A Fallen Heart

by Cate Ashwood

  Peter’s tone was harsh, and his body was vibrating with rage. For a moment Ford was certain Peter was going to hit him. He braced for it, closing his eyes and tensing his body, but when he felt Peter’s mouth on his instead, he gasped in surprise. Ford tried to push him away, but Peter held him, restraining him helplessly in place.

  “If you don’t take your fucking hands off him in the next three seconds, I am going to rip them from your body.” Nash’s deep voice rumbled from the doorway.

  Peter broke the kiss but kept Ford restrained where he was.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Peter spat.

  “I’m the guy who’s going to dismember you if you don’t remove your hands from him right fucking now.”

  Peter dropped his hands and stepped to the side. Ford rubbed the flesh at his wrists, sore from where Peter had held him so tightly. He walked toward Nash.

  “Nash, it’s not… I wasn’t….”

  “I know you weren’t, baby,” Nash assured him. His eyes softened, and he reached for Ford, pulled him close and tucked Ford’s head into the curve of his neck. His fingers tangled in Ford’s hair, and for a moment Ford was lost in the sensation of it, the stark contrast between Peter’s violence and Nash’s tenderness almost painful.

  “Come with me.” Nash grabbed Ford by the hand and pulled him down the hall leaving Peter in the staff room, jaw on the floor.

  “Where are we going?” Ford asked, but Nash didn’t answer. Ford nearly ran into him when he stopped short in front of the door to the supply closet. He was shoved inside, and the door closed behind them.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Ford demanded, his heart racing from the anticipation, but once again, he received no answer. Nash’s hands were everywhere, fingers stroking, palms applying gentle pressure.

  “Nash?” Ford asked, his voice shaking, and the hushed response he got made him ache.

  “I know this thing with you and me… you ran, and I didn’t mean to make it so… it isn’t… I need to put my hands on you. Need to erase that he touched you, that he ever touched you. Need you to be just mine, okay?”

  It was irrational and possessive, and Ford’s knees nearly buckled from the admission. And because his brain was short-circuiting, and because in that moment it was the only thing he could say, Ford said, “Okay.”

  Nash kissed him, obliterating any doubt Ford ever had. The way Nash possessed him, like he was a thing to be cherished, made Ford’s heart flutter and the rest of the world blur into the background. He was rough and demanding, and it was absolutely everything.

  “Lube, second shelf,” Ford panted, his hands tangled in Nash’s hair. He needed this as badly as Nash did. His thoughts were jumbled, and his whole body ached to feel Nash inside him. When Nash stepped away to grab the supplies, Ford felt bereft without the weight and heat of him.

  “Fuck.” The word was angry rather than passionate.

  “What’s wrong?” Ford asked, watching Nash scrub a hand down his face.

  “I didn’t bring…. There’re no condoms.”

  Ford exhaled hard and looked at Nash, their eyes locking. Disappointment and desperation shone through, and Ford felt the same way.

  “I’m tested every three months, more often than is even required for work,” Ford said.

  The statement was loaded, pregnant with meaning. This wasn’t something he ever thought he’d do with someone. He’d never in the past. Condoms were a requirement with every partner, every time. Ford didn’t risk his health for anyone, but he trusted Nash. He wanted this with him.

  “I am too, but Ford… are you sure?”

  Emotions coursed through him that he refused to acknowledge. A moment of understanding passed between them.

  “Fuck, yes. Now fuck me already.”

  Nash kissed him. If Ford thought he’d experienced the full brunt of Nash before, he was so, so wrong. It felt like being hit by a tornado; he was pulled in and his head spun. He couldn’t figure out which way was up, and in that moment, he thought he never wanted to.

  Nash spun him around, shoving him forward. Ford braced himself, his hands spread wide against the door as Nash untied Ford’s scrub pants to push them down. They pooled around his ankles, his briefs topping the pile at his feet.

