by Cate Ashwood
“Is everything okay?” Adam asked as they climbed back into the ambulance. So much for Adam being unobservant.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
“You’ve been cranky as shit all night, and you almost fucked up your dosages with that overdose.”
He had. Nash never messed up dosages, but he’d been distracted and he’d second-guessed himself.
“I’m fine.” It came out gruffer than he’d intended, but Adam backed off.
“Whatever you say.” His voice softened. “This shouldn’t need to be said, but I got your back if there’s something going on, okay?”
And if that didn’t hit him right in the guts. A rare Hallmark moment in the eye of a shitstorm. What a fucking mess of a day. Only five and a half hours until he could collapse in his bed and let sleep pull him under.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I’m good, though. I swear.”
Adam nodded and turned the key, the diesel engine rumbling to life as he let dispatch know they were clear.
They actually made it to the station before shift change, which didn’t happen often. Nash was tired and incredibly cranky. After he and Ford had fought that morning, he hadn’t been able to get back to sleep, his blood pumping too hard and his mind racing too fast to settle. Working a night shift on no rest wasn’t high on Nash’s favorite-things list, so pulling into the station with ten minutes left on his shift seemed like a gift from the universe.
“I’ll scan the forms and submit all the paperwork, if you want to restock the car,” Adam said once he’d parked the ambulance back in the bay.
“’Kay,” Nash agreed, unbuckling his seat belt and climbing out. They hadn’t done many calls that required much in the way of supplies, so he was definitely getting the better end of the deal. He’d have to thank Adam later when he was feeling less pissy.
Adam disappeared up the stairs, and Nash got to work, checking all their kits first to replace anything they’d used.
Nash heard his name called from behind him, and he turned to see Sam walking toward him.
“Oh, hey. Adam’s upstairs scanning in the forms. You can go up if you’d like,” Nash said.
“Actually, I’m here to see you.”
“Me?” He was too exhausted to begin to reason why.
“Yeah. I’m here to talk some sense into that thick fucking skull of yours,” Sam said, his voice taking on a decidedly angry tone.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I warned you. I told you to be careful with him, that even though it might not seem like he’s fragile, Ford is incredibly vulnerable. Knowing all that, you still used him and cast him aside like he’s worthless.”
“You don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about,” Nash said, turning away from Sam to replace the oxygen tank.
“I think I do. I think you’re a piece of shit who doesn’t care about anything but getting laid.”
Sam grabbed Nash’s shoulder, spinning him around. Their eyes met, anger and ire echoing each other. Sam yelled at him, rage pouring off him.
“You used him. You slept with him when he was emotional and vulnerable, and now you’re done with him and he’s fucking heartbroken.”
Nash had enough. He snapped like an elastic band stretched too far. He slammed his hand against Sam’s chest, backing him up against the side of the ambulance and pinning him in place.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Sam, and I’ve had about enough of you stomping in here, when I’ve been up all night hauling sick and mangled people back and forth from the hospital, and accusing me of shit you’re pulling out of your ass, because none of that ever happened. Did you actually talk to Ford? He was the one who fucking ended things. I told him I loved him and he ran fucking scared, so keep your goddamn—”
“What the fuck is going on here?” Adam’s shouted angrily from behind them. “Get your fucking hands off him.”
Sam stumbled forward as Nash spun around, Adam’s hand twisted in his shirt. He had no time to react before Adam’s arm flew forward. Sharp pain spread through Nash’s lip and jaw as Adam’s fist made contact. The tang of blood sent his temper reeling, and he fought back, swinging hard, a satisfying cracking sound filling the bay when he connected with Adam’s cheek.
They grappled, swinging at each other and ducking blows. Sam was shouting, but the blood pounding in Nash’s ears kept him from hearing. All he saw was Adam, filtered through a sea of red. Hands were tugging at him, and he was dragged away. His vision cleared, but his heart was still racing, adrenaline surging through him. He needed to hit something, but Caleb’s arms held him back, even as he struggled.
Adam was lucky Caleb was so big, or he’d be a broken, bloody mass.
“Fuck this shit,” Nash barked, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. Caleb let him go, and he turned, storming out of the station.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE POUNDING in Ford’s head woke him, and he instantly regretted it. He hadn’t had tequila in years, and suddenly he remembered exactly why.
His mouth tasted like he’d spent the night before rimming a skunk, and his hair was sweat-matted to the side of his head. He forced himself out of bed and got dressed before he ventured out into the apartment in search of Sam and something to eat.
He found neither.
Glancing at the tiny calendar on the side of the fridge, Ford realized it was Monday. Sam was at work. Guilt trickled in for keeping Sam up so late, and although he hadn’t had as much tequila as Ford, he was likely hurting this morning. He’d been picking up the pieces of Ford’s broken heart for as long as they’d known each other. First Peter and now Nash.
He’d make it up to him.
After he found some coffee.
He managed to track down a stale bag of coffee grounds in the back of the pantry. Ford made himself a cup of shitty coffee and sat at the kitchen island, but his head was still pounding, even after two cups.
