Page 112 of Carry On
CHAPTER 75
LINCOLN
DidImovemyoffice to a coffee shop down the street fromCalhoun’sjust in case Nash needed me?
Yes, I did.
Was it probably overbearing and too much?
Probably.
But did I give a fuck?
No, I did not.
The truth was, I saw how hard he struggled after his phone call with Peter. His withdrawn response only fueled my worry about him adjusting to all the changes. I knew he said he’d be fine alone, and I hoped he would, but I was ready to be there if he wasn’t.
Calhoun’swas an old Irish bar with shamrock windows, a pool table that needed new felt, and the smell of smoke was built into the wood. But everything I read online talked about how they had some of the best burgers in Seattle, so that was a plus.
Nash waited just inside the door. From the look on his face, the man was uncomfortable and ready to run. It tugged at my heart. Wrapping an arm around his waist, I pulled him in close and kissed him. I kept it short and sweet. As I leaned back, I smiled softly.
“Get out of your head, Lucky,” I whispered.
“I’m…”
Struggling. The word he was looking for was struggling.
“I know,” I said. “Lucky for you, people find me charming.”
“Oh?” One brow lifted with curiosity.
“I’m often described as charming and charismatic.”
“Along with being egotistical and full of shit,” Nash retorted, making me laugh.
“That’s accurate too,” I replied. I sobered slightly as I added, “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, and then we’ll go home and cuddle.”
“We saw where cuddling got us last night.”
“Mm, I know.” And it was probably the easiest way to get him out of his head after all of this was over. It wasn’t like I minded in the least. I wove my fingers through his and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Come on. We’ve got this.”
“I don’t want to have this,” he muttered, but he led me toward the back of the bar where three people stood as we approached—Charlotte, Peter, and the last one had to be Mitchell, his father.
That would account for Nash’s request for help. I could only imagine how seeing his father made him feel. He avoided the man at all costs.
“Lincoln Cassidy,” I greeted them cheerfully and held out a hand, shaking each of theirs respectfully. “Nash’s husband.”
And it was in that moment, as varying looks of surprise crossed their face, that I realized none of them knew that Nash wasn’t straight. Ah, well, fuck. I glanced at Nash, but he just gave the smallest shake of his head.
What a way to come out.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Charlotte recovered first. Her gaze drifted between the two of us. “I had no idea that you were—”
“A lawyer?” I cut her off with a forced chuckle. “I know. It’s not the first thing that Nash brings up about me. Being a criminal defense attorney has brought up a few tense moral compass conversations.”
That wasn’t a lie, per se. Nash didn’t give a fuck about my career. He understood my need to hold the police department accountable for all their actions within every case. My uncle, on the other hand, did not, and I drew from that for inspiration.
It was easier to deflect to that rather than force Nash to have another conversation he didn’t want to have with them.
