Page 130 of Carry On
“Fire department!”
I was only vaguely aware of voices in my condo. Someone grabbed me and pulled me away from Nash.
“No, no, no!” I exclaimed, scrambling to get back to him.
“Lincoln!” A hand grabbed the side of my face. “Look at me!”
That voice.
I recognized that voice.
I blinked hard to clear my vision as Dean’s face wavered in front of me.
“I’ve got him,” Dean said. “I’ve got him.”
I just nodded, a lump rising in my throat. Strong hands held me up while Dean crossed the room to join another paramedic on the floor next to Nash.
“Hey, look at me,” a voice said. I barely turned, my head swimming in a million ways I couldn’t explain. A man—a firefighter from the look of him—offered me his hand, ordering, “Take my hand.”
I did, and he covered it with his other one.
“My name is Jensen,” he said. “I’m not going to tell you it’s okay or even that it’ll be okay, but I can tell you that my team will do everything they can for your husband. Squeeze my hand as tight as you need. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
I just nodded, words failing.
He squeezed, or maybe I did, as I watched them try to resuscitate Nash. My legs were jelly, and my heart was lodged in my throat. I couldn’t catch my breath as I watched them attempt to shock his heart back to beating with no luck.
Over and over, Dean pushed them to try.
And all I could think was… two prescription bottles and whiskey.
Two prescription bottles and whiskey…
He didn’t want this.
Every little moment of pain and agony he dared to share with me crashed through me.
A lifetime of hurt and agony.
Of losing himself a little more every day.
He didn’t want this.
He didn’t want to come back only to keep fighting a war he couldn’t win.
Tearing away from Jensen, I threw myself on the floor next to them and grabbed Dean’s wrist.
“He wouldn’t want this,” I sobbed, barely hearing my own voice. “He wouldn’t want this…”
I folded over the man I loved, pressing my forehead to his.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry,” I whispered to Nash. Those two words tumbled out of me on repeat as I completely fell apart.
I didn’t know how to let him go, but I knew enough to know I had to.
Dean’s hand touched my shoulder, squeezing lightly.
“Time of death… twenty-one-eleven.”
