Page 90 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

LINCOLN

There was one more person I needed to talk to, but finding an old man feeding pigeons wasn’t an easy task.

To be honest, I had no idea what Jay looked like or exactly where to find him.

All I knew was that he was the one person Nash cared about that wasn’t family.

It was only right that he knew before the paper ran his obituary.

Fuck, I hated that thought.

Unfortunately, all I had to go on was a name, pigeons, and a handful of parks that he might be in.

I spent an entire morning wandering from park to park in a rough attempt to find a man feeding pigeons. Apparently, feeding pigeons was a common activity for older men. By the time I approached a sixth man sitting on a bench, I was feeling defeated. There was no way this plan could work.

This was just one more way I’d fail Nash.

“Are you Jay?” I asked someone for the umpteenth time.

“I am.” Faded green eyes met mine. The color was a little too familiar for comfort, but I swallowed my unease. He gave me a warm smile. “Have you come to feed the pigeons with me, young man?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever fed a bird in my life,” I told him in earnest. Still, I sat when he patted the bench beside me. He offered me a slice of bread, which I took. “Truth be told, I don’t like birds. And pigeons are just nuisances.”

“Did you know… that people are to blame for the sheer number of pigeons in cities?”

“I did not.”

“People used to keep pigeons as a hobby… messengers, racing, pets,” he explained as he gave my piece of bread a light tap.

I followed his example, tearing off small pieces and flicking them toward the birds surrounding us.

“People outgrew their interest in pigeons and just discarded them like they were trash. It’s not the pigeon’s fault that they did what they do best: fucking, flying, and feasting. ”

I barked out a laugh, taken aback by his brashness.

“I guess that’s one way to do life,” I commented.

“I’d say it’s a hell of a way to live life,” he replied. “Now, with that little lesson out of the way, what can I do for you, young man?”

That same discomfort and sadness blossomed in my chest. I hated telling people. I hated saying the words outloud. Charlotte, Peter, Sebastian, my boss… every time I said it, it just hurt more.

And every time I told someone that Nash was gone, it made it all the more real. That little hope I was holding onto that this was some horrible dream fractured and faded.

“Do you know Nash Calhoun?”

Jay’s entire demeanor changed, his shoulders tensing and his lips pressing together in a frown. He said nothing, and neither did I. I just waited as he tossed bread to the birds.

”When?” he asked softly. There was no question of whether it was even a possibility. No disbelief. No shock. It was like he knew this was coming.

“Four nights ago,” I whispered.

“Damn it.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I had hoped things would change for him.”

“You knew?”

“Nash has been battling his darkness for a long time,” Jay said.

He reached inside his jacket to grab his wallet.

I watched in silence as he pulled out a crumpled picture and handed it to me.

Two men sat on an old couch with a little kid between them.

Despite how young he was, I recognized Mitchell.

The other guy looked a lot like Jay, only decades younger.

And the little boy… I’d recognize Nash anywhere. The toy guitar and mop of blond hair helped.

“Who…”

“That’s three generations right there.” He tapped a finger on the picture. “That was the last time I saw my son.”

“You’re his grandfather.” Nash had never told me that piece of information.

“He didn’t know,” Jay explained. “I wasn’t a great father… no, I was a shitty father. It took me a long time after Vietnam to fight my demons and get my life back, but it wasn’t enough to fix my relationship with Mitchell. I wasn’t there when he grew up. I was…”

“PTSD sucks,” I muttered.

“It does, but my choices were also to blame,” he said.

“We didn’t get help back then, you know?

It wasn’t like today. We didn’t see therapists or get medication.

We were told to suck it up and be a productive part of society.

And those of us who couldn’t, we tried to drown ourselves in a bottle.

I failed my son. I failed his childhood. I have to live with that.”

Like father, like son. I wanted to say something, but I held my tongue. Instead, I listened.

“When Mitchell was older, his wife, Nora, insisted that he try to reconnect with me. We did good for a few years there. It was nice to be a part of their family. And Patrick… Nash… he was the sweetest kid on the planet.” He smiled.

“And I’m not just saying that because he was my grandkid.

He had a little heart of gold. Animals, other kids, adults…

it didn’t matter who. He loved everyone.

He was always sneaking food for stray animals, picking flowers for elderly neighbors, and taking other kids under his wing whenever he could to make sure they were taken care of.

No one made him do it. That was just who he was.

“Oh, and music… he sang all the time. Just made up songs on the spot. It didn’t matter what he was doing.

He just sang about it. His mom used to call him her little sunshine song.

” He faltered, and I found myself desperately wanting to hear more.

Maybe he wasn’t sunshine and happy, but there were pieces of that little boy in the man I loved.

I wanted to know him more. “It takes an addict to know an addict, and I saw it in my son. I didn’t want him to lose his family how I did.

I didn’t want Patrick to grow up without his father.

I tried to talk Mitchell into getting some help, and it just… ”

“He cut you out,” I finished for him, and he nodded slowly.

“Yeah, he did. And he wouldn’t let Nora come see me.

I lost all three of them at once,” Jay said.

“A few years ago, I saw him playing that guitar outside a coffee shop. It was his mom’s guitar.

I would know. I gave it to her for her birthday.

I never expected to see my grandson again, but to find him homeless… ”

“Why didn’t you tell him?” I asked.

“The last thing he wanted was family,” he admitted sadly. He wasn’t wrong. “I could be more to him as just another homeless veteran than I ever could be as his grandfather. It took a long time for him to open up to me… to talk about some of his life. He never would’ve trusted me if he knew.”

“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t begin to imagine how that felt.

“I really thought he’d be the one to break the cycle, or maybe I just hoped that he would.”

We fell silent, the birds and the photo ignored as we both stared out across the park. That weight on my chest was heavy as ever, and I took controlled breaths to keep the rolling emotions from taking over.

“Are you the one he married?”

“I am. Lincoln Cassidy.”

“James Calhoun.” He offered me a hand, and I shook it. “Are you holding up enough?”

I was so fucking grateful he didn’t ask if I was okay. I was tired of being asked that.

“No,” I said. “I don’t know… I just… just keep wondering what if.”

“There are no heroes in this war, Lincoln,” Jay told me. “He had to save himself, and to be honest, he had been fighting a long time… his whole life. It’s hard to live a life like that. You were a good thing… a good moment in his life. That much I know is true.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked, blinking back tears.

“Because he let you into his world. He let no one in. Not like that.”

I nodded slowly, dangerously close to crying as I processed that.

“It’s okay to let it out, Lincoln,” Jay said, his voice soft. He patted my knee before offering me another slice of bread. “You don’t have to talk, but feed some birds. It’s good for the soul.”

And so I did. We sat there for hours as I fed birds and tried to stave off the twisted darkness growing inside me.