt that, nugget.”

“No,” I retorted. Fuck no. This man wasn’t calling me nugget. Not in the fucking least.

“Do you remember last night?” Nash asked. I peeked out from under the pillow in time to catch the pensive expression on his face. Almost worried-like. Considering my history, I couldn’t blame him.

A deep appreciation for how he cared filled me. He didn’t have to care, but he did.

“Yup,” I replied. “Did we wash the window?”

“After the shower, you passed out, and I washed the window and the couch,” he said. “And I picked up your buttons.”

Right, because I’d torn my dress shirt open.

“Good.” I dragged the pillow back over my face with a grunt. “Now, leave me to reap the sorrows of my poor decisions—the drinking, not the sex.”

“Not today, cupcake,” he retorted. A moment later, the blankets and sheets were ripped away, leaving me cold.

“No,” I groaned. “Why?”

“You have work,” Nash reminded me.

“Fuck,” I said. I didn’t want to go to work.

“Here.” He tore away the pillow. The jackass.

Still, I sat up with a loud moan as I felt the movement in every part of my body.

I was also fairly certain that I was feeling Nash in places that would have me sitting in highly specific positions throughout the day.

I glanced up at him, and he looked far too handsome for six in the morning. “Take these.”

He held out two painkillers, which I took after accepting the bottle of water. I downed the pills and welcomed the water.

“Drink it all, boo,” Nash said.

“Still no,” I told him with a shake of my head.

“Take a shower,” he continued as if he didn’t hear me. “There’s breakfast and coffee in the kitchen for you. Coffee is on lockdown until you finish the water.”

He didn’t stick around as my sluggish brain tried to catch up with what he was saying. He cooked me breakfast? And brought me medicine? What the hell was this?

“You can cook?” I yelled out the open bedroom door.

“Yeah, and I’m damn good at it,” Nash hollered back.

“Well, shit,” I muttered. Instead of getting up, I flopped right back down to give my brain a chance to wrap around that little fact.

Well, that, and the fact that Nash was taking care of me.

Being taken care of by Nash was the absolute opposite of what I needed post my conversation with Dean. It did nothing to help my state of mind as I navigated my day. Well, that, and the awful hangover I had.

It made me irritable enough that even kicking Sebastian’s ass in court wasn’t enough to lift my mood. I needed a nap and probably another gallon of water before I’d feel more like myself.

“So,” Sebastian began as he fell in step alongside me outside the courthouse, “I heard a rumor around the water cooler that you got married.”

Well, fuck. That got around fast.

“What water cooler are you standing around?” I countered.

“The one where people are talking about you getting married.”

Double fuck. I didn’t like being talked about.

“Yeah.” I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I did.”

“That’s it?” he demanded and stopped on the sidewalk. Sighing, I did the same, facing him. “That’s all you’ve got to say to me?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused. “How about some details about how this happened? I didn’t even know you were dating anyone.”

“I kept—we kept it quiet. He’s not the kind of guy who likes attention.” That wasn’t a lie. Honestly, I didn’t think Nash ever would’ve been the meet-the-friends kind of boyfriend.

“So quiet that no one had a clue what was happening?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus fuck, Lincoln.” Sebastian let out a frustrated huff of air. “Are you really not going to give me anything?”

Okay, I could recognize the fact that I was being intentionally difficult due to my own irritability. This was what I got for drinking on a work night.

“I’m sorry,” I said. As I spoke, I picked up walking again, heading straight toward the coffee shop. “I drank a little too much last night, so I’m grumpy.”

“Well, you look like shit,” he replied with a chuckle.

“You’re so kind,” I muttered. “Yes, I got married.”

“Why?”

“Because I love him,” I lied. Mostly. I wasn’t sure I loved Nash—not by a long shot.

Hell, I wasn’t sure I was capable of loving someone again.

There were definitely complicated feelings involved of all kinds, but I wasn’t ready to touch on that.

I could acknowledge the connection, but I didn’t want to delve any further into it. “It was fast—”

“How fast?”

“—but I knew him back in Pine Creek,” I continued over him.

For all of a few minutes, but who was counting?

The drunken part of me the night before had wondered what it would’ve been like if I’d done more than shake his hand or pay his bar bill.

I kept those as drunken thoughts and did my damnedest not to think about that shit.

They were ridiculous thoughts. “We reconnected, and it just took a life of its own.”

“How fast?” Sebastian repeated.

“Six months.” That was the lie we’d agreed on. Fast, but not too fast. Okay, well, not too fast for normal people. For me, anything would be considered fast by the people who knew me.

“Six months!” he exclaimed. “Are you fucking crazy?”

And here came the tirade about what was I thinking? Did I really know this guy? Did I understand how I was setting myself up to repeat the last whirlwind romance I’d had?

This part, I’d steeled myself for. I knew how the people in my life would react to me getting married, especially so suddenly. No amount of explanation could fix that. So, I let him say his piece.

To be honest, I didn’t listen to a single fucking word because I knew everything he’d say. It showed when he held the coffee shop door closed and cut me off.

“Did you hear a word I just said?” Sebastian demanded. The expression on my face gave me away long before I said anything. “Jesus Christ, Lincoln. I want to meet him.”

“Okay,” I replied.

“Really?” The surprise on his face made me chuckle.

“Yes, really. It’s not like I’m hiding him.” Though knowing Nash, he would’ve preferred that I did.

“Well, look,” Sebastian opened the cafe door, “Milo’s in town—something about needing a break from his latest manuscript. Fuck if I know.”

I grinned. Sebastian’s little brother was a gay romance author of all things. Personally, I was a big fan. I had signed copies of all of his books and some art that I’d never let Nash find.

“Beers and brats?” he continued. “There’s that bar we used to go to—”

“Oh, the one sports one?”

“Yeah, the sports one.”

We hated the sports bar, but there was no denying they had damn good brats, cheap beer, and no limit to the drama that could take place. Hopefully, Nash would enjoy it just as much.