A Fallen Heart

by Cate Ashwood

  “Hey, Diana, can I talk to you a sec?”

  “Sure,” she replied, excusing herself from her conversation with Jack and Greer.

  “I’m just wondering what’s going to happen to Joel. For as long as I’ve worked here, I’ve never had a kid in this type of situation.”

  Her voice was soft when she spoke—Diana’s voice was always soft. “It’s too early to tell. He has obviously been abused, but whether that abuse came from his family or someone else, we won’t know until he starts talking.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “I’m not a psychologist, but from experience it could be anywhere from a few hours to years. We don’t know the extent of the abuse he’s suffered or what kind of psychological trauma he’s been exposed to.”

  “Is there anything I should be doing for him, other than my normal stuff?”

  She shook her head, smiling warmly. “No, you’re doing exactly the right thing. Joel trusts you. It’s not uncommon for children who have suffered to latch on to something or someone who makes them feel safe. I think that’s what has happened with Joel. The fact that he can forge that sort of emotional bond is a very good sign.”

  Ford exhaled, his mind racing. There was a long road ahead for Joel, and they were only at the beginning. He thanked Diana for her help and returned to Joel’s bed.

  The blood work was repeated, and Dr. Goodwin poked his head in a couple of times to check on him. Ford never left him again. He felt as though he’d been holding his breath since the moment the paramedics brought him in. There was no logical reason for Ford to have reacted the way he had, but in the moment that Ford had mistaken him for his brother, Joel had bonded with him and become more to him than just another patient.

  As the clock clicked over to midnight, the opiate withdrawal symptoms became pronounced, and by two o’clock, Ford’s nerves were ragged. He was barely holding it together. His heart shattered, watching Joel’s muscles spasm and sweat soak through the thin hospital pajamas they’d provided for him.

  It was intense and heartbreaking to watch someone so young, someone who should be home playing video games or watching movies with his friends, clinging to consciousness as his body protested against the denial of the physical craving for drugs. Joel vomited despite the antiemetic Ford had pushed into his IV, and as he had since he’d arrived, Ford held his hand.

  He stood watch, offering as much comfort and compassion as possible while Joel threw up into the little cardboard tray, his eyes welling with tears as he doubled over in pain. Ford had done everything he could for him, and now he just had to survive the night. Saint Joe’s, where it was geographically situated, was well equipped to deal with drug dependency. There was a section in the emergency psych unit dedicated to helping those with addictions come down off their habit.

  The nurses there were well trained, and they had helped thousands of people before Joel. It wasn’t going to be an easy road, but with a little luck, he would be all right.

  He was moved to the emergency psych unit a little after three, as soon as a bed opened up. He was set up in a room all his own in the department that sat behind two doors that required key swipes to enter. Ford went with him. Despite the fact that Joel would no longer be his patient, he had to see it through.

  When Ford’s shift ended, he reluctantly left the hospital. His heart was torn, leaving Joel there alone, but he needed to give himself some space and a bit of perspective. The boy would be in good hands. Logically he knew that, but he felt a sense of responsibility for him. He blinked hard and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing himself to focus and make it through the next few hours.

  Chapter Six

  NASH COULDN’T wait to get out of his uniform, climb into bed, and pretend the whole day never happened.

  Pulling up to the station, he saw the other car in the bay and the supervisor’s vehicle parked outside. The paperwork alone would probably take at least another hour, and the debriefing would be a minimum of thirty minutes on top of that. The aftermath of the day was beginning to wear on him. An hour and a half seemed far too long to wait before being allowed to book off and go home.

  Quickly and efficiently, he, Rob, and Caleb sanitized the inside of the ambulance and made sure everything was restocked for the part-time replacement crew that would be taking over for them. When everything was done, they climbed the stairs to the main living quarters, where the supervisor was waiting for them.

  They went through the same song and dance every time a traumatic call went down. Nash knew the spiel almost by heart. He nodded when he was supposed to and signed his name where required, and before long the taillights of the supervisor’s car were fading out of sight.

  Nash turned back from the window, ready to get the fuck out of that place and sleep off the long-shift hangover, when he saw Adam pacing back and forth, staring at his phone, clearly agitated.

  “You okay, man?” Nash asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He didn’t sound fine.

  “Just don’t like that Dex is dealing with this all on his own. I know this shit’s gonna hit him hard, and it pisses me off that there’s some asshole out there and all we do is clean up the aftermath of his psychotic tendencies. It’s fucked. Jack should have caught the guy by now, but instead here we are, half a year later and there are four fucking kids, all carved up, and he’s no closer to finding who did this than he was that first night. Maybe if he spent more time concentrating on his fucking job than who I’m sleeping with, the goddamn serial killer would be sitting in the electric chair.”

  Nash shot Adam an empathetic look, ignoring the fact that they didn’t use the electric chair. It was incredibly doubtful Jack spent all that much time worrying about who Adam was sleeping with, but Adam was upset, and understandably. Everyone was on edge, but the case affected Adam’s family more than most. Being the attending medic on not one but two of the victims and his partner performing the autopsies was enough to put a strain on any couple.

  The fact his brother was the investigator was one more blow that brought the murders far too close to home.

  “You wanna go to the Nickel? Wait for him to be done?” Nash offered, thinking maybe a beer or two would dull the anxiety of waiting for Sam to finish up with the autopsy.

