Page 3 of Carry On
“Fuck off, Cassidy,” he said with a laugh. “I know a good place nearby. It’s a bit of a walk, but I love their coffee. It’s the best damn coffee you’ll ever have.”
“I can handle a walk.” I’d do a lot of things for a damn good cup of coffee.
“You sure? We wouldn’t want to ruin those fancy shoes of yours, now would we?” This fucking guy.
We fell into an easy banter as we walked down streets I normally didn’t travel. The streets were a little rougher, and the buildings a little older. There was a charm to it, a bright personality in colored signs and painted hydrants. Even the people were different here—vibrant and louder. I could see why Sebastian frequented this part of town.
Acoustic music drifted on the afternoon breeze—guitar strings plucked with no hurry. An unhoused man sat propped up against the side of a brick building with a guitar settled on his crossed leg and its case open in front of him. The song was bittersweet and didn’t match the atmosphere, butmaybe that was the point. It drew attention to him. The beauty in it was undeniable. It struck something deep in me as I breathed it in.
I pulled out a twenty and dropped it in the case as we passed. He deserved it, and that had nothing to do with the music. Hopefully, he’d use it for a hot meal or something. From the menial collection of change in his case, I knew the twenty would make all the difference.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough as gravel. There was something familiar about it, something I couldn’t place. And honestly, it was something I truly didn’t give a second thought to. How many unhoused people had I come across this year alone? I didn’t remember their names or faces. I just gave them a little something and left them behind.
CHAPTER 02
NASH
Thehumanexistencewasa mundane thing that was so easily broken down into two categories: the haves and the have-nots. Either you had it or you didn’t. Some people thought they had it—really invested deep into living it—but they didn’t. They spent money they didn’t have. Kept up an appearance of something that wasn’t theirs. The miserable facade made them delusionally happy.
Me? I didn’t have it. Not even close. Once upon a time, I thought I did. Strived to have it. Wanted it. But now, I was just fine floating through the mud and muck of the mundane with no need to be a part of the hustle. I belonged here, just a speck of nothing in the universe’s grand scheme of things.
They all thought that—the people who passed me. It was in the way they barely looked in my direction or went out of their way to put some distance between me and them as if I was a kind of disease they could catch. I was used to it. Same day, same shit, same people. I’d sat in this spot every day for years. The change they tossed me was variable, but I never expected much. A cup of coffee here, a protein bar there. Usually, it was just enough to keep me alive. Most days, I wondered why I bothered, but at this point, I was just going through the motions.
I knew everyone who walked on by. I made up little stories in my head to pass the time, entertaining myself with their lives far outweighed entertaining my own. Which was exactly why the man in the navy blue suit caught my attention.
Expensive, prestigious, cocky.
Those three words formed my first glance impression, which was usually right. He was a lawyer by the looks of him. They all had the same look about them.
Normally, I didn’t give a fuck. Normally, I didn’t look a second time. I always kept on playing while they walked by, but his laugh made me look once more. The smooth sound rolled around my head like music, enticing and oddly comforting.
That second look though? Well, that was like looking straight into a window I’d forgotten even existed.
Lincoln Cassidy: the ghost of Pine Creek’s past.My past.Fuck, I hadn’t thought about Lincoln in years. I’d met him once, and that was it. He was a rugged, pretty face with the kind of blue eyes a man could drown in. But at the end of the day, he was a blip in my existence. He had his life, and I had whatever the fuck I had.
Still… the sight of him was compelling, poking at something deep inside me that needed satiating. Poking at the part of me that was utterly bored with nothing to do. The sight of him left me curious and wondering.
Did he remember me?
Why would he?the voice in the back of my head bit out.There’s nothing special about you. Nothing memorable.
Yeah, same day, same shit.
I went back to my guitar and did my best to forget Lincoln Cassidy because I knew for a fact that he’d forgotten about me.
Why I followed him was beyond me. It wasn’t like Lincoln and I had anything in common. Not now. Not ever. I didn’t exist in his world. Never would.
Still, when he left the coffee shop more than an hour later, I couldn’t help myself. I followed. I trailed him back to his office and sat in a new spot, strumming music and staring at a building I couldn’t see into. And when he left for the day? Yeah, I trailed after him all over again.
Curious little stalker, aren’t you? Do you really think he’d want anything to do with the likes of you?the voice taunted, digging into me.
Normally, I’d be drowning in a bottle of whatever the hell made it go away by now, but Lincoln Cassidy had an invisible hold on me.
One that I let pull me all the way to his home, which was a ridiculously nice five-story building in an even nicer neighborhood. It was the kind of neighborhood full of people who hadit. Who could spend money without ever thinking twice about doing so? I couldn’t imagine life like that.
And so I just watched as I sat under a tree, staring up through his window from the park across the street like some kind of stalker. Was I stalking him? Maybe a little. But curiosity and all the time in the world got the better of me at the sight of a face from my past.
Who was Lincoln Cassidy these days? He’d changed. Gone was the soft and good-looking college kid who blushed when I winked at him. He was sharp edges and stark lines—expensive taste and tailored control all rolled into one. That chestnut hair of his was loosely combed to the side and neat. The clean cut of muscles he’d built was an obvious sign that he took care of himself. He ate right and worked out to maintain his sin-worthy physique. Maybe he fucking tanned for all I knew because the slight bronze to his skin sure as hell wasn’t something he got from sitting in an office or a courthouse all day.