He was a fucking mess.
He placed his mug in the dishwasher and headed out. During the walk home, he thought over everything that had happened. He thought about Joel and his funeral, about Jack and his denial that anything had led to Joel’s death. Jack was wrong. Ford knew he was, and he was determined to prove it. He didn’t know how, but he would find a way to figure out what had happened.
With a renewed sense of determination and a plan that didn’t include wallowing in his own misery over Nash, Ford closed his apartment door behind him, locking it tight before climbing into the shower. His new plan was a good one, but before he put it into action, he needed to wash the scent of alcohol from his skin.
NEARLY HALF an hour later, Ford stepped out. He felt marginally more human once he’d showered. He’d managed to scrub away most of his hangover and some of his self-pity. He felt somewhat energized.
He dressed and brushed his teeth twice before leaving his apartment and walking to the hospital. He stopped in at the food truck across the street for the best burritos in the city. They were Sam’s favorite, and although they wouldn’t make up for the late night, Ford hoped the cheese and guacamole would help ease the hangover.
Carrying their lunches in a brown paper bag, he walked across and into the hospital. His next shift wasn’t for three days, but walking back through the main doors felt as much like coming home as actually going home did.
He made his way down to the dungeon and paused outside Sam’s door. Ford could hear voices coming from inside the office. They were muffled, and Ford wasn’t sure if he was in a meeting or just chatting with someone. He knocked quietly, prepared to drop off the food and leave if Sam was busy.
When the door opened, though, Ford hadn’t anticipated seeing Adam in his office, or the angry black-and-purple bruise that marred the skin beneath Adam’s eye.
“Jesus Christ. Adam, what happened?” Ford asked, entering Sam’s office and closing the door behind him.
Adam shrugged one shoulder. “You s
hould see the other guy.”
“He got into it with your boyfriend, defending my honor,” Sam added.
“He’s not my… wait… what?” Ford looked between them, studying their expressions and trying to work out in his head what would have led Nash to become violent with Adam. Or Sam for that matter.
“I went down to the station this morning to give Nash a piece of my mind over breaking your heart. Things got heated, and Adam walked in when Nash had me pinned against the ambulance. And they both have tempers, apparently.”
“You went down to the station to talk to him? Why?”
“You’re my friend. My best friend.” Sam ignored Adam’s growl. “I warned him not to hurt you, and he did. You spent the night drunk and miserable on my couch, watching Hallmark channel romance movies and trying to hide the fact that you were weeping.”
Ford was still trying to process the information. Maybe he should have slept longer. His mind felt sluggish all of a sudden, and he could feel the tears welling up again. He wasn’t sure if it was over hearing about Nash having been in a fistfight with Adam, or that Sam cared about him enough to stand up for him. Probably both.
“But it became obvious that I didn’t have all the information,” Sam continued. “You didn’t want to talk about it, and I jumped to conclusions, but maybe you would like to talk about what happened now? And why you broke up with Nash when you so obviously have feelings for him?”
“I’m gonna go and let you guys talk,” Adam said, standing from where he’d been leaning against Sam’s desk. “I’ll see you at home when you’re off.”
Sam bent forward, kissing Adam quickly before taking his seat again and pinning Ford in place with his stare.
“All right, talk,” Sam demanded when the door clicked shut behind Adam.
“I can’t believe you went to talk to him. You shouldn’t have done that.” Anger ripped through him. He loved Sam to death, and a part of him felt grateful that he had Ford’s back, but going down to confront Nash over their breakup was beyond crossing the line.
“You don’t get to be mad about me sticking up for you. I get to be mad because you led me to believe he’d dumped you. Why the fuck did you break up with him?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I got all day.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. Ford felt like he was being given detention, which didn’t help his mood.
“If I want to break up with him, the reasons behind it are absolutely none of your fucking business.”
“You made it my business when you ended up sobbing on my couch at three in the morning. You’re my best friend, Ford. I want you to be happy, and I honestly believed Nash made you happy. I am trying to wrap my head around the idea that you would end things with him when they seemed to be going so well.”
A little of the fight seeped out of Ford. “I am completely fucked up.”
“No one is arguing that. But how does that explain anything?”
Ford took a deep breath and released it in a sigh. “I have never had a successful relationship. I keep picking these guys who are bad for me, or maybe they’re not bad for me, but somehow I turn them into guys who are bad for me.”
“You’ve had one bad ex. I get that he was an asshole, although you’ve never told me exactly what happened there either, but one bad relationship does not mean every relationship you have is doomed to be bad.”
“It’s not the guys, though. It’s me. Every single time, I let them change me. I lose myself in them and I become someone different. I’m too weak to be with someone else. Until I can figure out who I am and how to be strong enough not to change for a man, I need to be on my own.”
Sam took a moment to digest what Ford said before he spoke. “What a pile of absolute bullshit.”
“It is not,” Ford protested, his nose a little bent out of shape over Sam’s reaction to his revelation.
