Page 80 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

The dull ache in my temples had me contemplating staying in bed and not moving. What did I have to get up for anyway?

Nothing, the voice commented.

I could hear Lincoln moving quietly around the living room and kitchen. While the notion of doing nothing was appealing, I still wanted to see him before he left for work.

He doesn’t want to see you, the voice said. If he did, he would’ve woken you up.

Groaning, I threw an arm over my face for a brief moment to get my shit together. To get my head on straight. Sleep had been practically non-existent. Up and down. Uncomfortable. Restless. But every time I tried to leave, Lincoln pulled me right back. Not for sex but for cuddles and conversation.

Still, it didn’t help. His presence didn’t stave off the chaos. Instead, I was stuck lying there all night with a million and one awful thoughts tumbling through my head.

I was fucking exhausted.

And despite that, I dragged my ass out of bed.

I grabbed a pair of pants and a sweatshirt, not really giving a fuck what I wore.

I combed a hand through my hair as I wandered out of the room in search of Lincoln.

He was busy in the kitchen, making coffee.

A soft smile lit up his handsome face when he saw me.

“Good morning,” Lincoln said. I grunted, a little too tired for words, and he chuckled. “I made you coffee too, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” I replied and made my way to the kitchen table. He said something more, but I was a little too zoned out to pay attention.

Instead, I just watched him, mesmerized by the little things he did. Lincoln didn’t have to do a single thing for me to find him fascinating.

Unfortunately, everything good and wonderful about him wasn’t enough to keep the darkness from creeping in. The self-doubt and crippling thoughts ebbed their way to the surface all over again.

What would his life have looked like without me?

Or after you, the voice chimed in.

Making coffee for us couldn’t have been in his life plan.

You weren’t a part of his life plan, the voice reminded me.

I wasn’t. I was an unexpected stain on his routine and structure—on everything he’d built for himself.

“Can I ask you a question?” I said before I could stop myself.

“Always,” Lincoln replied. “You don’t have to ask that.”

“What would you have done if we didn’t get married?” I asked. That question gave him pause, and he stared at me, one brow raising slightly. I just stared right back at him, completely serious. I wanted to know.

He would’ve been happier to start, the voice commented.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged slightly. “What plans did you have for your life?”

“That’s a broad question.” He chuckled as if amused. When I didn’t join him, he sobered. “I like my job. I’m good at my job. My goal has always been to work my way up to partner in my firm. Outside of that… well, work has always been the first thing in my life.”

Understandable.

“Did you want to get married again?” I asked.

“Honestly,” Lincoln blew out a sharp breath, “no.”

He never wanted to marry you, the voice said.

This was a marriage of convenience. I reminded myself of that fact over and over while the voice rambled on about how detrimental my existence was to Lincoln’s life.

Crossing the room, Lincoln leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. For a brief moment, the world stilled as I kissed him back slowly.

“Whatever’s worrying you, Lucky, it’ll be okay,” he assured me.

It won’t be, the voice countered.

“Are you happy, Lincoln?” I whispered.

“With you?” Those blue eyes searched mine. It was painful to admit just how much I doubted that he could be happy with me and my mess.

He’s not, the voice agreed.

“You know what? It’s dumb,” I said instead. There was no point in having this conversation. I stood with every intention of walking away, but Lincoln dragged me right back. His fingers threaded through my hair as he made me look at him.

“What’s going on, Nash?” Lincoln asked.

“Nothing.” It wasn’t worth getting into.

He doesn’t care, the voice chimed in.

I shut my eyes and tried to push it back, but the throbbing of my head wasn’t helping any.

“Just a headache,” I admitted and hoped that would make him retreat. His lips brushed my temple in a gesture that was far too tender for what I deserved. It settled uncomfortably in my chest.

He’s too good for you, the voice stated.

That much I did know.

“Do you want me to stay home?” He kissed my other temple, and it took everything I had not to lean into it.

“No.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’ll be fine,” I lied.

“Okay,” Lincoln said, but I could hear the doubt in his voice.

He knows you’re lying to him, the voice cut in.

He probably did. I couldn’t fix that.

You can’t fix anything, the voice said.

I sighed, realizing there was no shutting it up. No stopping it.

“Call me if you need me, Nash,” Lincoln continued. I nodded slightly, turning into him to kiss him. “I have court later today, but I can rearrange the rest of my schedule if I need to.”

“Don’t do that,” I replied. I didn’t need to be the reason he uprooted his whole life. I couldn’t be.

“I’m serious.”

“Please, don’t.”

