Page 71 of Carry On
“Anyone who’d listen,” he replied.
No one wants to listen,the voice said over him.No one cares about what you have to say.
Lincoln cared.
They’re just words,the voice insisted.
At least, he said he did. I wanted to believe that he did.
“There are no heroes in the war you’re fighting, Nash.” Jay’s voice brought me right back out of the pending spiral again. “You have to save yourself. You have to want it for yourself.”
Except I was too tired to want it. Maybe some part of me did, but I was too damn tired to recognize that part of me. Too fucking tired to dig down deep and do it.
“You’ll be all right, kid,” Jay whispered. He patted my forearm and squeezed in some attempt to offer reassurance. “You’ll be all right.”
CHAPTER 51
LINCOLN
Idrummedmyfingersonthe table as I anxiously waited for Dean to show up. I needed someone to talk to, someone to help me sort out the shit tumbling through my head. Except he was late, and now I was drunk. I’d started with one drink to ease the anxiety, but that was quickly followed by two and three more when Dean didn’t show up. It was just a hazard of his job, and I knew that.
“Sorry!” A loud voice pulled me from my anxious spiral. I rotated in the booth to see Dean weaving around a drunk bachelorette party with a quick apology. Watching them swoon over him made me chuckle.
Objectively, I knew Dean was attractive with his cropped dark hair and bright blue eyes. He even had the tall, muscular, and tanned thing going on for him. But we were so busy being each other’s emotional support floatees to keep from drowning in our trauma that I’d never see him in that way.
“I’m late, I’m late,” he said in a rush, dropping into the seat across from me. He huffed out a quick breath. “I had to wash the vomit off, but the smell wouldn’t come off my shoes, so I had to buy new shoes on the way over.”
“Sounds gross,” I muttered.
”It was.”
“I started without you,” I told him as I downed the last of my third glass.
“Oh, it’s one of those kinds of nights,” Dean replied. “You want to tell me what’s going on? Or are we just drinking until we need a cab home?”
Ah, yes. I was the one who set up this little chat.
“So…question,” I began slowly, “as a paramedic, are you bound by law to report illegal activity if you hear about it? Off the clock.”
“Not generally speaking, but aren’t you a lawyer?” he countered, frowning slightly. “Aren’tyousupposed to report a crime?”
I made a sound, weighing my options about how to approach everything. The alcohol had my head buzzing, making it harder to think straight and harder to form a thought.
“I did a…thing,” I admitted. “Bad thing? Good thing? I definitely did an illegal thing.”
“Color me monumentally intrigued,” Dean said. Lifting a finger, I beckoned him closer as I leaned on the table. He crossed his arms and inched closer.
“I got married,” I whispered. The humor drained from his face as I said the words, and I braced for the backlash.
“I need a drink for this shit,” he murmured. Leaning out of the booth, he snapped his fingers and yelled, “Hudson! Hey! More beer!”
The bar was big enough to be busy but small enough for Dean to be heard over the noise. A bartender covered in tattoos with unkempt chestnut hair waved at him.
“He’s attractive,” I commented as I shamelessly ogled the guy.
“He’s just Hudson,” Dean retorted like that meant something to me. I made a face but said nothing. There was probably more to their story, but I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to be both a mess and supportive at the same time.
“That’s his fourth glass, and that’s your first glass,” Hudson said when he joined us, setting the two beers down for us. I took mine immediately because I needed the liquid courage to make myself talk.
