Page 72 of Carry On
“Fabulous,” Dean replied. “We’re going to need them.”
“Don’t drink too much. I’m watching you, Matthews,” Hudson told him with a wink. My gaze flicked between the two of them. There was definitely more to their story.
“I can handle my alcohol, Wilcox!” he shouted after the bartender.
“Friend?” I asked when we were alone.
“Co-worker,” he replied. “Firefighter.”
“Fascinating.”
“Not as fascinating as the fact that your ass got married,” he shot back. Ah, yes. There was the backlash I’d been expecting. “What the fuck, Lincoln?”
“I just—”
“And that’s not illegal,” he interrupted.
“No.” I shook my head. “No, it’s not.”
“Then what the fuck did you do that you consider illegal?” Dean asked while I took a long drink
“Insurance fraud.”
“Insurance fraud?” he exclaimed, and I shushed him quickly. “Lincoln!”
“It’s not that bad!” I retorted. The look he gave me said every little thought he wasn’t telling me. I conceded, “Okay, it’s alittlebad.”
“It’s fucking illegal, that’s what it is,” he snapped. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“He needed help!”
“Who needed help?”
“Nash,” I said as if he knew who Nash was.
“You’re killing me, Lincoln,” he muttered. Reaching across the table, he took the beer glass from me. I tried to protest, but he was having none of my shit. “All right, look. Why don’t you start from the beginning, okay? And no beer for you until you tell me how this happened.”
And so I told him everything—minus the cum-drizzled coconut. I couldn’t tell him about that one. Besides, I didn’t know Deanthatwell. But I told him about randomly running into Nash, his headaches, the hospital, my insurance stipulations, my actual proposal, and the fact that we were married and living together.
At the end of it all, he just sat there staring at me, absorbing every bit of word vomit I’d spewed on the table. Admittedly, there was a tiny sense of relief in him knowing. I needed someone to know. I didn’t care about the insurance fraud part. No, that part didn’t bother me in the least. My resolve was still there.
It was Nash and how he’d burrowed his way under my skin. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
“Lincoln, I say this with all the fucking love in the world,” Dean began finally, “but you’re an idiot.”
“I—”
“I wasn’t done,” he cut me off. “What the actual fuck were you thinking?”
“I—”
“I’m not touching the insurance fraud. You’re a lawyer. You know what kind of deep shit you’re in when someone finds—”
“If!” I interjected. I didn’t need him putting that out into the universe on my behalf.
“Whensomeone finds out. After everything you’ve been through, what the hell were you thinking? Marrying a guy off the street and bringing him home with you? Do you realize what you’re setting yourself up for?”
“But he’s different,” I mumbled into my glass after I grabbed it back. Was drinking my best solution? Absolutely not. I just didn’t particularly care.
