by Cate Ashwood
Ford stepped in with him, his hands gliding over Nash’s wet skin as the water beat down on his aching shoulders. Ford’s fingertips caressed the planes and grooves of his body, soothing away the remaining stress and replacing it with a deep, unbroken kind of happiness.
By the time Ford turned off the taps and handed Nash a clean towel, Nash felt like a different person. The blood and the suffering receded into distant, foggy memories. In their place was Ford—the way he felt pressed against Nash, the way his hands felt on Nash’s skin, the way he smelled and tasted and the sounds he made.
It was exactly what Nash had hoped for when he’d asked Ford to be there. He soothed away the ragged edges and made everything infinitely better.
They dried off and looped their towels over the hook behind the door. Back in the bedroom, shadows blanketed everything, but Nash could still see Ford, his pale skin visible in the dim light. He felt as though he’d always see Ford, light or not. He was magnetic.
He crawled onto the bed, and Nash covered Ford’s body with his own.
Ford arched into him, and Nash nuzzled against Ford’s neck. It was slow and sweet, and the tension built gradually. They’d both been soft in the shower, seeking comfort in their closeness rather than the usual erotic slide of slick skin meant to tease and arouse. Ford lay facedown, pinned beneath him, and as it always did, Nash’s desire for him took over.
Nash planted his hands on the mattress and pushed up to kneeling.
“Turn over. I want to see you,” he said, the words thick and low in the darkness.
Ford did as he was asked, flipping over to lie back against the soft duvet. His face showed strength and vulnerability in equal measure, but above all, Nash could see the emotion simmering there, that yet unnamed feeling that filled Nash’s heart too.
“Thank you for being here,” Nash said, staring down into Ford’s eyes. “I really needed you tonight.”
“You’ve got me,” Ford replied.
Nash dipped his head and kissed him, felt the fullness of Ford’s erection at his hip. They kissed for what could have been hours, so wrapped up in each other they didn’t notice the passage of time.
Ford reached up, pushing gently at Nash’s shoulder. Nash understood, slipping an arm beneath Ford to keep them together as he rolled them. Ford bent his knees, bringing them on either side of Nash’s thighs, straddling him. He leaned over and grabbed the lube from the bedside table, then poured some on his fingers. He met Nash’s eyes as he reached behind and slicked himself up.
He rose, sliding his hand along Nash’s cock and guiding it into place before sinking down. Nash was swallowed up by Ford’s body, intense heat, and smooth tightness as he pushed inside. He forced his eyes to stay open, to watch Ford’s face as he adjusted to being filled.
His head fell back and his eyes shut, pleasure written over his whole body, and he began to move. Slowly at first, he rose and fell, like a wave on the sea. The rhythm was slow, languid, and it gave Nash time to appreciate how beautiful Ford was, how good he felt in his arms as Nash pulled him down to bring him closer.
His lips found Nash’s, the gentle tangle of breath right before building anticipation to the kiss. He poured everything he had into it, the dam of emotions breaking as he realized that this was it for him.
Ford was it for him.
He could feel his orgasm approaching, knew Ford was getting close too. He had memorized the signs now, understood how to read his body. Reaching between them, he wrapped his fist around Ford’s cock, stroking the way he knew Ford liked best. Ford moaned at his touch and held still, Nash seizing control. Feet planted on the bed, he bucked up, sliding into Ford, taking over the rhythm that had stalled out a moment before.
Pleasure broke over them both, pulling them under until Nash felt like he’d drown in it. He came hard, emptying into Ford’s body as Ford shot over his stomach. Heat spread between them, and Nash had a hard time catching his breath, more for the beauty of Ford when he came than the physical exertion of getting him there.
They stilled, Nash inside Ford, come cooling on their skin, breaths evening out. Nash held him close and sat up, slipping free but keeping Ford in his lap, Ford’s legs wrapped around Nash’s back. Nash reached up and cupped Ford’s face with one hand.
“I love you,” Nash said, head tilted up to look into Ford’s eyes.
Ford didn’t say anything. Instead he wrapped his arms tighter around Nash and kissed him hard, and that was enough for Nash.
Chapter Twenty-Two
FORD LAY there, listening to Nash’s steady breathing next to him. He’d been asleep forever, and Ford had been staring at the ceiling for just as long. The shadows in the room echoed the shadows in his brain, creeping in and coloring everything a daunting shade of gray.
He didn’t know what he was doing there. He’d been awake for what seemed like hours. It probably had been.
Nash loved him. That knowledge should have filled him with warmth and happiness, but all Ford could do was turn those words over and over in his mind until they lost all meaning.
What the actual fuck had he been thinking, getting involved so deep and so fast? In a matter of weeks, his entire life had flipped on its head. He hadn’t seen Sam in almost as long, and every waking moment, Ford’s thoughts seemed to orbit around Nash, like he had his own goddamn gravity field.
His thoughts were muddled and cloudy. His heart had beat faster when Nash said those three beautiful words. Hell, he’d almost let them slip out right back. He wanted to say them, but he didn’t know what they meant.