“Just call me if you need me,” he repeated, ignoring me. Damn man. He kissed me once. Twice. Three times. Each one lingered a little longer than the previous. Softly, he added, “I’m aware of how unconventional we are, but I am happy, Lucky, with you.”

He’s just saying it to say it, the voice interjected.

“Okay,” I muttered. His fingers tightened in my hair, and he kissed me, the affection more intense and emotional. A kiss full of things we both struggled to say to each other.

There were so many weird and new feelings involved where Lincoln was concerned. They were things I’d never felt before and things I didn’t belong feeling for someone like Lincoln. For someone who could have anyone in the world if he wanted them, I didn’t understand why he wanted me.

“The first available opening Dr. Meyers has is in March,” the woman said, and I frowned. She had to be fucking kidding me. “He has—”

“March?” I repeated, positive I’d heard her wrong. “As in next March? As in next year?”

“That’s correct,” she confirmed.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not,” she replied. “It’s his first available. I do have to inform you that since we are associated with the hospital, Dr Meyers is the on-call neurosurgeon at times. If something should happen on the day of your appointment, and he needs to go in, your appointment will be rescheduled.”

What the actual fuck?

“It’ll be—are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, Mr. Calhoun, I am not,” she practically snapped, her voice dripping in annoyance.

“To what?” I demanded. “To the—”

“—next available appointment he has, yes,” she finished for me.

“And what if that’s another eight fucking months? Who made up this fucking system?”

“That’s why we recommend going on the wait list in case someone cancels and their appointment becomes available.”

“Are you… Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered. I ran a hand over my face, utterly frustrated. How the hell was anyone supposed to get help like this? “How is this acceptable?”

“He’s a very busy doctor.”

“And there are no other doctors in his office?” I asked.

“Not that are covered by your referral. You could call your insurance company to see what doctors are in your network, and then go back to your PCP to have a new referral filled out.”

“That’s…” I didn’t have the words to describe the punch to the gut it was. How many times did I have to jump through hoops for someone to see me?

You’re not worth it, the voice chimed in. Even they can see it.

“This is why people fucking die because no one cares,” I told her angrily.

“We do care, Mr. Calhoun,” she assured me. “It’s just the best we can do. I’m sorry.”

She’s not sorry, the voice commented.

I was inclined to agree.

“We can get you in for your consultation—”

“Consultation?” I repeated because now she just had to be fucking with me.

“Yes, the first appointment is a consultation,” she affirmed. “Dr. Meyers will go over your history and determine if any tests are needed.”

“Right,” I said. “And what if I need the tests?”

“Then you’ll go through your insurance to set up the required tests, and we’ll set you up for another appointment with Dr. Meyers to go over the results as well as determine the next course of action,” she explained.

“And let me guess, I have to wait until his next available appointment,” I replied.

“That is correct.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Your records show that you were given a prescription for migraine medication, a muscle relaxant, and a sleep medication,” she said after a minute.

“Keep using your medication as prescribed. If things are getting worse, you can give our office a call, and we’ll see what we can do.

You can also always utilize the ER for emergency migraine maintenance.

Do you know what to look out for when it comes to migraines that would warrant a trip to the ER? ”

Without a word, I hung up. There was no point in taking the appointment. No point in keeping the conversation going. What good was an appointment that far out to me?

I let out an exasperated sound as I dropped to the couch, my body tired and heavy. How the hell was I supposed to do eight more months of pain and no answers? Of forcing Lincoln to endure my problems as the system did whatever it could to chew me up and spit me back out?

You don’t have to, the voice whispered.

As if on cue, my phone trilled in my lap, and a message from Lincoln lit up on my screen.

LINCOLN: You, me, date night. I think we could both use a night out.

Okay. What did you have in mind?

LINCOLN: It’s a surprise.

You don’t know yet, do you?

LINCOLN: Exactly. It’s a surprise.

That notion made me smile, though it was fleeting. I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel much of anything.

Okay.

LINCOLN: How’s the headache?

Yeah. I slept a little. Feel a little better.

I lied. If anything, the headache was worse. He probably knew it too. That was just Lincoln. He knew things. He could see right through me in ways no one else could.

LINCOLN: And everything else? Are you doing okay?

Yeah. It’s nothing, Linc. Don’t worry.

LINCOLN: That’s like telling me not to breathe, Nash.

I’m fine. I promise.

LINCOLN: Okay.

I dropped the phone on the cushion next to me and leaned back. I wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot. Thick emotion constricted in my chest, and hot tears rolled free.

I was so fucking tired.

More waiting.

More pain.

No answers.

No reprieve.

I couldn’t keep doing this.

You know what to do, the voice said, loud and overbearing.

I did know. There was only one way guaranteed to make it all stop.