A Fallen Heart (7 page)

Ford paused to think about it.

“Come on. I’m feeding you. Then you can go home and crash.”

Apparently Ford was too tired to argue.

“Albert’s?” Nash suggested.

“Whatever’s closest,” Ford replied.

Albert’s was only a few blocks from the hospital and the best greasy spoon for miles. They were known for their breakfasts. It was not the place to go for a salad or a smoothie. The closest thing to smoothies on their menu was boozy milkshakes, not that Nash was complaining. The first time he’d tried their Irish coffee, whiskey caramel milkshake had been as close to a religious experience as he’d ever come.

The exterior was nondescript, a simple black awning over a wide window that hosted a neon Open sign and beside it, a steel-framed door that led inside. The interior was small, only a group of bright red booths on one side, a cluster of three tables in the center, and an extended bar with stools that ran along the opposite wall. Glass globe-pendant lights hung over the bar, and at each table, cutlery was set on white paper napkins atop bright orange place mats.

Most of the tables were occupied, despite the fact the sun had not yet risen. Good food and better service ensured it was a favorite of hospital staff, who kept the owner, Albert’s daughter, busy at all hours.

They slid into the booth, and Ford let his head fall against the back, his eyes closed. His body sagged, and Nash thought maybe he should have let Ford go home and climb into bed, but being raised by a family who believed food was the healer of all ills, Nash’s immediate instinct was to feed him.

The menus were already on the table, tucked behind the gleaming metal napkin holders against the wall. It only took a few minutes to decide what they wanted to eat—the farmer’s breakfast for Ford and an omelet for Nash. They placed their orders with the waitress, and she brought them coffee while they waited. The waitress reappeared soon after with their orders, sliding them onto the table in front of them. Nash dug in with unbridled enthusiasm, only realizing when the taste of cheese and bacon exploded across his tongue how hungry he was. He was halfway through devouring his food when he looked up to see Ford poking at his own.

“Not hungry?” Nash asked.

“Just tired. It’s been a long night.”

Ford picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite. “This is pretty good… although it’d be better with waffles,” he admitted.

Nash gave him a level stare. “It’s bacon. Even bad bacon is delicious.”

He was rewarded with a small smile that did funny things to his stomach.

“There’s such a thing as bad bacon?”

“Ask Eric Pratt.”

“Who’s Eric Pratt?”

“The first guy who ever spent the night at my place. I thought I was being so romantic, making him breakfast the next morning.” Nash laughed, remembering. “I was young and stupid. I very nearly burned the kitchen down that morning, thinking I could speed the process by putting everything under the broiler. He left, and I never heard from him again.”

“What an asshole. He broke up with you because you burned breakfast?” Ford asked incredulously.

“No. It was a one-night stand, and I didn’t realize it at the time. There were a lot of things I didn’t realize back then.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Seriously?”

Nash leaned back and tried not to grimace as he sipped his disgusting coffee. “Yep.”

“How were you twenty-five before you understood how a one-night stand works?”

“It was my first one.”

“How is that possible?”

Ford sounded like Nash had told him he’d learned to survive without oxygen.

“I didn’t have much of a love life before that. I enlisted in the Army the day I graduated from high school. I hooked up once or twice with guys there. One guy I had a fairly regular thing with for a while, but mostly it was quick hand jobs in the shower before anyone else could walk in and see.”

“Wow, what was that like?”

“Not as satisfying as I’d like. I was always too paranoid about someone catching me to really enjoy it.”

Ford huffed a sigh. “Not the hand jobs. What was the Army like?”

Nash chuckled. “It was equally fucking fantastic and unbelievably shitty. I don’t regret enlisting. I served six years before getting out, most of it as a weapons technician.”

Ford was staring at him, a distant look in his eyes.

“What?” Nash asked after a moment.

“What, what?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

The very corner of Ford’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “Trying to imagine you in fatigues with a gun.”

Nash leaned forward, his chest hitting the table as he pinned Ford in place with his stare, one eyebrow cocked. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Just fine, thanks,” he replied, a self-satisfied grin firmly in place.

