Page 139 of Carry On
LINCOLN
Hesatonthecouch, his feet kicked up on the coffee table as he strummed lazily on his guitar. The early morning light illuminated those rich green eyes of his as he watched me as I read. I tried to focus on my book, but I couldn’t. Stolen glances quickly turned into a distraction I couldn’t deny.
“What’re you staring at, Lucky?” I asked as I braced my open book over my knee and gave him my attention.
“Is that the one with the tentacles?” he replied.
“I don’t read—”
“You did!” Nash interrupted with a laugh. “I found the art.”
“Jesus fuck,” I groaned. My ears burned hot. “It was a gift.”
“Oh?” He arched a brow. “You sure about that, baby? The spine’s worn. That only happens—”
“It was a gift!” I exclaimed over him, making him laugh harder. That sound wrapped around me like a warm blanket I never wanted to come out from under. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Mmm, probably not.”
“I hate you,” I muttered.
“You love me,” he replied.
“Ido.” I smiled because I did love him. This weird little arrangement of ours had turned into the best damn thing of my life. Sure, he made fun of me for my books, but he played me music while I read. There wasn’t—
The blaring of my alarm dragged me out of sleep and stole the dream away. I let out a sound of frustration as I grabbed the alarm clock, ripping it out of the outlet and chucking it across the room. It hit the mirror, breaking it on impact. Glass scattered across my dresser and covered the folded flag sitting there.
“Fuck!” I yelled. I scrubbed my hands over my face as the familiar burn built in my nose.
I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to hide in a dream where Nash was still mine with his lazy music and snarky commentary. Instead, I was stuck here alone with a folded flag that couldn’t love me the way he did.
EPILOGUE
LINCOLN
one month later
Sunrisepeekedthroughthetrees, illuminating every chilly breath I let out. The ground crunched under my feet as I stuck to the trail. The sounds of nature were mesmerizing. Birds sang overhead, and the ground rustled with noises that probably should’ve worried me. Despite having been raised in a small town, I hadn’t spent a lot of quality time with nature. It wasn’t my thing.
But Canada? Oh, Canada was gorgeous.
I’d spent two days in Banff National Park, hiking and sleeping. Honestly, while I worked out, my exercise routine was nothing compared to hours of hiking in the forest. My body was sore, but my mind was clear for the first time in over a month.
Only when I was completely settled in and ready did I catch a shuttle to hike to Moraine Lake.
“Holy…” Words escaped me as the trail spilled into the valley. No amount of research could prepare me for just how blue the lake was. I’d never seen anything like it. With the reflection of snow-capped mountains and forests around me, the lake was something otherworldly. It was calm and serene. Beautiful and haunting.
It was everything Nash would’ve loved.
And he was the entire reason I was here.
I hadn’t buried him in Seattle or Pine Creek. Nash belonged to neither of those places. Charlotte and Mitchell paid for a headstone in Pine Creek’s cemetery to give him an empty memorial place. It didn’t feel right to bury him there, and his family respected that. But it didn’t feel right to bury him in Seattle either.
Because of that, my marriage, which started as a felony, was ending in what was probably another one. But I couldn’t think of a better place for him than the one he’d always dreamed of visiting.
I spent the day sitting by the lake. I watched the sun rise over the mountains and dance across the water as I listened to the songs Nash had recorded for me. For the first time in a while, I felt peace. The ache in my chest was a permanent fixture, one I had to learn to live with, but even that eased enough to let me breathe a little easier.
“You would’ve loved it here,” I whispered as I unlocked the pocket that held his ashes. That single notion made the whole trip worth it. This was where he belonged, free and uninhibited by the world that rejected him.