  He felt the chill of the lube on Nash’s fingers as he slid them inside, two at once. The preparation was rushed and rough, and it was more thorough than Ford wanted. He could hear Nash’s breathing in his ear as he lined his cock up and thrust in. Ford was so hard it hurt, the knowledge that there was nothing between them, that Nash was inside him, skin to skin, turning him on more than he’d ever been before.

  It felt different—slicker—and Nash didn’t hold back, fucking Ford hard and fast. He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out as Nash changed angles, hitting Ford’s prostate with each pass. Nash slid one arm across Ford’s chest, and he hooked the other around the front of Ford’s shoulder, holding him in place. There was nowhere to move, no give in his body as Nash’s hips slammed against his ass.

  His legs felt like jelly, and Ford knew that the second his hand wrapped around his cock, he would come. Nash’s rhythm faltered, and he knew he was getting close.

  “Touch yourself, Ford. I wanna see you come,” Nash said, his voice thick with lust and filled with a coarseness that made Ford scramble to comply.

  One stroke, then two, and Ford’s pleasure slammed into him, cresting as he shot against the door. He heard his name on Nash’s lips, and with one last thrust, Nash emptied himself inside. Ford felt drunk, his body completely wrung out.

  Nash pulled out, then turned him in his arms and kissed him, bringing them down from the high.

  All Ford could hear was the sound of their breathing, ragged in the quiet as Nash held him. Outside, people went about their mornings, unaware of what had just taken place inside the tiny room. Ford had been claimed, possessed, and he’d loved every second of it. He felt boneless and happy from the inside out.

  Nash pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll clean this up. You should go splash some water on your face or something. You look like someone just fucked the shit out of you in a supply closet.” His self-satisfied grin told Ford he was damn proud of it.

  Ford laughed, then kissed him one last time before he went to fix himself up.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  NASH AND Adam had been at the hospital for an hour already. The ER was slammed, and it would still be a long while before they were able to clear. The nurses were worked off their feet, and the doctors couldn’t keep up. The system had failed them once again, with inadequate staff to handle the number of patients, but the woman they’d brought in with dementia-type symptoms likely had a UTI. It was nothing a course of antibiotics wouldn’t take care of.

  Since it was probable she wasn’t going to die in the next half hour, Adam and Nash were stuck waiting.

  “Go get some coffee while you have a chance. I’ll babysit the patient,” Adam said.

  Nash glanced at his watch and noticed it was already close to eleven.

  “Thanks. Can I grab you one too? Something to eat?”

  “Sure. Whatever doesn’t look like it’s going to give me food poisoning.”

  “The seafood salad, then?”

  Adam chuckled. “Sure. But if I puke in the ambulance, I’m not cleaning it up.”

  “Got it,” Nash said, turning and heading for the coffee cart.

  As he crossed the foyer, he saw Sam walking toward him.

  “Hey,” Sam said as he approached, coming to stand behind Nash in line. “Busy day?”

  Nash turned more fully toward him. “It has been, but nothing too serious.”

  “Careful, or you’ll jinx yourself.”

  “Adam’s in treat and release with the patient, but you should go say hello if you want,” Nash said.

  “Maybe I will. How are things going with you and Ford?”

  The line moved forward, and Nash got the distinct impression that Sam’s question
was not as nonchalant as his tone suggested.

  “Good, actually.” He didn’t want to give away more than he should. Sam might be Ford’s best friend, but if he wanted to know details of what was going on between Ford and Nash, he was going to have to get them from Ford.

  “Without sounding like too much of a dick big brother, you need to know that if you fuck him over, I will hunt you down. And trust me when I tell you, I know how to make it look like an accident.”

  Nash chuckled. “I will keep that in mind. I don’t have any immediate plans, so I think my life is safe for now.”

  Sam’s eyebrows knit together, his expression becoming more serious. “All joking aside… he seems tough and like everything rolls off him. He likes to play as though his love life is no big deal and he doesn’t care, but he was hurt pretty badly….”

  “He told me about his ex.”

  “He did?” Sam sounded surprised.

