Page 6 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

LINCOLN

Itook a long drink as I steeled myself for the phone call I knew I had to make. There was only one person I knew that I could ask about Nash. Unfortunately, that person and I were barely on speaking terms, meaning this call was going to be a fucking disaster.

My uncle had wanted me to stay in Pine Creek and be a small-town lawyer.

He wanted me to help the people who had been there my whole life.

I didn’t want that. I enjoyed the challenge of bigger cases that could only happen in a big city.

I also wanted the money that came with a career like that.

Small town life didn’t suit me, nor was it the life I imagined for myself.

I didn’t suit my uncle as a result.

It wasn’t as bad when my aunt was still alive. She was great at smoothing things over between us and keeping his opinionated commentary in check. But when she passed away, all that went right out the window.

The rift between us had deepened to the point where we talked only once a year. I called him to wish him a happy birthday; he never called to wish me the same. My gift to him was letting him rip me a new one about abandoning the town that had taken care of me.

I wasn’t an unreasonable man. I understood where he was coming from. But I also didn’t believe that I owed anyone anything.

I didn’t owe anyone anything because my father had convinced my mother not to have an abortion when she found out she was pregnant.

I didn’t owe anyone anything because my mother had walked out on us when I was six months old.

I didn’t owe anyone anything because my father had dropped me off at my uncle’s house when I was seven and never looked back.

I didn’t owe anyone anything because they had decided to help me as I grew up.

I didn’t owe anyone a goddamn thing because I was just a kid when it all happened.

I was the oddball out with that thought process, though.

It was as if somehow all of that was my fault, and I needed to make up for it for the rest of my life.

My uncle and I would never see eye to eye on the matter, which made calling him out of the blue a pain in the ass.

Bracing myself, I downed the rest of my whiskey while the phone rang. I was tempted to hang up, but I knew if anyone would have answers about what had happened to Nash after I left, it’d be Beau Cassidy.

“You’re calling,” my uncle answered, his voice gruff yet not at all surprised.

“Yes, that’s what phones are for,” I clipped back.

And then he hung up. I blew out a frustrated breath. I hated calling him, but I tried again and hoped to hell he’d answer.

“You plan to keep being an asshole?” he demanded when he answered. I paused long enough to count silently to three. I wanted to snap back hard, but I held my commentary.

“Nash Calhoun,” I said instead to get his attention off of me. “What can you tell me about him?”

“That poor kid.” My uncle sighed heavily. “Why do you ask?”

“I remember seeing him when I was home for Mitchell’s bachelor party,” I replied. “He was drunk and seemed pretty rough around the edges.”

That was an understatement, but calling him a raging alcoholic didn’t seem right either. One moment in time didn’t tell me a lot about his state of mind at that time.

“Yeah, that didn’t change much,” he told me. “You know, most men just don’t come back the same. War is hard, Lincoln. It breaks you in ways you didn’t know were possible, and then it keeps on giving you shit you didn’t ask for. And that kid… well, he hasn’t had it easy like you did.”

Ah, yes, my life had been all sunshine and rainbows. Striding across my living room, I grabbed the whiskey from my bar and poured another drink. Was my life terrible? Not by a long shot. My aunt and uncle had been good to me, but before that?

Well, I compartmentalized the shit my father had put me through in the name of one thing or another. I could only think about it for so long before it became too much.

And the things that happened later on in life? Yeah, I compartmentalized that too.

“He already had the cards stacked against him, you know,” my uncle continued.

“Do you know what happened to him?” I asked.

“Oh, I haven’t seen that kid in the better part of seven… eight years? I can’t remember. Why are you asking about him?”

“I ran into him in the city.”

“Good for him,” he replied. I rolled my eyes. Oh sure, it was good if Nash left Pine Creek, but not me. Hypocrite. “I was hoping that kid would turn his life around. How is he? Did you talk to him?”

“I don’t know about all that, considering he’s unhoused,” I said. He let out another sigh.

“That poor kid. You know, you’ve had it good, Lincoln,” Beau began, and I seriously contemplated a third drink as I steeled for the commentary that came next.

One would think I was used to it by now, but I wasn’t.

I was just tired of trying to make him understand that being good to me didn’t erase everything else that had happened. “If he’s homeless, he needs help.”

“I agree—”

“Your help, Lincoln.”

“My help?” I repeated ludicrously. Why did I have to be the one who helped him? “There are resources—”

“Those resources suck,” my uncle snapped. “That man gave his life to protect you and your fancy lifestyle. What would you have if it weren’t for men like Calhoun? Nothing. You owe him.”

“I owe him—”

“Think of it as a way to repay this town for all it’s done for you,” he kept talking over me. Sitting on the couch, I rubbed two fingers to my temple as I listened to him ramble off all the things different people in the town had done for me over the years.

The teachers who helped me acclimate.

The counselors who helped me find direction.

The tax accountant who gave me my first job when I wanted to buy a game system as a kid.

The grocery store manager who gave me my second job when I wanted to buy a car.

The list went on and on and on. His thought process didn’t make sense to me.

The teachers and counselors were doing their jobs.

The tax accountant needed someone to clean and mow his yard after he broke his leg.

It was either pay a kid chump change or hire a legitimate company to do it.

He got off easy, considering how much I did for five dollars here and there.

The grocery store manager needed a bag boy, and I was the only person who had applied for the job.

It wasn’t about helping me out and giving me a one-up in life. That was just how the world worked.

“All right!” I interrupted, unable to take any more when he started going on about my baseball coaches over the years. His list was never-ending. “Fine. I will see how I can help him. Happy now?”

“It’s not about making me happy,” he retorted. “It’s about doing the right thing.”

“Right,” I murmured. “Of course.”

And then, because I was a masochist at times, I asked him how he was. I could’ve ended the call without asking, but he was still my uncle. I could ignore him often, but I still cared about him. At least, somewhat.

Happy early fucking birthday, old man.

As he laid into me all over again about all the things I could be doing for him and the residents of Pine Creek, my thoughts drifted to Nash and his situation.

A million and one little questions organize themselves in my head.

How long had he been unhoused? Seven years?

Eight? Longer? Less? What resources did he have access to?

Was he trying to get his life together? Or had he settled for exactly where he was?

One question led to another, and I realized the only person I could truly ask for answers from was Nash. But would he talk to me? Or would he brush me off like he’d tried to?

Had he really tried to brush me off? He’d shown his hand when he used that nickname.

Linc.

Just the thought of the nickname made something stir deep in my core—something foreign. Whatever it was, it only added to my interest in seeing him again.