A Fallen Heart (22 page)

“Okay,” Ford said. “But we’ll need to make a stop on our way back.”

“Tequila and ice cream?”

“You know me so well,” Ford said, relief flooding him that he wasn’t alone after all. He had his friends. He’d missed Sam. He hadn’t even realized how much. He’d been so wrapped up in Nash that the rest of his life had fallen away. He’d lost himself in a guy for the second time, and as much as feeling this way sucked, he was better off in the long run.

True to his word, Sam arrived five minutes later, buzzing himself into Ford’s apartment. When he entered, he pulled Ford into a hug, and the tears that had threatened earlier spilled over his cheeks, sliding onto the fabric of Sam’s jacket.

“Good thing that’s waterproof,” Ford joked feebly.

“Come on. Pack a bag. You can stay with me tonight, or as long as you want. Adam’s on nights the next couple… which I guess you knew.”

Ford wasn’t sure why everyone’s first instinct was to take him home with them, but he was grateful nonetheless. He couldn’t be in his apartment without thinking about Nash, even though they’d barely spent any time there. He guessed it would be a while before he could do much of anything without thinking about Nash.

He did what he was told, tossing a change of clothes and his toothbrush into a bag, and minutes later he was ready to go. They stopped on the way, as promised, for tequila and ice cream, and Ford threw a bag of caramel popcorn and some peanut butter M&M’s into the mix as well. It wouldn’t be a breakup without enough sugar to kill a diabetic.

Before long they were holed up in Sam’s apartment, surrounded by junk food and a line of shot glasses in front of Ford and one in front of him.

“You’re the best bartender I know,” Ford said, slamming back the first shot before wedging the lime into his mouth.

“Well, if the whole pathologist thing falls through, it’s good to know I have a backup plan.” Sam waited until Ford placed his glass back down on the coffee table. “You want to talk about what happened?”

“I’d rather drink, if it’s all the same to you,” Ford said.

“You guys broke up?”

“What was your first clue?” Ford tipped another shot into his mouth, enjoying the sweetness and the heat as he swallowed.

“I’m sorry, Ford. I know how much you liked him.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not meant to be in relationships. I’m bad at them. Nash was just the latest in a string of failed attempts. I think I’m done now.” Shot number three slid down a little easier than the first two.

“Maybe you’ve chosen the wrong guys.”

Ford sniggered, the sound bitter and resentful. “I don’t think that’s the issue. The common denominator there is me. I am broken, and I’m done. From now on, it’s just me and José,” he said, picking up the bottle and refilling the glasses.

“WHOA, WHAT
the hell happened to you? You look like shit,” Caleb said when Nash showed up at the station that night for his shift.

“Fuck you, Callaghan,” Nash replied, feeling surlier than he’d ever felt. Caleb was right, though; he looked like shit. He felt worse. Unfortunately for them he was taking it out on his crewmates. “I’m here to do my job, not to win beauty pageants.”

“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to imply you weren’t pretty.”

Caleb held his hands up in a defensive gesture, but the lopsided grin on his face told Nash he hadn’t taken it personally.

“Seriously, though, are you okay?”

Before Nash could answer, Adam showed up, sauntering into the living room and plunking himself down on his recliner with a loud exhale. He propped his boot-clad feet up on the coffee table and leaned back, guzzling a Red Bull.

“I am too goddamn tired to be here today. I need to win the lottery so me and Dex can retire,” he grumbled, apparently not noticing how awful Nash looked. That was a relief. Caleb was far too curious for his own good, but Adam was less observant. All Nash wanted to do was get going, staying as far away from the station as he could. He could handle throwing himself into work, flying down the roads to wherever dispatch sent them and concentrating on doing his job. What he couldn’t handle was the concerned look Caleb was throwing him.

“I’m gonna go make sure the rig is stocked,” Nash said, and without a second look behind him, he hurried down the stairs to the bay.

He heaved a sigh of relief that Ford wasn’t working tonight. He didn’t think seeing him that soon, in a professional capacity or not, would be such a good idea, for either of them.

Nash would bet his life on the fact that Ford hadn’t meant what he’d said that morning. Ford loved him. Nash was pretty sure he did, anyway, but he couldn’t force the guy to be with him. Tying him to his bed was only fun if they were both willing.

Ford was scared. He’d been scared all along, and it was actually somewhat shocking that it had taken this long for him to panic over how serious things were becoming with Nash. Nash was a little freaked too, if he was being completely honest. He’d fallen in love with Ford faster than he’d ever thought possible. Hell, he’d never been in love before, but during this short stint, he’d decided it mostly sucked.

Okay, no, he felt incredible… at least until Ford had ripped out his heart and turned him into a raging asshole, the very thing Ford had accused him of being. He couldn’t help the temper that flared up, thinking about how Peter had treated Ford, and the idea that Ford thought the same of him….

He pushed the notion from his mind, not wanting to Hulk rage at work. He’d been angry, and he’d had some time to cool off. He hoped Ford had cooled off too. The only shard of optimism Nash held on to, though, was that Ford would come around. All he could do was give him space and have faith that he loved Nash as much as Nash loved him.

Adam came downstairs a few minutes later. It was his day to drive, and Nash was happy for it. Attending would mean he had to focus, and focusing on anything other than Ford sounded like the best plan he’d had in ages.

Dispatch tagged them with a call almost immediately, and off they sped for a pedestrian struck near West Georgia and Howe, sirens blaring and lights flashing.

HALF THE
night had gone by before there was a temporary lull. It was enough time to grab a cup of coffee, and Nash chugged it down, not caring that he scalded his mouth. The burst of caffeine felt good, and it was exactly what he needed to get through the next six hours.

“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.

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.