“How do you think you changed when you were with Nash? Because maybe I wasn’t in the relationship with you, but I can tell you we probably have very different ideas about what that man did for you.”
“The same thing I always do. My personality started to blend with his and I lost who I was. We were together all the time, and I didn’t have my own life anymore. Everything was about him, for him. If I wasn’t at work, I was with him, and I even rearranged schedules to be with him. When he asked me to take time off, I did. I ignored my friends. I went hiking for him.”
Sam laughed, but Ford hadn’t been trying to be funny. It may have sounded like a joke, but it was evidence of how he’d changed for someone else. Before they met, nothing could have convinced Ford to leave the house on the morning of his day off other than the promise of waffles and mimosas at Greystones.
“I’m being serious,” Ford said indignantly.
“I know you are. I’m sorry. But you’re an idiot.”
This day was getting better by the second. He was seriously regretting coming by to see Sam. He should have gone directly to the police station instead of stopping in for his friend’s help.
“Changing to be with the person you love isn’t a bad thing. It happens to everyone. Those differences are not necessarily a negative thing. People transform and grow when they find someone worth changing for. Look at Adam and me. Adam came out for me, which was a huge life alteration for him. You went for a walk in the forest. It’s not like Nash forced you into something horrible, like cult worshiping or square dancing.”
“This is how it started with Peter too. I got all caught up in things, and I let myself be used. I lost all respect for myself.”
“Peter?”
“My ex,” Ford answered.
“Not Peter Provost.”
Ford nodded slowly.
“Jesus, Ford. Really? That’s the asshole who shit all over you? Fucking Peter Provost?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck, I wish you’d told me that. Goddammit, Ford. You should have told me. That guy is a fucking sociopath. The only reason he became a surgeon was so he could carve people up without getting arrested, I swear to God.”
Ford sighed. “It took me way too long to realize what he was doing to me, and it took me even longer to come back from it. I had to collect the torn and battered pieces of myself and put them back together. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same person I was before I met him.”
Ford felt small and vulnerable admitting that, just as he had when he’d told Nash. He was open and raw, but this time he didn’t have Nash there to gather him into his arms and wash away all thoughts of how Peter used to make him feel.
Sam stepped forward and pulled Ford into a hug. “I’m sorry you went through that, and I’m sorry I didn’t see what was going on. I knew you were going through something, but I didn’t realize how bad it was.”
“It’s okay,” Ford said weakly. “I didn’t want you to know.”
Sam released him and stepped back. “But you know Nash isn’t like that. He loves you.”
“I know. He told me.”
“Is that what brought all this on?” Sam paused. “You need to fix things with Nash. He loves you, Ford, and he’s hurting as bad as you are. Call him and fix this before you lose him.”
Sam was right. Ford was an idiot. He missed Nash. He needed to make it right before he did lose him. He shouldn’t have let him go in the first place. Flimsy excuses had covered up the fear of letting himself fall in love, but if he stripped away all the bullshit and took a hard look at himself, he knew deep in his heart that had already happened.
“I love him too.” Once he admitted it, his whole body radiated with it. It was incredible how those words, which had instilled so much terror in him only the day before, now made him feel lighter than he’d ever been.
“Good. So get over there and start groveling. He’s probably going to be pretty cranky. Adam got a few good hits in too before Caleb broke up the fight.”
The phone on Sam’s desk rang, and he answered it before Ford could say g
ood-bye. As he listened to whoever was on the other end, his expression became troubled.
“Okay, thank you,” he said before replacing the phone in the cradle.
“What was that?” Ford asked.
Sam paused, as though he was trying to decide whether or not he should say. “That was the lab. When I performed the autopsy on Joel there were some odd metabolites in his urine. They were in trace amounts, but I decided to run a more comprehensive drug panel on him.”
“And?”
“There was suxamethonium chloride in his system.”
A sinking feeling tugged at Ford’s insides. “What’s that?”
“It’s a paralytic. It’s usually used in combination with other meds for anesthesia.”
“Why would Joel have that in his system?” But even as Ford asked the question, he already knew the answer.
“He was murdered.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“YOU’RE SURE?” Ford asked, barely able to breathe as he waited for Sam to answer.
Sam’s expression was grim. “That’s the most likely explanation. The official cause of death was cardiac arrest, but with this new information, it’s clear that it could have been caused either by blood loss or by the paralysis caused by the meds he was given. Suxamethonium chloride is fast acting. It doesn’t stay in the body long, and had Joel lived any longer, it would have been completely metabolized. He died quickly after the drug was administered or it wouldn’t have shown up in the panel at all.”
“Either way, his death was not self-inflicted.”
“Unless he got his hands on anesthetic drugs, injected himself, and then slit his wrists, I would say no.”
“Fuck,” Ford muttered. He felt like he was going to throw up. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, hoping to push down the bile that was rising in his throat.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, his eyebrows knit together in concern.
“Yeah, I’ll be all right.”
“I need to call Jack and update him. Why don’t you go talk to Nash?”
