A Fallen Heart

by Cate Ashwood

  Nash didn’t doubt for a moment the seriousness of that pledge.

  “Have you found Joel’s family? Do you know where he came from?” Ford asked.

  Jack shook his head. “No. Nothing popped up in our system based on fingerprints, and none of the open missing persons cases matched. We double-checked a few of them to be sure, but it seems like he either didn’t have a family or they didn’t care he was missing.”

  “And any leads on why he killed himself?” Ford asked.

  “That’s not an active part of our investigation.”

  “I still can’t believe he would do that.”

  The sadness that laced Ford’s words was heartbreaking. Jack looked back at him, his eyes kind.

  “I know it’s hard to accept, especially when it comes to kids, but sometimes people are capable of unimaginable things. He was hurting, Ford. I can’t tell you what he’d probably been through, and he was all alone in the world. He thought death would be easier.”

  “I’m telling you, Jack. I swear. I don’t think he would do that.”

  “Even Sam said the cause of death was exsanguination. He slit his wrists. He used the tip of a ballpoint pen. It wasn’t quick. If someone wanted to kill him, there were faster, easier ways to do it. And that doesn’t even take into account the fact that an armed officer was outside his room the whole time. No one entered. No sounds came from inside. It’s tragic, but Joel took his own life, and with some determination, I might add.”

  “I’m not saying it wasn’t self-inflicted. I’m saying that maybe someone scared him or threatened him or something.”

  Jack looked doubtful, but he didn’t respond.

  “We’re going to go. We’ve taken up enough of your time, but if you think of anything else, anything at all, whether or not it seems pertinent, give me a call. You have my number, yeah?” Jack asked, standing.

  “Yeah. I got it.” Ford couldn’t have sounded more dejected if he’d tried.

  Jack and Walter left, and Nash closed the door behind them before turning back to Ford. Gone was the lightheartedness from earlier in the day. In less than one hour, Jack had managed to erase every ounce of relaxation from both of them.

  They ordered pizza that night, neither of them wanting to put in the effort to cook. After dinner they left the dishes. Nash could take care of them in the morning.

  “Do you want to watch a movie or something tonight?” Nash asked as he shoved the pizza box into his fridge.

  “Actually, I’m kinda tired. I think I might just go to bed.”

  “Sure.” Nash gathered Ford close and pressed a kiss against his temple. “Let’s go to bed.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  IT HAD been a week since the funeral. The morning of the service had been the first sunny day they’d had in weeks. The light cut through the heavy gray clouds, pushing them out of the way and staining everything in gold. The cemetery where they laid Joel to rest was peaceful and quiet. Despite being in the middle of the city, it felt like they were out in the countryside. Stately trees dotted the green lawns. Most of the foliage in the city had long since fallen, but it seemed as though the oaks were keeping watch over the dead, clinging to their leaves, standing as a reminder of life for those who’d been left behind.

  Although Nash hadn’t been there for the first victim’s funeral the year before, he knew Daniel’s gravesite was only a few plots over. Adam, Sam, and Caleb had stopped there with flowers to pay their respects on their way to Joel’s service. Nash hung back, his hand in Ford’s.

  Joel had been buried without a last name. They didn’t know where he’d come from, and thinking about how he’d ended up was painful, but his memorial service had been beautiful. A number of cops, medics, and hospital staff had filled the small area, people hoping to pay their respects spilling over the grassy hill. Sam had spoken, as had Adam, and Ford stood strong beside Nash. In the end, Joel was buried next to Rory, friends in life and in death, two lives taken far too soon. It wasn’t until they walked back through the wrought iron gates toward the car that Ford let the tears fall.

  In the days since, Ford and Nash had spent almost all their time together. Nash felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Ford to realize that for all intents and purposes, they were dating. Hell, they were practically living together. They’d only spent a few nights apart, Ford opting to stay at Nash’s most of the time.

  Over time, he had begun to slowly perk up. There was still a heaviness he carried in his heart, and Nash wished there was something he could say or do that would take Ford’s pain away. In the meantime, he settled for distraction, keeping Ford’s mind from dipping anywhere too dark.

  So when his mom called later that morning and invited Nash to dinner the following night, Nash thought it would be perfect. He knew from experience that his mom’s lasagna could fix any problem.

  “Is it all right if I bring someone with me?”

  “Of course, sweetheart. You’re always welcome to bring a friend to dinner.”

  He could picture her, sitting in the living room next to his father, silver hair curving to frame her face and a look of pure excitement painted there. He could hear in her voice the excitement he’d imagined when she answered him, despite the casualness of her words.

  “Is this someone special that you’re bringing by?”

  Nash heard the shower turn on and a moment later, Ford’s smooth voice singing. Nash’s heart lurched.

  “I think so, yeah.”

  He held the phone away from his ear to avoid bursting an eardrum from the loud squeal his mother let out. She’d been badgering him for years to settle down. It wasn’t like he was getting old. There was plenty of time left, and for the most part, Nash was happy being on his own. His career had long been the main focus, but meeting Ford had smacked him right in the head.

