Книга - Nash

Nash
Jay Crownover


The fourth book in the scorching hot NEW YORK TIMES bestselling MARKED MEN New Adult seriesNash Donovan, tattooist and good-time guy, never knew his father. Instead, he was brought up by his Uncle Phil, the best role model and mentor a guy could have. But when Phil is rushed to hospital and reveals he’s at the end stages of lung cancer, he wants Nash to know the truth. Reeling from the family secret Phil has let slip, Nash needs something to hold on to – and the nurse with the beautiful grey eyes taking care of Phil seems remarkably familiar…Saint Ford doesn’t know what to think when Nash crashes back into her life. They went to school together what feels like a million years ago and although she feels – and looks – very different, she can’t tell if Nash is still the same guy: the guy who teased and bullied her way back when and who she vowed never to forgive.But Nash is impossible to stay away from. From his flame-tattooed head to his multiple piercings, and his all-round good guy attitude, he’s unlike anyone Saint has ever known – does she still carry a flame for the first guy to steal her heart? And can she forgive him – and herself – for the mistakes of the past?









NASH

Jay Crownover










Epigraph (#ulink_ef3f47c5-4459-532e-916c-cc1267ecd5b7)


You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.

—Buddha

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

—Eleanor Roosevelt

Man often becomes what he believes himself to be. If I keep on saying to myself that I cannot do a certain thing, it is possible that I may end by really becoming incapable of doing it. On the contrary, if I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I may not have it at the beginning.

—Mahatma Gandhi

The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.

—Virginia Woolf

To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance.

—Oscar Wilde

I celebrate myself, and I sing myself.

—Walt Whitman

Love yourself first and everything else falls into line. You really have to love yourself to get anything done in this world.

—Lucille Ball




Dedication (#ulink_daeaeede-1287-52ec-a161-19f5ad11afb6)


Dedicated to any of you who might just need a little reminder that you are awesome just the way you are!!!


Table of Contents

Cover (#u8bd6676e-f6ec-5a2f-a8d1-12101c6f8f69)

Title Page (#uc2d3dc5b-d655-582d-b21e-20f6af98f4ba)

Epigraph (#u9a50df00-0cab-5210-9bf0-ff2053a408f0)

Dedication (#ud88e73cf-f7be-5932-88f3-d843da124047)

Introduction (#u86a868c6-1625-5989-a917-5c58d37bfb0e)

Prologue: Saint (#u2221616a-d8a3-5c87-803c-33fd41819fc4)

Chapter 1: Nash (#ua6578e28-9189-5942-90c5-7cb41c971c58)

Chapter 2: Saint (#u90700ab7-5445-5935-8f6f-a0ec15d20c37)

Chapter 3: Nash (#u25064e80-3cb2-5436-8bfc-2a78a916a927)

Chapter 4: Saint (#u0f2662f1-8e20-590d-9819-a1ef8d37f990)

Chapter 5: Nash (#u91a15894-1bc3-58c7-907b-73016085351d)

Chapter 6: Saint (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7: Nash (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8: Saint (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9: Nash (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10: Saint (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11: Nash (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12: Saint (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13: Nash (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14: Saint (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15: Nash (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16: Saint (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17: Nash (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18: Saint (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Pre-order ROWDY (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

RULE extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




INTRODUCTION (#ulink_53d45afa-f3ac-55df-b559-a181cd26c96a)


I grew up in a pretty small town here in the mountains in Colorado. It was a pretty place, but I stuck out like a sore thumb, which wasn’t always the easiest thing to handle. I have always had my own style, marched to the beat of my own drum, wrote my own rule book, and pretty much forged my own path. I developed a thick skin and pretty rock-solid sense of who I was and what I was about early on. I had to, or I would’ve fallen victim to thinking what others said about me or thought about me held any water. That was years and years ago and still, that time, those feelings, stick with me.

I know this isn’t the case for everyone, that some people have never been judged unfairly. But many have and they know that mean words and hateful actions are so much more far-reaching now with the world all being connected by a keyboard and a computer monitor. It gets tougher and tougher to brush off negativity and pessimism.

Trying to love yourself, to know your own value and worth, is something I think a lot of young girls struggle with and that can definitely flow into adulthood. We all have things that set us apart, make us special, make us who we are, and I would love to see those things celebrated and enjoyed across the board. Let that freak flag fly! (Or whatever equivalent you have.)

I think on the journey to finding the love we crave, the love we truly deserve, the first stop has to be the love we have for ourselves. That’s a love that can never be lost and can only grow and get stronger the more it is fostered and developed. Appreciate who you are. Love what makes you different. Tell your story your way. Embrace the things that make you beautiful inside and out, and know that once you do, no one else can ignore those traits. Revel in the quirks that simply make you you, and do it with pride.




