A Fallen Heart (11 page)

“He’s doing okay. He’s finally talking a little. He almost seems scared of his own voice, but then again, if I were thirteen and I’d been through something like that, I’d be scared too.”

Every time he thought of Joel, Ford’s mind flashed with the possibilities of what had happened to him. More than anything, he hoped the horrific scenarios that played out in his head were much worse than what had actually happened, but somehow he doubted it.

“Who’s Joel?” Corinne asked, pulling Ford back from the macabre path he’d started down.

He’d forgotten she was there. For everyone else at the table, what had happened hit close to home. They’d all been involved in it somehow, but she was an outsider. For a moment Ford contemplated lying to save her feeling the same way they all did.

Nash saved him the trouble. “A boy we picked up in the ambulance a few days ago. He went through some pretty traumatic stuff. Ford was his nurse at the hospital, and Joel bonded with him instantly. Everyone is still trying to figure out what happened to him.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. He was found with his friend, who had died.”

“Oh, that’s terrible. Is he going to be okay?”

“I think so,” Ford said. “He is through the worst of it. He’s meeting with the detectives tomorrow to talk about what he saw.”

At the mention of the detectives, Adam’s back straightened and he became visibly tense. If anyone at the table noticed, no one said anything.

“His friend was killed?”

A hush fell over the table, as though everyone there was trying to decide if Corinne was trustworthy enough to be let into the 9-1-1 club. Rob made the decision for them.

“He was killed the same way all the other boys have been.”

“He was murdered?”

She managed to sound disbelieving and horrified at the same time. Ford knew how she felt.

Everyone turned to look at Sam.

“He was. All the murders have been almost identical in every way,” he said.

“Sam did the autopsy on all the kids,” Rob explained.

“That must have been very difficult.”

Sam took a sip. “In a way, yes. If I said I enjoyed that part of my job, I would be lying. I am holding out hope that Jack and Greer are able to find out who did this, and when they call me as the expert witness, I’ll make sure he goes away for good. That part of the job is what gets me through the tough parts.”

“And me,” Adam said, injecting a measure of levity into what had become a very morose conversation.

“And you,” Sam agreed.

Deep sympathy pierced through Ford. He’d called Sam to ask how he was doing after performing Rory’s autopsy, and they’d ended up on the phone for hours, talking about their patients. He knew how difficult it was for Sam to be the one to examine the bodies, looking for any trace of evidence that might point to who’d done it.

So far, none of the scant evidence made any sense. The symbol that had been cut into the boys’ chests didn’t seem to mean anything to anyone but the killer, and the manner in which they were killed was puzzling. They’d been beaten and carved up, but the cause of death for all of them had been suffocation following a dose of a paralytic drug.

No one could figure out why the killer chose to use a drug normally employed during general anesthesia rather than strangling them or overdosing them on the opiates that had also been found in their systems.

None of it added up.

When Ford thought about Joel and his friend being subjected to that, he felt almost disconnected from it, as though he couldn’t quite force his brain to fully comprehend that things like that happened in real life. Maybe it was his mind’s way of protecting him from dealing with the awfulness of it, but if he, a grown man, was incapable of processing, how was a kid like Joel ever supposed to heal from it?

FORD HAD
zoned out ten minutes ago and hadn’t rejoined the conversation since. The discussion had shifted to happier topics once their food arrived, but Nash could tell Ford was still stuck in the sediment of Joel’s case, his mind trapped by his preoccupation with the boy.

Nash hated to admit it, but maybe that surgeon from the hospital had been right. The guy had seemed like a total dickwad, but maybe Ford wasn’t the type of person who could handle getting too emotionally invested with his patients. Nash wished there was something he could do to make it better, but his magical abilities were seriously lacking.

The waitress was back to collect their plates, and Ford was staring off into space.

“Ford?”

When there was no response, Nash slid his hand under the table and along Ford’s leg. He jumped at the contact, as though Nash had woken him suddenly from a deep sleep.

“Are you done?” Nash asked, gesturing to the patiently waiting server.

