Page 86 of Carry On
I jabbed him once more.
Harder.
Theoofhe let out was encouraging, and he dropped me. My knees gave out while the rush of air had my head spinning. I grabbed onto the door to keep from collapsing. I closed my eyes and attempted to get my breathing under control. Hacking coughs made it damn near impossible. Every breath scraped against my lungs, and my throat burned.
“Lincoln…” Nash began, but I waved him off.
I managed to stumble my way into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Trying to do something to ease the pain in my throat, I took a big gulp and immediately spit it out in a cough fit.
“Fuck!” I rasped.
Nash was right there, too close for comfort. For as guilty as he felt, I was a livewire charged up and angry. I couldn’t feel bad about the expression on his face.
“Let me help—”
“You need help!” I bit out angrily, my voice breaking and cracking with the words. Talking fucking hurt. My lungs fucking hurt. I didn’t even want to think about what I looked like. I muttered hoarsely, “Fuck, I can’t go to work like this.”
“Lincoln…” He reached for me, and I flinched.
Lord fucking help me, I flinched at the idea of him touching me. The reaction was pure instinct.
Nash saw it too and retreated, moving across the kitchen with his hands shoved in his pockets.
I couldn’t stay there, but I couldn’t go to work. There was no way in hell I could show up looking like I did.
“I need to go,” I barely managed to whisper. He said nothing, thankfully. I didn’t trust myself to respond in any kind of way. I just needed to get out of there and get my head on straight again.
CHAPTER 59
LINCOLN
Ifeltridiculouswalkingaroundin a suit with a goddamn scarf on, especially with the late summer weather, but it was the only way I could think to hide the brutal-looking bruising on my neck. I’d taken one look in the car before slamming the visor shut and calling off from work for a health emergency. While the cosmetics of the whole thing bothered me, I was more worried about the health implications. Nash had damn near crushed my windpipes. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was damage, but I also couldn’t bring myself to go to the ER. I knew how I looked, and I didn’t want to have to explain it.
As an alternative, I tracked Dean down at work. The firehouse was busy with its doors open and people moving around. Before getting out of my car, I adjusted the stupid scarf and played with my voice a little. I sounded like shit, and that stressed me out, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.
I found Dean in the ambulance bay doing God only knew what. He glanced at me and did a double-take.
“That scarf makes you look like a douchebag,” Dean commented with a grin.
“Can we talk?” I asked, my voice scraping in my throat like gravel.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, all the humor vanishing from his expression. When I didn’t reply, he put down his stuff. “All right, come on.”
I followed him to a room in the back of the firehouse. As we walked, I ran through what I was going to say to him because no matter what I said, he’d lose his shit.
“Talk,” he ordered the minute the door was closed. I sat against the desk while he crossed his arms. “Okay, maybe pick your words carefully. You sound like shit.”
“I know,” I replied. I unwound the scarf and dropped it onto the table.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Lincoln!” Dean immediately moved in to inspect my neck, his fingers brushing over my skin. I winced. Everything was tender and painful. “What the fuck happened?”
“Can you just tell me if I’ll be okay?” I asked instead, hoping to avoid his question, though I knew it was a futile effort. Dean wouldn’t let it go.
“You look like someone tried to strangle you,” he commented. I made a small sound, but that was it. Something in my expression, though, must’ve tipped him off because he pulled back. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me he did this to you.”
Yeah, there it was.
“It’s not his fault—”
