Page 48 of Carter

Of course he remembers. He’s a cop. Don’t take it personally.

“A friend and I had a drink. I took a shower when I got home and just got into bed. Just wasn’t looking at my phone. Did you need something?”

“Just to complain about this book?”

“You don’t like it?” I ask.

“I’m two chapters in and feeling things I didn’t know were possible.”

I bark out a laugh. “Yes!” I nearly shout as my body shakes with laughter. “I knew it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters.

“Well, don’t get any ideas in your head about finding your childhood love. I still need you until you solve this case.”

“No childhood loves here. We went over this, remember?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s always the grumpy, lonely, solitary men who love the hardest, Nash. Everyone knows this.”

He sighs, and I can tell he’s fed up with my mushy self. I can’t help it.

“Have you always been this way?” he asks.

“A sucker for love? Yes.”

And I have. Always. I just forgot about it for a while.

It’s silent for a few moments, just the quiet sound of voices from my TV and the city sounds outside.

“We should meet next week. I’ll have more info then, and we can go over your story again. Just to see if you remember anything else.”

“I’ll text you my schedule when I get it.”

“Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Neither of us hang up, though.

“If you can’t sleep, you know how to reach me,” he says, his voice soft and calm.

“And if you can’t sleep, you know how to reach me.”

“Good night, Carter.”

“Night, Nash.”

I end the call and get comfortable in bed.

Chapter seventeen

Nash

My boss warned me from the beginning I wasn’t going to be one of those guys who lived in the office 24/7. He believes mental health is important, which means getting out of the office and having a home life. Taking care of yourself. Eating right. Getting enough sleep.

Does he know what it takes to do this job? Does he have more time in his day than the rest of us?

Regardless of wanting to bury myself in work all the time, I get what he means. Mental health is important—I’ve always thought that. It’s something that hits too close to home. It’s the only thing that explains why my father did what he did. It’s the thing that scares the absolute hell out of me because if he did it, I could do it too. I could have whatever illness he had. Maybe one day,I’ll snap and I’ll kill someone I love. It’s a terrifying thought, one that sobers me and keeps me on my toes at times. Until I realize I’m being irrational and I go right back to focusing on work and nothing but work.