FORD WAS
flirting. He knew he was, but he was too tired to keep his defenses up. From the first moment Ford had seen Nash in the hospital, he’d thought he was gorgeous, but the more time they spent together, the hotter Nash became. Not to mention the kiss that had nearly melted his clothing off, and what was it about men with guns? Ford didn’t even like guns. He’d seen exactly what happened to a person who ended up on the wrong end of a bullet, and so in principle, he hated them.

His limbic system had other ideas, and the thought of Nash, who Ford imagined was all tight muscles and smooth skin beneath the simple white T-shirt and jeans, holding a gun made his skin heat and his cheeks flush.

The longer he sat there, the further into the distance the memories of the previous night faded. He would definitely be paying for the lack of sleep later, but if he were being honest, he was grateful not to be alone with his thoughts. There was always coffee and Red Bull to get him through his next shift.

The waitress appeared a moment later to clear their plates and drop off the check. They each tossed a couple of small bills on the table before standing and walking back out onto the street.

“Did you walk to work?” Nash asked as they strolled up Nelson, back toward the hospital.

“Yeah. I don’t live far.”

“I remember. Do you want a ride? You look like you’re about ready to collapse.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that. I am dead on my feet.”

“I hope you’re not working tomorrow.”

“Night shift,” Ford confirmed.

Nash winced. “You can’t get someone to fill in?”

“Nope. We’re so short-staffed as it is, I’ll be lucky if we have enough people to cover even with me being there. Staffing called earlier and asked me to work a double. Normally I’d have said yes, but it’s been a very long night.”

“I’m sorry I kept you out so late,” Nash said.

“You can owe me one for yet another sleepless night….” Ford grappled for a way to recover his dignity when he realized what he’d said, but nothing sprang to mind.

They’d reached the lot beside the ambulance station where Nash’s Highlander was parked, and Ford was so relieved Nash hadn’t called him out. Instead Nash clicked the button on his keyless entry and the wall behind the vehicle illuminated with the flash of the taillights.

After climbing in, Ford got comfortable in the oversized SUV. He could almost fall asleep where he sat. The leather seats were so comfortable.

“This is an awfully big vehicle. Either you’re compensating for something or you’ve got a secret gaggle of kids I don’t know about,” he said when Nash was sitting next to him.

He chuckled. “Nope. Neither. I bought it, thinking I’d do all kinds of outdoorsy stuff. I wanted to hike and snowboard and kayak.”

“Kayak? Really?”

“Yeah. It looks like fun.”

“Sure, sure. Suctioned into a tippy-ass boat, floating in the middle of the frigid ocean. That sounds like a blast.”

“I thought it did. Unfortunately, most days off are spent sleeping, wasting time until my next block of shifts starts. One day I’ll summon the motivation to take advantage of living here. It’s nearly winter. Maybe I’ll get around to snowboarding this year.”

“I still don’t understand the desire to voluntarily spend time outside. Humans learned to construct buildings for a reason. Strapping your feet to a board and hurling yourself down a mountain sounds like a good way to get hypothermia and lose a testicle.”

“I don’t think hypothermia of the testicles is all that common.”

“You never know,” Ford said. “I’m not willing to take any chances. That’s why I spend my days off meeting Sam for boozy brunches and parking my ass in front of my TV with popcorn that has more butter than actual popcorn to go along with a marathon of shows about sweaty guys in kilts, or whatever those things they used to wear in ancient Rome were.”

“You have a thing for guys in skirts, huh?”

Ford paused, pretending to contemplate the question. “I never realized it, but I guess it is kinda hot, all that easy access.”

“You know, uniform pants provide pretty easy access. Just sayin’.”

“Uh-huh,” Ford agreed sarcastically.

Nash pulled up in front of Ford’s apartment building a moment later. Lifting his gaze to the second-floor window, Ford could see his neighbor wandering around in his living room.

“What made you decide on the Army?” Ford didn’t know why he asked. Well, he was curious, but Nash was parked in front of his building and Ford couldn’t bring himself to say good-bye. His whole body ached from exhaustion, and it took effort to force his eyes open again every time he blinked. His head felt cloudy, his thoughts sluggish, but instead of getting out of the car and climbing the stairs up to his bed, he sat, waiting for Nash to formulate his answer, studying the way his hazel eyes changed as he thought.

