Page 56 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

Frustrated, I pushed the laptop away from me. I hated the stupid thing and everything it stood for.

Another job opening, another realization that I didn’t fit.

Didn’t have the education.

Didn’t have the experience.

Didn’t have the references.

It pissed me off. How the hell was anyone supposed to get ahead in this fucking world? My military experience was worthless to these people because it was so long ago.

You’re worthless, the voice reminded me ever so bluntly.

That cell phone Lincoln had given me dinged, and I struggled to get it out of my back pocket. The ridiculous thing was bulky and obnoxious, but I suffered through it because I was supposed to. This and all the other little technological things that made the goddamn world go round.

LINCOLN: How is the job search going?

“Fuck,” I muttered. I dropped the phone on the table, not giving a fuck if it clattered. Hell, it could’ve broken for all I cared.

I’d told him I’d get a job. Promised him. It was supposed to be an easy task. Who the fuck couldn’t get a goddamn job?

You, the voice commented.

Of course, me.

Because I didn’t fucking qualify for anything. Anywhere.

Well, that was a lie. I could get a retail job—maybe—but there was a damn good chance that I’d fuck someone or something up if I got a job working with the general public. I didn’t like people enough to deal with the general public.

It’s going.

LINCOLN: That’s so cryptic.

I don’t know what you want from me. It’s going. That’s the best I’ve fucking got.

LINCOLN: Okay.

LINCOLN: Do you need any help from me?

No.

I ran a hand over my face, frustrated as fuck. I didn’t know how to make him understand.

No one can understand, the voice replied.

I knew that all too well.

LINCOLN: So, you know how we’ve talked about making this whole thing look real?

Are we talking about repeating last night?

LINCOLN: Mrs. Moore saw us last night.

Fuck.

That bitch probably had a laundry list of things to say to him. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d gotten him in trouble.

I’m sorry.

LINCOLN: I’m not.

LINCOLN: It was absolutely worth pointing out to her that she was the one who continued watching.

Jesus fuck. For how long?

LINCOLN: Long enough to have opinions on what we did.

LINCOLN: I made sure to point out that she kept watching.

That last line made me genuinely laugh. For someone so goddamn professional, this man had a snarky side that I enjoyed.

LINCOLN: Anyway, the point of my conversation is not about repeating last night, but rather our agreement to make this thing look real.

Correct.

LINCOLN: Do you like beer and brats?

I could be convinced.

LINCOLN: And how do you feel about lawyers and romance writers?

Less likely to be convinced.

LINCOLN: Stay with me, Lucky. It’s important.

LINCOLN: We’ve been invited to go out with Sebastian.

Prosecuting attorney, long-time friend, law school buddy.

LINCOLN: You paid attention.

Of course, I paid attention. The irony of our entire situation was that I was more dedicated to making this work for his sake than for my own.

He’d put a lot on the line to help me. The last thing I needed to do was fuck it up.

Fuck him? Absolutely, in so many ways, because why not? But fuck him over? Absolutely not.

Yes.

LINCOLN: He and his brother invited us out for brats and beers to meet you.

To interrogate me.

LINCOLN: I wouldn’t call it an interrogation per se.

But law school friend isn’t convinced.

LINCOLN: Not really.

LINCOLN: Milo is a romance author, so that’ll at least alleviate the mood some.

Same romance author you have hordes of books from on your shelves?

LINCOLN: I’m not answering that.

I found the art, Lincoln.

LINCOLN: Fuck.

Maybe you shouldn’t hide it in the actual books.

LINCOLN: It’s the smart place to store those.

Maybe I could give him pointers on his characters using coconut oil.

LINCOLN: Don’t you fucking dare.

I absolutely would just to see the look on Lincoln’s face.

LINCOLN: Does that mean you’ll join us?

Yeah, I’ll be there.

For Lincoln, I’d do whatever to make his life easier.

Except leave him alone, the voice commented.

LINCOLN: I’m sending you where to go and when. Let me know if you need some help filling out applications in the meantime.

Fuck. I didn’t want to fill out more applications. That sounded miserable. I knew all of them would be rejected. I didn’t fit anywhere. I was broken glass, better off discarded than saved. And that killed me because it was the one fucking thing Lincoln was counting on me to do.

All I was doing was letting him down one application at a time.

What did you expect? the voice said. You let everyone down.