Page 51 of Carry On
“Ground rule number three: never say my middle name.”
“Ground rule number two should be circumstantial at best,” I retorted instead. We’d agreed that sex was on the table for the two of us, which in and of itself was an oddball thing to throw out there. But we both decided, why the hell not? We were about to be roommates. Why couldn’t we benefit from it in that way too?
“Agree to rule number three and we’ll make an addendum to rule number two,” Lincoln replied. The stare he pinned on me screamed with all his attempts to be in control. It only made me want to push harder and see how quickly I could break him of that.
Later, maybe.
No, definitely later.
“Addendum sounds like a real official word there, Linc. I might need a lawyer for this,” I told him. “Don’t want to get fucked.”
“Oh, you’ll get fucked all right,” he muttered as he walked away. The innuendo wasn’t lost on me and made me chuckle.
While he disappeared into his room, I poked at the breakfast in front of me. It was clear he hadn’t used any seasoning in the eggs, and the toast was plain. Everything was bland and meant to be easy to digest. What he was trying to do wasn’t lost on me. While I should’ve taken it like the kind gesture it was, it felt an awful lot like he was trying to fix me.
There’s nothing worth fixing,the voice said, painfully loud.
It was right. It usually was.
Still, I ate the smallest of bites, taking my time chewing it. I was instantly reminded of why I didn’t like eggs. The consistency, the taste, all of it. It was gross. I forced myself to swallow it.
“How is it?” Lincoln asked when he returned. He was dressed in jeans and a tshirt.
“I hate eggs,” I said as I pushed the plate away. After a second thought, I grabbed the toast. Bread, I could eat.
“Good to know,” he replied. I tracked his movements as he made a cup of coffee. “So, we need to keep talking.”
“I hate talking.”
“I know you do, but we need to go over other things about each other.”
“Like what?” Hadn’t I bared my soul enough for this man? What more did he need to know?
“Like,” Lincoln hummed, sitting down across from me, “what do your tattoos mean? That’d be something I would know.”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged and glanced down at my hands. Both my arms were covered in sleeves made of forests and geometric designs. My left arm led up into a compass on my chest. I hadn’t put a hell of a lot of thought into any of them. “I like nature. I gave the tattoo artist free rein when it came to creating them.”
“And the letters on your neck? They’re very specific letters.”
Fuck. I dropped the toast on the table, my lips pressing together tightly. That.
I didn’t want to tell him about the line of letters down the side of my neck and what they meant. They were scars I carried impossibly deep.
But he was right. They were also things he’d probably know.
“Did anyone ever tell you what led to me coming home?” I asked. “That stupid fucking welcome home parade.”
That day had been miserable. I hadn’t wanted shit like that. It was too much.
“No. Truthfully, I didn’t want to be there,” Lincoln admitted. At least he was honest. “I had studying to do.”
“William, Eli, Carter, Guillermo, Lucas, Duncan, James, Emery, Micah, and Ray,” I told him quietly, reciting the names. They were ones I’d never forget, ones that would haunt me forever. “They were the men I served with on my last tour.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, clearly a mile ahead of my explanation. Still, I made myself finish because that’s what he was waiting for.
“There’s a lot I can’t tell you… can’t tell anyone,” I continued. “It was a classified mission. We were ambushed. I’m the only one who survived.”
Not for lack of them trying. My injuries had damn near killed me. Sometimes, I wished they had.