“Oh, yeah, thanks. And could we get another pitcher, please?”

Once the waitress had taken their plates and left, Nash leaned in close. “You okay?” Nash asked, his voice lower than he’d intended and quiet enough that only Ford could hear him.

Ford shivered, and Nash used every drop of willpower he had not to nuzzle in close. The smooth curve of Ford’s neck was so inviting. He pulled back before he gave in to temptation.

“Yeah. I need another drink. It’s been a long week.”

He’d barely touched his dinner, but the last pitcher she’d brought over was drained pretty fucking quick. Nash wasn’t sure another was the best idea, but he kept his mouth shut. Ford was a grown man. He was more than capable of making decisions for himself.

The others hadn’t noticed Nash and Ford talking, too deep in conversation themselves about Caleb wanting to buy a motorcycle.

“You of all people should know how fucking stupid that idea is. Half the body parts we scoop up off the pavement came off guys who thought getting a motorcycle was a good idea,” Rob argued.

“You
have
a motorcycle,” Caleb countered right back.

“Yeah, but I don’t ride it.”

“Then what’s the point? Why don’t you sell it?”

“I could….”

“How much do you want for it?”

Rob sighed, exasperated. “If you think I’m going to sell you the thing you end up killing yourself with, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Thanks for your concern,
Mom
,” Caleb said, and Rob rolled his eyes.

“Just looking out for my partner. If you weren’t around, God knows who I’d end up with.” Rob’s gaze shifted quickly to Nash. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean it like that.”

Nash waved it off. “I didn’t think so.”

“Adam got really lucky. In the end, anyway.”

“I think I more than paid my dues,” Adam said.

“You did. First John, who turned out to be a homophobic douche nozzle, then a whole string of part-timers, and then Tony transferred in. He seemed promising at first but ended up being almost as bad as John.”

“Although that was more his problem than mine,” Adam said.

Corinne looked confused.

“I’m the only straight guy on our platoon at our station,” Rob explained. “Adam came out when he met Sam, and Caleb was never really in the closet. I knew, but he wasn’t overly talkative about his preferences. Nash just transferred in, and it turns out he’s batting for the same team as the rest of them.”

Nash looked around the table at the group of friends he’d happened on by chance. It was still early days, but he was beginning to feel like part of the family.

IT WAS
well after midnight by the time they paid their tab and gave up their table. The waitress was definitely happy to see them go. As the night wore on, the food stopped, but the drinks kept coming.

Everyone was sloshed and happy but tired.

It was time to go home.

Nash’s sides hurt from laughing so much, and the laughter continued as they spilled out onto the street. Rob hailed a cab immediately. Nash could tell he was anxious to get Corinne alone. She’d been a trouper, putting up with all the guys for as long as she had. He hoped Rob kept her around. She seemed sweet, and she fit in like she’d always been there.

Caleb jumped into a cab next and said good night before slamming the door.

Sam stepped forward, putting his hands on either side of Ford’s face, pushing his hair back.

“Do you need us to drive you home?” he asked, his expression serious and his words slightly slurred.

“Dex, we’re walking,” Adam pointed out.

Sam looked over his shoulder, and Nash contained his smile at the confusion etched so clearly on his face.

“Oh. Right. Do you need us to walk you home?”

“I’ll be all right,” Ford assured him.

“I worry about you,” Sam admitted, moving closer to press their foreheads together. “I want to know you’re taken care of. Because I’m taken care of, and it’s pretty fucking great.”

Ford smiled sadly. “I know. I’ll be fine. I promise. Let Adam take you home.”

Sam stepped back and turned to stare at Nash. “You’ll make sure he gets home?”

Nash nodded. “I will.”

“Good,” Sam said, tipping his head forward. “You’re a good guy.”

“Come on, Dex. Let’s go,” Adam said as he hooked his arm through Sam’s and pulled him gently to get him moving. “Have a good night, guys.”

“You too.” Nash waved.

“You don’t have to walk me, you know. I’ll be fine to get home on my own,” Ford said once the others were out of earshot.

