Page 65 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

LINCOLN

Nash couldn’t eat or drink, and the pain meds he had didn’t seem to do a damn thing to touch the migraine.

He shut himself in the room and said he’d work through it, promised he would.

After all, he’d been doing so for years without a roof over his head.

That singular thought was too difficult to swallow.

The more attached I got to Nash, the harder it became to think about his life prior.

I struggled to imagine what he’d been through.

Ultimately, focusing on that would get me nowhere.

I had to focus on the here and now of getting Nash through this headache.

After almost twenty-four hours in bed, he still had trouble keeping even water down.

The hospital was a no-go, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I could get him there without calling an ambulance anyway.

But I couldn’t just let him dehydrate either.

No food? Fine. No water? I knew that wasn’t helping any.

Thanks to friends who enjoyed drinking far too much, I knew of a handful of IV Hydration Spas.

With the right amount of money and signing up for a membership I didn’t want, I managed to schedule an in-home appointment.

Now, I just had to convince Nash to let Alma stick him with a needle while he was in pain.

At least I was prepared to make it as easy on him as possible.

I knelt next to the bed and gently ran my hand over Nash’s arm. He groaned but didn’t say anything. The room was pitch black, making it hard to see him.

“Hey,” I whispered.

“No,” he grumped as his arm tensed underneath me.

“I know,” I said. “I have someone here—”

“No doctors,” Nash interrupted.

“No doctors,” I assured him. “No medication. But you’re dehydrated, Nash, and that won’t help your pain at all.”

“Stomach…”

“I know,” I reassured him. “I’m not asking you to drink anything. I have someone here who can do IV hydration for you.”

“Fuck needles,” he grumbled, and I couldn’t help but smile. I still couldn’t imagine how a man covered in tattoos didn’t like needles, no matter how much he said the two weren’t the same.

“I need you to let me help you, Lucky, please,” I replied. The sigh he let out was heavy as the bed shifted slightly. Even in the dark, the weight of his stare was intense. “Please? I have headphones so you won’t hear her, and a blindfold to block out the light while she takes care of you.”

“Why do you have a blindfold, Linc?” The slight smile in his voice made me chuckle. Humor was a good sign.

“For the record, I bought this just for you,” I retorted.

“As the lawyer said… duly noted… for later.” Another sigh, and his fingers brushed against my shoulder. He mumbled, the two words jumbling together, “Gimme…”

“I’ve got you,” I said as I helped him slip the blindfold on. Before putting the headphones on, I paused to explain everything. “Once these are on, I’ll turn on the light. Alma will come in and hook you up to an IV.”

“No medicine?”

“I promise, there’s no medicine.”

“Will you stay?” Nash asked.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I hadn’t planned to anyway.

“Mmkay,” he mumbled. I slipped the headphones over his head, silently hoping they were enough because I could tell Alma was a talker.

I fell into the motions of taking care of him without hesitation while I called Alma into the room. Blindfold down, headphones snug, shirt rolled up. I sat next to him, fingers laced with his in a simple gesture of support.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “It’s just a crappy migraine.”

That was putting it mildly.

“You know,” she began as she set up next to his left arm, “we have a great migraine bag—”

“No,” I cut her off. “Just what we discussed.”

While I appreciated her drive to upsell, I wouldn’t do that to Nash. I wasn’t deviating from what I’d promised him. Having his trust mattered to me.

“He’s lucky to have you,” Alma commented, giving me a small smile when she glanced up from finding a vein.

“No, I’m the lucky one,” I told her without hesitation.

She prattled on about how cute we were together and a list of other things I barely processed. My mind was elsewhere as something uncomfortable blossomed in my chest. Something deeply instinctual.

A red flag of all the things I shouldn’t be feeling.