Page 25 of Carry On
Four walls.
Two windows.
Inside.
Just Lincoln.
No bombs.
No gunfire.
No enemy combatant.
No threats.
Just Lincoln.
I released him and surged to my feet, breathing hard as I put some distance between us. I ran a hand through my hair and tugged slightly on the strands for the pain. I ran through it all again.
Hard floor.
Four walls.
Two windows.
Inside.
Just Lincoln.
No bombs.
No gunfire.
No enemy combatant.
No threats.
Just Lincoln.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered a little pathetically. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re fine,” he said. The words came out without hesitation, like it didn’t matter to him. Like I hadn’t just tried to choke him out. He adjusted his tie and fixed his suit.
“No,” I shook my head, “I shouldn’t have…”
I faltered, struggling to figure out the right words.
Shouldn’t have fucked it up like always,the voice cut in.
Yeah, that sounded about right.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. There wasn’t much else I could say about attacking him in his own home.
“You’re fine, Nash,” Lincoln assured me. He took a moment to shove his hands in his pockets as he glanced around the room. I could see the way his brain turned as he took everything in. I hadn’t touched the bed. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep on something so nice. Some part of me was positive I’d fuck that shit up too if I did. Instead, I camped out on the floor, using my bag as a pillow like always. “You could’ve used the bed.”
“I know. I wasn’t…”
I wasn’t sure what I was trying to say—what I could say. My brain was too jumbled to make any real sense of shit. Somewhere far away, I could still hear gunfire and screaming. Could still feel the heat on my skin.