“It’s been over a decade since I signed up, and I still don’t exactly know. I spent a lot of time trying to make heads or tails of my impulse. I felt a duty to my country, to serve, even for a short time. I knew it was something I had to do. It broke my mom’s heart. She was absolutely devastated. My dad, on the other hand, I think he was over the moon, but he never said so out of respect for my mom. They were both proud of me, but my mom was terrified I’d never come back.”

“You were deployed?”

“Twice. Kandahar both times.”

“I bet your mom was happy you came back in one piece.”

“First thing she did when I stepped off the plane after the first deployment was smack me. She told me never to scare her like that again. Of course, when I had to go back she was livid.”

“You’re close with your family?”

“Yeah.” Nash nodded. “Family’s important. How about you?”

“Average, I guess.”

“You have siblings?”

“One brother. Younger. He lives out east. I don’t get to see him much.”

“Were you close growing up?”

“There’s six years between us, so most days I alternated between being overly protective and completely annoyed. He looked up to me, wanted to be exactly like me, and wanted to hang out with all my friends. I liked being his hero, but I liked it less when he wanted to tag along with me absolutely everywhere. Especially when I started to notice guys.”

“I can see how having a kid around might cramp your style.”

“Oh, it did. The first time I worked up enough courage to ask Gabe Rivera over to my house to watch a movie, Aaron plunked himself down right between us on the couch. When I tried to get him to move, Gabe told me I shouldn’t be such a dick to him.”

“Cockblocked by your own brother. Harsh.”

Ford laughed. “Yeah. He ended up saving me from embarrassment in the long run over that one, though. I saw it as a date. Never occurred to me that Gabe wasn’t into guys. I might have been a bit self-centered back then.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“And that’s the first guy you noticed?”

“Oh God, no. I was in love with a different guy every weekend. Actually, not sure that habit ever really stopped.”

“So what you’re telling me is that if I happen to catch you on the right weekend, I might have a shot?”

Nash grinned, and Ford’s stomach did this annoying flip at the sight of it. He should go home.

“How old were you when you came out?” Nash asked when Ford didn’t answer.

“I never did.”

“You’re not still—”

“Closeted? No. I mean I put on stage shows in my basement, including choreographing song-and-dance numbers to the Mini Pops, complete with costumes and special effects lighting when I was six. My parents had a pretty good idea that I wasn’t like the other boys before I’d figured it out for myself.”

“I can imagine you shaking your hips and high kicking. Please tell me your family has video.”

“More hours than you’d ever want to see.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Nash teased.

Ford smiled, feeling suddenly warmer than he had been in hours. He had the sudden urge to ask Nash to come up to his place, Ford’s mind dipping into all the ways Nash could make him forget about what a horrible night it’d been.

And that terrified the shit out of him.

“I should probably get going. You need to get to bed too,” Ford said finally.

“I’m good. I’m off for the next twelve days. Our crew’s next block was canceled.”

The reason why was left unsaid.

“Maybe we could do something fun on your days off.”

The hopeful look in Nash’s eyes almost killed him.

“Like a date?”

“I meant more like a group thing.”

“Oh, maybe kayaking, then.”

He was fully aware that Nash was baiting him. He didn’t bite. “I was thinking more along the lines of going back to Albert’s for milkshakes and, if you’re feeling brave, Uncle Vito’s challenge.”

Ford had seen the “wall of shame/fame” the first time he’d been in there. Albert’s was definitely not the first restaurant to host an eating challenge, but it was the first one Ford had seen in real life. The meal was a six-patty burger, with six slices of cheese and twelve slices of bacon, topped with pulled pork. Rather than a bun, the burger was housed between two grilled cheese sandwiches and came with a side of mac ’n’ cheese and a twenty-six-ounce milkshake. If you finished it in twenty minutes or less, it was free and you got your picture on the wall of fame. If not, you ended up on the wall of shame.