“It’s fine,” Nash said. “Besides, I promised Sam I’d make sure you got there safely.”

Ford looked at him, his eyes a little unfocused, his cheeks pink from the cool air and the alcohol still coursing through his system, then started walking in the direction of his apartment. Nash fell into step beside him.

“It’s a bit weird how many times you’ve been to my place in the last few days,” Ford said a few minutes later when they rounded the corner of his building and the front door came into view.

“Technically, I’ve only seen the outside of your building.”

“That’s true.” A beat of silence passed. Ford rocked back on his heels, digging in his pocket for his keys. “Do you want to see the inside?”

Nash’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You want me to come up?” he asked, sure he’d misheard. He looked at Ford, searching for some sort of clue as to where this was all going. Ford was sending a heap of mixed signals, and Nash was too tired and too drunk to wade through them all. “That’d be nice, but Ford, I thought before you said—”

“I know what I said. I just… it’s been a weird week, and I don’t really want to be on my own right now.”

Comfort. Nash could do that, and to be honest, he liked Ford like this. Not drunk, but open and a little vulnerable. He had a feeling a lot of the bullshit Ford projected most of the time was just that—bullshit. It was like the alcohol had stripped away some of the defenses like turpentine on an antique table. Layers that obscured the beauty beneath were shed, and what was uncovered was stunning and raw.

“Okay,” Nash said, and the smile he got for that would be worth any discomfort he’d experience having to tame his libido and keep his hands to himself.

FORD’S APARTMENT
was very basic. Besides the exposed brick wall that made up a portion of his living room, there was nothing overtly interesting. Nash had seen the same layout in hundreds of apartments in the city. White walls, beige carpets, and plain wood cabinets made up the bulk of the décor… or rather lack thereof.

Nash’s place was no paragon of interior design, but he thought that a person walking in might actually be able to tell he lived there. In Ford’s apartment, there were no pictures hanging on the walls or propped up on the tables. The furniture was plain. Nash guessed Ford had picked it all up in a single trip to IKEA.

“It’s not much to look at,” Ford said, catching Nash’s silent observation.

“It’s not that bad.”

Ford laughed sardonically. “Yes it is. When I first moved in, I thought living in the heart of Davie Village would be so amazing. I imagined making tons of friends and going dancing all the time. In my head, it was one big pride celebration, all the time. The reality is much more boring. I go to work, I come home, I sleep, I repeat. So I never bothered doing much with the apartment. The one thing I did invest in, though, is my bed. My bed is amazing.”

Ford’s crooked grin turned Nash’s guts to butter. The chemical connection between them sizzled, and Nash shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from putting them on Ford. It felt like the millionth time he’d stopped himself from touching, and every time it became more and more difficult.

Overstepping boundaries was far down on his to-do list, and being invited into Ford’s home felt like an exercise in trust. He wanted Ford; there was no denying that. He knew it and Ford knew it, but he could be good if he had to.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t get a little nosy about the things that seemed out of place in Ford’s life.

“So are you going to tell me what that weird conversation with the surgeon was about today?”

“I told you it was nothing,” Ford said.

Nash could practically see the walls building back up around him.

“I don’t think it was nothing,” Nash pushed.

Ford’s eyes narrowed as he stared at him. A long moment passed before he spoke, his words little more than a quiet mumble.

“What?”

“Dr. Provost—Peter—he’s my ex.”

It took a minute for Nash to wrap his head around that. The guy was old. Well, not old-old, but he had to have ten years on Ford. He definitely wasn’t someone he ever would have pictured Ford with. Although at that instant, the only person Nash could picture Ford with was himself.

The age-difference thing was something Nash had never had a problem with, but the thought of that guy touching Ford… it made his skin crawl. Peter wasn’t unattractive per se, but nowhere near Ford’s league. Nash didn’t say that. Instead he asked, “The mysterious one?”

“Mysterious?” Ford’s eyebrow lifted, and a smile played at his lips.

“Adam said you’d dated a guy a while ago, but no one knew who it was.”

“Yeah, that was Peter.”

“He’s in the closet?”