PROLOGUE (#ulink_8b1809aa-6dc2-5f44-a996-266383e71fce)

Saint (#ulink_8b1809aa-6dc2-5f44-a996-266383e71fce)


High school … Not the best years of my life

There’s a moment in every person’s life, a point in time that will alter the course they are on, the path they are traveling, forever. The night of Ashley Maxwell’s birthday party my senior year in high school was mine.

I wasn’t the type of teenager that went to wild parties. I didn’t drink and didn’t mess around with drugs and boys, so really there was no point in me going. I was also painfully shy, overweight, and awkward in my own skin, skin that tended toward ugly breakouts and flushed bright red whenever anyone tried to engage me in conversation. The halls of high school were torture for a girl like me, but I suffered through it mostly unscathed because I knew when to keep my head down and not to set my sights on friends or boys that were out of my league. At least I did until senior year, when my locker ended up right next to Nash Donovan’s.

For the first few weeks of school, I kept to myself and ignored him, just like I did with all the popular kids and beautiful people. If I didn’t engage, then he couldn’t make fun of me or, even worse, look at me with pity shining out of the spectacular purple eyes that glowed out of his handsome face. It worked until the day I dropped a calculus book on his foot and he picked it up to hand it to me. I’ll never forget the way I actually felt the way my heart stopped and then started thundering in the next second when those spectacular eyes gleamed at me. I’d never experienced anything quite like it.

Nash smiled at me, quipped something sarcastic and offhand, making my poor, lonely heart turn over. He walked away with a wink … and I had a crush. A consuming, engulfing crush that built day after day, because after that embarrassing incident Nash went out of his way to say hello when we were by our lockers, and he always walked away with a smile or a nod. Each day I became more entranced, fell a little harder, and built the fantasy that we were meant to be something more than passing acquaintances into something grandiose and romantic.

I was a smart girl, so I knew my affection was one-sided, but he seemed nice, charming, and it made me warm on the inside that he never teased me, or made me feel bad about my weight or looks like so many of my peers did on a regular basis. Our simple interaction was good for my self-esteem, good for making me feel more like the rest of the teenage girls prowling the halls that swooned over him and his group of troublemaking friends. I had even worked up enough courage after a month or so to return his hellos without my fair skin bursting into flames. I didn’t stammer or clam up when he spoke to me anymore and occasionally I even managed to eke out a return smile. I was pretty proud of myself, so when he asked me one Friday if I was planning on going to Ashley Maxwell’s party, I had been equal parts stunned and thrilled. A shiver of anticipation shook me to the core and I couldn’t stop myself from tumbling headfirst into a daydream where this was the start of something more than just an exchange of pleasantries in the hallway. It was all I could do to keep from twirling around in a circle of delight and clapping my hands like an overeager fanatic.

It was more than he typically said to me, and he was just so engaging and likable that I replied that I would try to be there. I didn’t want to sound overeager. When he smiled at me and said that was awesome and we could hang out, I couldn’t stop the feeling that attending a sloppy, unsupervised high school party seemed like the most important thing I had ever done in my short life.

My older sister, Faith, pretty and popular, fit in seamlessly to shark-infested waters that made up a teenage social circle. She questioned me endlessly about my sudden desire to mingle with my peer group, cautioned me that kids who were mean and unfriendly on a normal basis could be cruel and hateful when social status and alcohol were involved—but I decided not to listen. I figured the worst thing that could happen was that I would show up, not see Nash, or he wouldn’t see me and I could just turn around and come back home and curl up with a book like I did most weekends. I was turning a blind eye to what I knew was the truth, but my desire for this particular boy to see me as something more than he did was all-consuming. It was making me ignore common sense and my own honed sense of self-protection.

I let Faith fuss over me for hours. She played with my fire-engine-red hair until it was curly and styled pretty and feminine. I let her pick an outfit that would never make me look like a size-four cheerleader but was fashionable and cute, and I even allowed her to slime a bunch of junk on my face that I knew would ultimately make my skin break out even worse. The end results were actually pretty nice. I looked more put together than I normally did. I thought I could just blend into the crowd, and really that was fine as long as those pretty purple eyes found me. I felt more confident and secure than I could ever remember feeling before.

Faith told me not to arrive to the party until after eleven, so I waited anxiously, fiddled with my hair, and played through every scenario my overeager imagination could think of. Maybe he would ask me to dance. Maybe he would lead me outside and give me my first kiss. Maybe he would tell me he could see all the wonderful things that lurked beneath the surface and he wanted me to be his girlfriend. In hindsight, of course, none of that was going to happen and I really didn’t know the kind of guy Nash really was, but still a crush is a crush and it can run away from you pretty fast.

And so I showed up at Ashley Maxwell’s blowout party, appropriately late, armed with Faith’s mini-makeover and a racing heart filled with anticipation.

As I walked into the house I was hit with a blast of music, and the optimism I’d felt started to waver. A crowd of three guys I recognized from chem crowded past me as they joined the mayhem taking place in the living room. I couldn’t find a safe place to rest my eyes, everywhere people seemed to be doing something that made me blush. I did my best to keep myself from gaping, but I felt the telltale heat creeping up my neck as I pushed my way through the sea of bodies. It was disturbing and I was beginning to think a new hairdo and some mascara would never be enough to make me fit in, in a place like this.