  They’d only known each other a few weeks. It wasn’t enough time to start falling for someone, and maybe the emotional pressure cooker they’d been living in had artificially amplified Nash’s feelings. Maybe everything he felt was a result of the stress he’d been under, but somehow he didn’t think so.

  It was far too soon for any sweeping declarations, but Nash was keenly aware of how different this was from anything he’d ever experienced.

  “Don’t get too excited. I haven’t even asked him yet if he wants to go. He might not be comfortable with it.”

  “Why wouldn’t he want to meet us? We’re lovely,” his mother pointed out, and Nash laughed.

  “I know you are, but he doesn’t know that. I’ll ask him, though.”

  “Okay. Let us know, and come by whenever. We’ll be here all day.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m looking forward to meeting your young man tomorrow.”

  “Please don’t call him that to his face,” Nash said, imagining Ford’s reaction.

  “What should I call him?”

  “Ford.”

  “Like the car?”

  “Yep. That’s his name.”

  “All right. I’m looking forward to meeting your Ford tomorrow.”

  Nash rolled his eyes.

  “Are you making your lasagna?” he asked, knowing full well she was. It was his favorite, and it’d been way too long since he’d been able to have any.

  “Of course.”

  Nash hung up and went to find Ford. He was getting out of the shower, towel wrapped low on his hips, water still dripping from his hair. Without hesitation Nash stepped forward and pulled Ford into his arms.

  “I’m all wet,” Ford protested.

  “I don’t care.” He dipped his head forward, sucking the water droplets from Ford’s shoulder. Ford shivered in his arms, and Nash smiled against his damp skin.

  “Did I hear you talking to someone?” Ford asked, his voice sounding a little breathy.

  “My mom. She called to invite us to dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Us?”

  “Well, me. But you�
�re coming with me.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Don’t overthink this. It’s not the precursor to a proposal. It’s dinner at my parents’ place. She’s making lasagna, and trust me when I tell you that you haven’t truly lived until you’ve eaten Vivian Nash’s lasagna.”

  “There’s a joke in there somewhere,” Ford deadpanned.

  “I don’t really want to talk about my mother right now.”

  “Oh no?”

  “Nope. I have much better things we could be doing with our time.” Nash hooked his finger into the front of Ford’s towel and tugged.

  NASH’S CHILDHOOD home was exactly as it had always been. The clapboard had been painted a sunny yellow sometime when Nash had been in the second grade, and his dad had renewed the color every few years since then. It was bright and cheerful, and the white trim made it look postcard perfect.

  It had taken them nearly an hour to drive there from downtown, since the traffic had been heavy going through the tunnel. It was one of the reasons Nash preferred to stay in the core—bridges and tunnels weren’t his thing. But they arrived in one piece, despite Ford’s protests that he shouldn’t be there at all, imposing on family time.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. My mother lives to entertain. She’s going to love having you,” Nash assured him. There was a spark of something—excitement and maybe a little pride—at having Ford there with him.

  Ford hung back as he walked up to the front door and pushed it open.

  “Hello,” he called. “We’re here.”

  “In the kitchen,” his mother replied.

  They toed off their shoes and lined them up beneath the antique bench in the front hall before walking into the heart of the house. Nash found his mother chopping greens at the island. She put down her knife and wiped her hands on a white-and-blue-checked tea towel, then rushed over and pulled him into a tight hug.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said as she released him.

  “I missed you too. Mom, this is Ford. Ford, this is my mother, Vivian.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” Ford said politely.

  “It’s lovely to meet you,” Vivian echoed, not bothering with formality and instead pulling Ford into the same hug she’d given Nash.

  “Where’s Dad?” Nash asked, trying not to laugh at the bewildered look on Ford’s face.

  “He’s trying to fix the railing on the back porch. Roy came by to water the plants while we were gone and somehow tripped and knocked down one section of the railing.”

  “And Dad’s trying to fix it?” Nash clarified disbelievingly.

  “I know. I told him to call someone, but he insists he can do it himself.”

  “I hope you enjoyed a back deck while it lasted. There’s no way you’re ever going to have one again. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t take out the back wall of the house.”

  Vivian sighed dramatically. “You might be right.”

  “You want me to go help him?”

  “Nah, let him flounder out there a little longer. It keeps him out of the kitchen and out of my way.”

  Nash laughed. “Are you two sick of each other now that you’ve spent so much time locked in a tiny little room together?”

  “If we’re not sick of each other after almost forty years of marriage, a little boat trip isn’t going to be the thing that splits us up.”

  “My parents just got back from a cruise.” Nash turned toward Ford to explain. “They were gone for nearly six months.”

  “Where did you go?” Ford asked, sounding genuinely interested.

  “Where didn’t we go? We left out of Florida and curved down around the bottom of South America, then over to Hawaii and on to Asia, then up around Europe, across and down the east coast of North America, to end up back in Florida.”

  “That must have been incredible,” Ford said.

  “It was. I would do it again in a heartbeat. I have about a million photos if you’re interested. The only drawback was missing my baby.”

