Page 59 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

LINCOLN

Icrossed my arms, my lips pressed together tightly, as I stared out the balcony door.

Nash was asleep in one of the chairs outside with his feet propped up on the rail.

Had he fallen asleep out there? Or was it intentional?

Was he not adjusting to living here as well as I thought?

Most nights, he slept in his room if he wasn’t in mine.

At least, I thought he was, but I was beginning to question whether he was or not.

I debated waking him up, but I wasn’t sure if I should. He looked so damn peaceful. Ultimately, the pending storm hovering over the city won. I’d be an asshole to let him get rained on.

That thought gave me pause, my hand on the door. How had he sheltered from the rain in the past? Did he go somewhere? Or just… sat there in the rain until it passed? That thought made my heart hurt.

And, yes, I knew that thousands of people experienced the same reality, but it bothered me immensely that he had gone through it.

He didn’t wake when I opened the door, and he didn’t wake when I said his name. Well, at least he was sleeping well. I knew sleep was a struggle for him. That only made me feel worse for having to wake him up. Reaching for him, I gave his shoulder a light shake.

His response was nothing short of volatile as he shot to his feet. I was caught in the line of fire as he lashed out. The world turned upside down in a blur.

His arm locked hard around my neck, cutting off airflow.

“Nash!” I gasped—a bad idea. The whoosh of air from my lungs left me scrambling to breathe.

Fuck, he was strong.

I scrambled to free myself, attempting to grapple with him.

My lungs screamed, desperate for air.

I smacked and yanked at his arm in an attempt to get his attention.

But nothing.

Doing the only thing I could do, I elbowed him hard in the rib cage and prayed to hell it was enough to knock him out of his haze.

He grunted, but if anything, his hold tightened.

Darkness pulsed in the corner of my vision.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I jabbed him once more.

Harder.

The oof he let out was encouraging, and he dropped me.

My knees gave out while the rush of air had my head spinning.

I grabbed onto the door to keep from collapsing.

I closed my eyes and attempted to get my breathing under control.

Hacking coughs made it damn near impossible.

Every breath scraped against my lungs, and my throat burned.

“Lincoln…” Nash began, but I waved him off.

I managed to stumble my way into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Trying to do something to ease the pain in my throat, I took a big gulp and immediately spit it out in a cough fit.

“Fuck!” I rasped.

Nash was right there, too close for comfort. For as guilty as he felt, I was a livewire charged up and angry. I couldn’t feel bad about the expression on his face.

“Let me help—”

“You need help!” I bit out angrily, my voice breaking and cracking with the words. Talking fucking hurt. My lungs fucking hurt. I didn’t even want to think about what I looked like. I muttered hoarsely, “Fuck, I can’t go to work like this.”

“Lincoln…” He reached for me, and I flinched.

Lord fucking help me, I flinched at the idea of him touching me. The reaction was pure instinct.

Nash saw it too and retreated, moving across the kitchen with his hands shoved in his pockets.

I couldn’t stay there, but I couldn’t go to work. There was no way in hell I could show up looking like I did.

“I need to go,” I barely managed to whisper. He said nothing, thankfully. I didn’t trust myself to respond in any kind of way. I just needed to get out of there and get my head on straight again.