Ford had thought he loved Peter. He’d told Peter so, and once he’d taken some space and gotten some distance between them, he realized Peter had been manipulative and generally an asshole.
The way Ford felt about Nash was completely different, but what he didn’t know was if that made the feelings any more valid. He’d gotten swept up in the physical, in the way Nash made him feel, and emotions had developed in a stressful situation.
Would Ford feel the same way if they’d met on a blind date and gone to a movie together, rather than in a hospital where emotions ran higher than Everest?
Night melted into dawn, which melted into morning, and by the time Nash stirred next to him, Ford’s nerves were tattered. He hadn’t slept.
Nash rolled over, a sleepy smile on his face until his gaze fell on Ford’s expression. Ford knew the moment he realized something was wrong.
“Are you okay?” he asked, absolute concern coloring his voice.
“I don’t know,” Ford said honestly.
Nash sat up, meeting Ford’s eyes, his eyebrows knit together.
Ford sat up as well, dragging the blankets with him to cover himself. It made him feel even more vulnerable to have this conversation while they were both naked. He wished in that moment he’d had the foresight to get up and get dressed before Nash realized there was something wrong.
Hell, maybe slipping out before Nash woke would have been a better plan, but here they were, and Nash was looking at him like he was waiting for the hangman to release the lever that dropped the floor beneath him.
“I don’t think I can do this,” Ford said, feeling like they’d had this conversation before but Nash had talked him out of it… or into it… whatever.
“Don’t think you can do what?”
“A relationship.”
Nash was quiet, and Ford hated that disappointed silence. He opened his mouth and kept talking, if only to fill the space.
“It’s a lot and it happened fast and then you told me last night… I don’t know if I can be that way with someone else. I’ve tried a hundred different ways—casual relationships, serious ones, one-night stands—and nothing sticks. Inevitably I fuck it up and it goes down in flames.”
He paused to catch his breath before continuing. “I told you from the beginning that this was a bad idea. We shouldn’t have gotten involved. It was a mistake.”
“Why is it a mistake?” Nash asked.
“Because this was never supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to love me. You weren’t even supposed to like me. This was supposed to be a friendship, and then it became something more, and I knew then that I should have put the brakes on, but I was vulnerable and emotional and being with you felt so goddamn good, but I’ve fallen back into the same place I was when I was with Peter.”
Nash couldn’t have looked more gutted if Ford had physically punched him in the mouth. Ford watched as his disappointment turned to anger.
“You can’t possibly be comparing me to that fucking asshole. Do you honestly believe that I would ever hurt you like he did? That I would treat you like a possession and something to be discarded when I was done getting off?”
Now it was Ford’s turn to be speechless.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You’ve got things seriously backward. I get that you’re scared. I do. But I don’t even know what to say to you to convince you that this relationship between you and me is worlds different than what happened with you and Peter. I didn’t even know you then, and I don’t know fuck all about him, but I know that he’s a manipulative sociopath who used you and cast you aside. If you think he and I share a single personality trait, then maybe it’s better if you go.”
Ford felt like shit. He really was an asshole, but staying there would only make it worse. His thoughts were in chaos, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of what he wanted to say.
Of course he didn’t think Nash was like Peter. That’s not what he’d meant, but he couldn’t find the words to explain. Instead he climbed out of bed, taking the covers with him, and pulled on his clothes as quickly as he could, trying not to look at Nash, who was still sitting on the bed, glaring. Finally he was fully dressed and feeling marginally less exposed. He turned back to Nash, who hadn’t moved from that spot. The sleep-mussed hair and crinkly white sheets were such a paradox to the look of barely contained rage on his face.
Ford turned and left, walking what seemed like a hundred blocks back to his shitty apartment, with Nash’s face seared into his mind the entire way.
SEVERAL HOURS later, Ford didn’t think he’d ever felt as shitty as he did at that moment. He was sitting around in his empty apartment, rethinking every moment of the time he’d spent with Nash, fixating particularly over the events of that morning. He’d dissected every word of the exchange in his mind, tearing the conversation apart and trying to reassemble it in a way that made sense.
It didn’t.
He gave up and called Sam, who he knew would be at home. He knew Nash was scheduled to work that night, and so logically, Adam was too.
Sam picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, stranger,” he said, his voice light and teasing. It was everything Ford could do not to cry.
“Hey. You busy tonight?”
“What’s wrong?” Sam demanded immediately.
“I want some company tonight, if you don’t have anything else going on.”
“Of course,” Sam said. “Do you want to go out?”
“Can I come over? I don’t want to be in my apartment right now,” Ford said, looking toward his bedroom, where a pair of Nash’s socks were balled up in the corner, left behind from one of the few times Nash had been there. Who the fuck got emotional over dirty socks? Apparently Ford did, since the sight of them made tears well in his eyes.
“I’m here now. Do you want me to come get you? I can be there in five minutes.”
“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.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“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 su
ch 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.