  Adam looked over to him, their gazes locking. Nash read the gratitude there, and he watched as some of the fire seeped out of him.

  “No. Thanks, though. I should head home, wait for him. He’ll be lucky to see his bed tonight, but I wanna be there if he does.”

  “Come on, Adam. One drink,” Caleb chimed in. “It’s not going to do you or Sam any good to have you waiting around at home, stewing in angst for hours before he gets there.”

  “I want to be there when he gets home.”

  “You will be. Don’t worry, Cinderella. We’ll get you home before your coach turns back into a pumpkin,” Rob teased.

  Adam sighed. “Fine. One drink.”

  “Good man,” Rob said, and Nash grinned.

  “I’ll meet you there. I should go home and get changed first….” He trailed off, looking down at his uniform and the patches of blood that had soaked through his shirt. Nash mirrored the motion, noting the substantial amount of blood on his own uniform.

  Paramedics had to make up the majority of Tide’s business.

  “Me too. Meet you all there in half an hour?” Nash asked.

  “You bet,” Caleb replied.

  BY THE time they left the bar, Nash was pleasantly buzzed, the evening sufficiently dulled around the edges. It felt good to spend an hour blowing off steam with the guys. Mostly they bullshitted about nothing at all, but as the beer flowed, the mood shifted and Adam spoke about Sam and how difficult the cases had been for him. He cursed his brother once more for being a homophobic prick and a useless detective, and Nash got the feeling there was a lot more to the story than what he’d been told.

  Tears had very nearly fallen, and they all pretended no
t to notice, ordering another round and letting Adam purge everything as the words spewed out. The laughter that washed over the table after Rob cracked a stupid joke was tentative, but Nash could tell everyone felt lighter. They were lucky enough to have access to counselors and psychologists if they felt like they needed someone to talk to, but there was something to be said for decompressing with friends at the pub.

  Caleb offered Nash a ride home, already having informed Adam that he would drop him off. Nash declined, opting instead to walk around for a while. The exhaustion he felt earlier had melted away, and he was feeling relaxed and content. He wanted to stretch that feeling out, to make it last awhile longer.

  It was the middle of the night, and the streets were quiet but not deserted. They never were. It was part of the reason Nash loved living in the city. The shops were all closed, but most of the windows were dimly lit, washing the street with a soft glow.

  He made his way down the sidewalk, hands shoved into his pockets, wandering aimlessly. The trees were beginning to lose their leaves, and even under a blanket of darkness, the residential streets that branched off the main boulevards were a wash of color.

  Nearly an hour later, he found himself standing in front of the churchyard, where hours ago he’d found a scared little boy holding his dead friend. The property was cordoned off with police tape, and there was one squad car that remained, parked at the mouth of the alley that ran behind the church.

  He recognized the officer sitting inside and tilted his head forward in acknowledgment before turning back to stare at the church. The tiny building looked so innocuous, its red clapboard siding reminding Nash of photos he’d seen of old schoolhouses. Lush rhododendron bushes dotted the perimeter of the building, the last of the bright pink flowers hanging on, refusing to let autumn shake them from their branches. The scene was peaceful, and Nash imagined there had been many happy memories made here. The stark yellow police tape stood in contrast to those joyful events and was the only indication that anything sinister had ever taken place here.

  Nash stood there for what felt like forever, trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened. He would never understand the desire or capacity for people to harm a child. He’d seen enough kids, broken and bloody at the fists of adults, to know it happened more often than it should. Every time, it lit a flame of rage in his chest that took weeks to fade. This time would be no different.

  He glanced at his watch and saw it was a little after five. He wanted to make it back to the hospital before six to see if he could catch Ford at the end of his shift. Nash needed to know how the boy was doing and, if he was being honest with himself, how Ford was holding up as well.

  “HEY, FORD,” Nash called as he walked toward him. He’d stepped out of the ER doors and was crossing the lawn, his head down and shoulders slumped forward.

  “Hey,” Ford said, his voice sounding drained.

  “You look awful.”

  “Wow. Thanks,” Ford said incredulously. “Is that how you impress all the guys?”

  Nash’s eyebrow quirked up. He was irrationally happy that Ford’s thoughts had jumped directly there. “I thought you didn’t want me to try to impress you.”

  “I don’t. I didn’t mean it like…. Jesus, Nash. Tonight was fucking intense, and I’m so fucking wiped out. Could you not right now? Please?”

  His smug grin fell. “Sorry. You’re right. That was shitty of me. How’s the kid?”

  “Fucked up. He’s coming down off a shit mix of drugs in his system. You shoulda seen the labs. We don’t usually see results like that unless the patient was scooped up off East Hastings. It’s completely fucked that a kid could end up….”

  “He’s going to be fine,” Nash said for the second time that night.

  “I hope so.”

  Nash shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t put them on Ford. God, he wanted to. He was standing there all moody and tired, his scrubs crumpled and his hair tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it, and for a moment, Nash’s libido ran away with him.

  He forced it back into check. Jesus Christ. Now was not the time. Ford was tired and upset, for Christ’s sake.

  “Come on. Let’s get you fed,” Nash said, tilting his head to gesture down the block.

  “I’m really not hungry.”

  “Like hell you aren’t. When’s the last time you ingested something other than coffee?”

  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.

  Chapter Seven

  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.