  Nash rolled his eyes. “You guys travel so much I hardly see you anyway.”

  Vivian threw her arm around his shoulders, standing up on tiptoe to reach. “That’s not true, and it doesn’t matter how long we’re gone for, I always miss my baby.”

  She released him after smacking a kiss to his cheek and picked up her knife again, resuming the chopping they’d interrupted when they arrived.

  “So, Ford, what do you do?” She turned her full attention to him.

  “I’m a nurse,” he replied, and Vivian beamed.

  “That’s wonderful.”

  Nash could tell how pleased she was. His grandmother had been a nurse, and his mom had always talked about how much she wished she’d followed in her footsteps. Instead she’d become an accountant like Nash’s grandfather. “Which department do you work in?”

  “The ER.”

  “That must be very stressful sometimes.”

  Ford nodded. “It can be, but I’ve worked all over the hospital. The ER feels like where I belong. I enjoy the pacing, and I love that the patients are varied. I like not knowing what to expect when I walk in and that it’s never boring. It’s always challenging, and I feel as though I’ve become a better nurse for being there.”

  Nash couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face listening to Ford talk about his passion for the job. It was the same way Nash felt about being a paramedic, and he loved how animated Ford became. The spark that was there in his eyes held promise.

  Ford insisted on helping with the salad, and moments later Ford and his mother had both forgotten he was even in the room. Nash stood and eavesdropped on two of his favorite people as his mother told Ford all about her missed aspirations of being a nurse. Ford listened with sympathetic ears and answered all her questions about the best and the worst of his patients. Nash’s heart broke a little when Ford told her about Joel and everything that had happened in the weeks before.

  A loud crash coming from the backyard, followed by a litany of loud curses, had Nash up and on his feet in seconds.

  “I’ll go see if he’s okay,” Nash said, darting out of the kitchen to go find his father.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE MOMENTARY panic when Nash left the room was quickly soothed by Vivian’s melodic voice. She hardly seemed to notice her son had gone with how absorbed she was in her conversation with Ford.

  It had been so long since Ford had felt instantly comfortable with someone—that in itself was disconcerting—but charming and charismatic was the only way to describe Vivian Nash.

  Ford didn’t consider himself to be the type of person to open up and dump his problems on a complete stranger, and yet here he was, unloading every emotional detail about his job and about Joel to the mother of a man he wasn’t sure of his feelings for. It felt so good to tell her, and her comforting words and sympathetic ear were like a balm for his emotional wounds.

  It bothered him that he even needed that balm, but it felt so goddamn good.

  “Does your family live close?” Vivian asked once she’d added in all the ingredients for the salad dressing.

  “No, they’re all out east.”

  “Do you get to see them much?”

  “Not often enough. My parents and I have never been close, but I do wish I saw my brother more often.”

  “Is he older or younger?”

  “Younger. He’s the baby by six years, so I always felt a little like his protector. He looked up to me, and I took care of him.”

  “It must be difficult being so far away.”

  “It is, but he’s doing well. I’m proud of him. He’s finishing up university now, and he met a girl. He thinks this might be it, that she’s the one, even though he’s only twenty-three.”

  “Do you think he’s too young to settle down?”

  Ford shrugged. “Maybe a little. He’s always been serious, though. I’ve never questioned his judgment before, and I guess it would be stupid to start now. I think back to my life when
I was twenty-three, and I can’t imagine even the thought of marriage crossing my mind.”

  “And now?”

  Ford looked up at her, their eyes meeting. He could feel the weight of the question bearing down on him. Her words held more there than simple curiosity, and Ford knew it.

  “One day, I think I’d like to settle down and get married. To be honest, until recently, I’d never given it much thought.” He suppressed a wince at how that must have sounded. He hadn’t meant that Nash had him thinking about a wedding and 2.4 children. But he’d thought about it with Peter, and acknowledging that made him question his own judgment on the matter.

  His judgment when it came to everything Peter was questionable.

  “It’s a long way off, in any case,” Ford added, shrugging and trying to divert the conversation away from such serious topics.

  Ford could hear the baritone of Nash and his father as they came through the back door and into the kitchen. With nearly identical voices, Ford expected Nash to resemble his father, but he didn’t. While they shared the same hazel eyes, that seemed to be where the similarities ended.

  “Mom, I don’t have very good news about your back railing,” Nash said, rounding the island to stand next to Ford. “It’s not going to be fixed tonight. I’ll need some supplies, but I’ll come back to take care of it.”

  “That’s fine, sweetheart. We’re not going to be using the deck until the spring anyway.”

  “Dad, this is Ford. Ford, this is my father, George,” Nash said, stepping around them to the fridge, which he pulled open to grab three bottles of Granville Island lager from inside.

  “It’s good to meet you, Ford,” George said as Nash handed him one of the bottles. “Glad you could make it out for dinner.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too. I appreciate the invite. Nash raved about his mother’s lasagna, so I couldn’t very well turn down the invitation.”

  “Speaking of the lasagna, it should be just about done. Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll bring everything out.”