  “Yeah. Maybe you can give me a few pointers on how to make it look like an accident for the next time I see him. I’ve never hated a total stranger more than I hate that guy.”

  “He told you who it was?”

  Nash hesitated. “Uh, yeah.”

  “Oh.”

  The conversation took a turn for the deeply awkward then. From the look on Sam’s face, Nash figured Ford never told him it was Peter. A flame of pride lit in his chest that Ford trusted him enough to confide that information in him… although Ford had been drunk at the time. But still, it meant something.

  Nash grabbed their coffees and two relatively safe-looking sandwiches before he said good-bye to Sam and returned to where Adam was still waiting with the patient.

  WHAT HAD been a routine day at work had quickly turned, becoming one of the worst days Nash had experienced since he’d become a paramedic. The sheer volume of blood he’d seen that afternoon alone would make Stephen King queasy. A drug-induced psychosis had followed a fatal MVA, which had come on the heels of severed hand at a tile factory. The icing on the cake had been the stabbing in Pigeon Park.

  He felt beaten and broken down, close to hitting the wall. The end of his shift was minutes away when dispatch sent them another call, launching them into overtime.

  Adam drove, trying to force the ambulance through the gridlock traffic that locked up the downtown core. Like a salmon swimming upstream, they made their way code three—lights flashing and sirens blaring—toward a woman who’d been assaulted by her husband. Apparently the neighbor had called it in. The cops were on their way as well, but no one knew the extent of the injuries.

  Nash hated doing the domestic calls, and he could feel his mood dipping as quickly as his energy levels. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. Ford answered a moment later, and although Nash could barely hear him say hello over the piercing sound of the sirens, even obscured, his voice held the power to soothe Nash’s ragged edges.

  “Are you okay?” Ford asked, clearly hearing the weariness in Nash’s tone.

  “Yeah… just, can you do me a favor? Please?”

  “What do you need?”

  “I’m not going to be off for a while, but when I get home, could you be there? Please?” Nash took a deep breath, not caring that Adam could hear his conversation with Ford, that he could hear how vulnerable Nash sounded. He’d seen Ford the day before, but it never seemed to be enough.

  “I can do that.”

  “My neighbor can buzz you in. Number 702. I’ll text her and let her know you’re coming. She’s got a key.”

  “Okay.”

  Nash hung up, feeling infinitely better, knowing Ford would be there when he walked in the door.

  THE SCENE was a grisly one when they arrived, the cops beating them there by a few minutes. There were two squad cars parked outside the residence, making it easy for Adam to find the house they were looking for. Blue and white lit up the dark neighborhood as Adam parked the ambulance on the street in front of the house.

  They grabbed their gear and marched up the steps, finding two officers inside and a woman who was bleeding profusely from the head in the living room. Next to her sat a little girl, maybe six years old. Even from across the room, Nash could see the bruise forming beneath her eye and the blood seeping from her split lip. She was crying and clinging to her mother.

  Nash rushed over, but he’d barely made it three steps into the room when he heard another officer yelling from somewhere in the house.

  “The basement,” said the guy holding the woman’s shoulder. He gestured with his thumb toward what looked to be the kitchen. “Third vic, way worse off than these two.”

  “Got it.” Adam turned and walked ahead of Nash toward the other officer’s voice as Nash called dispatch to request a second unit for backup.

  The kitchen was empty, but they quickly realized there was a door open to the basement. Peering through, they saw the third victim, crumpled at the bottom of a set of very steep concrete stairs. There was an officer standing over him, pale, eyes wide. He was young—too young to have spent much time on the job—and Nash figured from the expression on his face, what waited for them at the bottom wasn’t going to be good.

  They hurried down, lugging their kits with them, careful not to jostle the man who lay unconscious as they climbed over him to get a better view.

  “What the fuck happened?” Adam asked, dumping his kit on the floor and getting to work. Nash looked around for an alternate exit. Getting the guy back up the stairs on the spinal board was not going to be easy.

