Page 78 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

LINCOLN

Getting Nash away from Charlotte and Mitchell seemed to lift a little bit of the darkness descending over him.

That single notion made it easier for me to breathe.

I nursed a beer while I enjoyed the misty night out on my balcony to give Nash and Peter some privacy inside.

Hearing Nash laughing, seeing him smile, watching the tension ease from his shoulders…

all of it made my heart swell with heavy emotions.

I sat there for hours. I didn’t give a fuck if I sat there all night. He was happy, and that was all that mattered.

“Do you know how obnoxious these car summoning apps are?” Nash demanded when he finally opened the glass door. He handed me another beer as he joined me.

“Car summoning?” I laughed at the word choice.

“That’s what they are!” he retorted. “And half of these guys look like fucking serial killers.”

“Go based on their reviews and number of rides they’ve given,” I told him, like he’d ever use the app. Nash didn’t trust people enough to get in a car with a stranger.

“That’s what Peter said too.”

“Well, he’s right,” I said. “He’s also six-four and a beast. I don’t think anyone is fucking with him.

“True. Watch this.” Nash smirked as he leaned over the rail. He shouted, “Peter!”

“What?” Peter yelled back, craning his head to look at him.

“Your shoe’s untied,” he replied. I scoffed. There was no way in hell he’d fall for that stupid shit. The kid was wearing cowboy boots.

“What—damn it, Nashville!” Peter exclaimed after looking down, making Nash laugh. “Fuck you.”

“Night, Reno.”

“Good night.”

“Hey!” Peter called up just as Nash was about to sit down. He went right back to the balcony, leaning on his elbows as he stared down at his brother. “I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you too, kid,” Nash said.

The sentiment warmed my heart. There was something incredible about being loved in any capacity by someone like Nash. The man gave very little of himself, and emotions weren’t something he showcased easily. At least the positive ones, anyway.

He stayed by the balcony rail until the car came to pick up Peter.

Hell, he remained there until the car was completely out of sight.

Only then did he flop into the other chair.

All the comfortable, at-ease emotions vanished from his face as he stared out at the city. That rapid switch in mood worried me.

“You okay?” I asked softly. The question was rhetorical. His struggle was evident on his face.

“No.” He took a long sip of his beer. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” I could give him that.

Sitting in silence, we drank beer and just watched the city. One beer became two, and the drinks went down easily without a single word between us. My mind buzzed happily right up until my phone vibrated on the table between us.

“Ah, yes. Here we go.” I sighed as my uncle’s name lit up my phone.

There was no avoiding this conversation.

The minute Charlotte said she knew Beau, I knew this was coming.

Apparently, gossip traveled fast in Pine Creek, even when it came all the way from fucking Seattle.

Answering, I put him on speaker because Nash looked genuinely curious. “Hello, Uncle—”

“What’s this I hear you got married?” he demanded, cutting me off. Ah, yes, that good, old Beau Cassidy charm was high tonight. I glanced at Nash and rolled my eyes.

“Hello to you too,” I said instead.

“I get a call congratulating me about my nephew getting married,” Beau retorted, “and that’s how I find out you married a man!”

“That man is Nash Calhoun.”

“Yeah, I heard that too,” he snapped. “I told you to help that boy. I didn’t tell you to commit fraud!”

Nash’s eyes narrowed, but I waved him off. Beau didn’t have a clue about the fraud aspect. It was nothing more than spewing his disbelief that his nephew could be attracted to men.

“It’s not fraud,” I said. “I happen to like being married to him.”

No lie there.

”So, what? You’re gay now?”

“Well, the term is bisexual,” I informed him very matter-of-factly. “And I’ve liked dick ever since I dropped on my knees for Carter Higgins behind the bleachers freshman year.”

Nash choked on his drink, rushing to his feet and hurrying across the balcony in a coughing fit.

“You don’t have to be crude about it,” my uncle grumped.

“No, but you don’t have to be homophobic about it either,” I countered. To no surprise of mine, he hung up. I tossed my phone down and watched it slide right off the table. Whoops.

“Do you always talk to your uncle like that?” Nash rasped. Clearing his throat, he sat back down in his chair.

“Eh.” I drew out the word. “My uncle’s a dick. He’s got opinions, and I don’t agree with those opinions.”

“Fucking dick,” he muttered.

“Hear, hear,” I agreed and offered the neck of my beer in a sordid cheers. He clinked his to mine.

“So,” Nash began after a sip, “Carter Higgins behind the bleachers, huh?”

“To be fair,” I retorted, “he came so goddamn fast that I’m not sure it counts.”

He spat out his drink all over again as I caught him off guard. Making him laugh was by far my favorite thing.

“Come on, Lucky, you and I went to the same school.” A fact that some days still boggled me. How many times had our lives intersected and neither of us knew? “You can’t tell me you didn’t go behind the bleachers at least once.”

“I didn’t,” Nash said. “But I did use the janitor’s shed with Zach Westin.”

“Did the school even have a janitor’s shed?” I frowned.

“And Boone Conrad.”

“That’s a hell of a name.”

“Jake Harding.”

“Oh?”

“Dylan Meyers… Maverick Green… Alexander Mason.”

“Wasn’t he the janitor?” I asked, the name sounding vaguely familiar.

“Yup.”

“Did you even go to class?” I demanded.

“I graduated, didn’t I?” He smirked, a little too proud of himself. And damn it, that look shot straight to my dick.

“That’s not saying much, Nashville,” I muttered into my beer.

“You were the nerd in class, weren’t you, Melvin?” he replied.

“Yes, I was.” I wasn’t the smartest kid in class by a long shot, but I was definitely the nerdiest. There was no doubt of that.

“Maybe we’ll go back to visit Uncle Beau, and I can corrupt the deceptively sexy nerd in the janitor’s shed,” he murmured.

“Please,” I scoffed. “I’ll do a lot, but there’s no way in hell I’m getting down on my knees in a fucking shed.”

“Pants too expensive?” he guessed.

“Damn straight my pants are too expensive,” I said, making him laugh harder. Yeah, I could listen to that sound forever.