  “Best we can tell is that it started out as a domestic abuse call. The wife is upstairs, and the story she’s giving us is that this guy has been hitting her for as long as she can remember. Tonight he decided to add his daughter into the mix. According to the wife, it was the first time he’s ever laid a hand on her, but she said it was going to be the last time.”

  Nash was glad Adam was taking lead on the call. He pushed down the anger that was clouding his vision. The guy was a piece of shit, and the woman would be better off if he didn’t pull through, but the privilege of playing God wasn’t something Nash had. What he did have was a job to do, and although he wanted to kick the guy a few times for good measure, he needed to put everything he could into saving his life.

  Sometimes the job sucked.

  “She pushed him down the stairs?” Adam asked.

  “She got a few good hits in with her marble rolling pin first, but I think most of the injuries are from the stairs,” the cop said.

  Nash took an inventory of the man’s injuries, and right away, he knew the outlook wasn’t a positive one.

  “We got this for now,” Adam said to the cop. “Can you go upstairs and see if the wife can give us his name, birthday, and health number?”

  The cop nodded and scampered toward a door Nash hadn’t noticed. When he flung it open, Nash saw the staircase leading to the backyard. It looked to be wider and less steep than the one where they were currently perched. That would be their route of extraction.

  The man was breathing, and they managed to get the hard collar on him, but Nash wasn’t sure how much good it would do. There was an obvious indent on one side of his head where his skull had partially collapsed. The blood seeping from his ears was not a good sign.

  If they were going to save his life, they needed to get him to the hospital.

  The cop returned a moment later with the required information, and Adam let him know the other crew would be there soon to deal with the wife and daughter.

  As they loaded him onto the spine board, the man moved, his arms tight and his wrists bent in at uncomfortable angles, and Nash knew even if the man lived he’d never be the same again.

  Good, he thought. Score one for karma.

  They packaged up the man as quickly as they could and carried him up the back stairs and out the front gate to the ambulance. Loading him quickly, they secured everything, and Adam climbed into the driver’s seat. A moment later they were speeding toward the hospital in an attempt to save the l
ife of a man who should have died at the bottom of his basement stairs.

  IT FELT as though the elevator took ten years to reach the seventh floor. Nash wanted a beer, a shower, and Ford—not necessarily in that order.

  The apartment was dark when he got there, and Ford was nowhere to be seen, with no trace that he’d ever been there. Suddenly Nash’s exhaustion tripled, and more than he wanted a shower and a beer, he wanted to sleep.

  Trudging to the bedroom, he didn’t bother with the lights, and he sat down on the end of the bed to unlace his boots.

  He felt the mattress dip behind him, and he sat up straight as he felt warm arms slide around him and Ford’s mouth press against the side of his neck. Nash leaned into the touch, never more grateful to have Ford in his life than he was in that moment. Nimble fingers slid his uniform buttons free one by one as Ford continued his soft kisses from behind.

  Nash closed his eyes and let himself enjoy Ford taking care of him like this.

  “Rough day?”

  The words were spoken against the curve of Nash’s shoulder, and the sensation of Ford’s warm breath on his skin made him shiver.

  “Yeah,” he replied, his voice a little shaky.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  “Nope.” Nash turned, and then Ford’s mouth covered his. He kissed him deep, letting the taste of him melt away the stress of the shift until all that was left was warmth and comfort and the heat growing between them.

  Ford pushed Nash’s shirt off over his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor before he unclasped the heavy-duty belt and button that held Nash’s thick pants closed.

  In seconds Nash was undressed, and having shed the uniform, the weight of the day fell with it. He felt instantly lighter. He reached for Ford, realizing he’d been naked the whole time. His body was loose and pliant.

  “I’m sorry I woke you,” Nash said.

  “I’m not,” Ford replied before taking Nash by the hand and leading him to the bathroom.

  He turned on the shower, the steam rising from the hot water and filling the small space. They were fogged in, and Nash never wanted to leave.