The kitchen looked a little less crowded, so I moved in that direction, keeping my eyes peeled for Nash. I was certain that if I could find him, this night would turn around. My stomach fluttered again as I thought about meeting those purple eyes across the room. I imagined them glinting and crinkling at the sides like they did when he smiled, and I pictured myself suddenly at ease by his side as the rest of the chaos faded away. He would make all the discomfort creeping under my skin disappear.

As I rounded a corner someone bumped into me, spilling sticky, red liquid all down the front of my carefully selected shirt. I gasped in surprise and the jerk moved on without even apologizing. I was shaking and officially freaking out on the inside. It was all too clear that I didn’t belong here, no matter how cute Nash Donovan was. My hands started to shake and it took every ounce of self-control I had to keep tears at bay.

Turned out, the kitchen was just as bad as the front of the party. Worse really, because the booze was apparently kept there and the crowd in that room seemed to be the drunkest of the drunk. It was like walking across a minefield of ugly remarks and dirty looks to get to the sink to try and clean up. I heard a few snickers, saw a few blurry looks cast my way, and it was enough. I planned to rinse off and go home. This place and these people were not for me and I knew better.

“Who invited you?”

The question was slurred and followed with a heavy hand on my shoulder. The voice—and the hand—belonged to none other than the birthday girl herself, and she was drunk. Really drunk and out for blood. Ashley and I weren’t friends, but she had never said or done anything overtly nasty to me in all the years we had gone to school together … I kind of felt like I was going to throw up.

“What?”

“Who invited you?” There was a sneer on her pretty lips, her big brown eyes glassy. “Why are you here?”

I wanted to say Nash had asked me to come, that he had told me we were going to hang out tonight, but I couldn’t get the words out … because just then he showed up.

He entered the kitchen followed by the Archer twins and Jet Keller. There was no mistaking it: these boys brought the party with them wherever they went. Nash had on his customarily sloppy look of torn jeans, skate shoes, and a band T-shirt. He also had a baseball hat pulled low over his forehead that did nothing to hide the high flush in his face or the unclear and foggy haze covering his eyes. It was obvious he was already wasted or even high and I felt the first threads of disappointment start to tie up my cracking heart. I saw his gaze skim over the kitchen, land on me, and keep moving. It made me suck in a painful breath and I had to bite the inside of my cheek—hard—to keep from really crying.

It was like he didn’t even see me. He didn’t smile, didn’t wink, and didn’t so much as incline his head in my direction. It was like I didn’t even exist. I went numb. I felt like my blood turned to ice and everything in the center of my chest ceased to work. I curled my shaking hands into fists and tried to frantically plan an escape route that would save me any further embarrassment or heartache.

Ashley apparently forgot all about my fatness and ugliness marring her party and bounded over to the new additions. If my heart filled with awful feelings at his flagrant dismissal, then it practically burst open when he scooped her up in his arms and let her inhale his face while he grabbed her ass. I wanted to choke on my embarrassment as I scrambled backward out of the kitchen. There was no more thought put to self-preservation, only to escape. I had a frantic, desperate need to put as much space between me and this party—but more so between me and Nash—as possible.

Mercifully, the tears didn’t fall until I was safely at my car. In that moment, slumped in my driver’s seat with black streaks on my fingers from the mascara I’d let Faith smear on, I knew the truth: the beautiful people stuck together and it didn’t matter what was on the inside. Nash might be nice when it was just him and I by our lockers, but put him in a room full of people, give him a skinny and pretty girl willing to put out, and I was invisible. I’d been so stupid to think it was anything more.

So I did what was instinctive and resurrected the shield around my heart. From then on I ignored him every time he tried to tell me hello. I looked away from him when he smiled at me. I avoided my locker as much as I could when I knew he was going to be there and tried to focus on the fact that graduation was right around the corner and I would be leaving this small mountain town and this clueless boy that had hurt my feelings so deeply behind. I knew logically Nash didn’t know how I felt, had no clue that I had thought he was different and special, but that didn’t make the burn of his ignorance or my embarrassment any less hot.

In the warmth of early spring, with my college enrollment all lined up for fall and my insecurities carefully compartmentalized—the sting of my failed crush finally beginning to heal—I stumbled upon Nash and his friends outside smoking after school … My heart lurched, but none of them saw me and I scuttled by, hoping to hurry to my car and planning on ignoring him like I had been doing since the party, when his deep voice assaulted my ears.

“She’s a mess. If she ever wants to get laid, she needs to look in the mirror and maybe do some work.”

One of the other guys cackled at the nasty statement and I thought I was going to vaporize into a cloud of horrified smoke. He had to be talking about me and I couldn’t move once I heard what he was saying.

I heard Nash snort as I tried to sneak by so they wouldn’t notice me or my tears. I had never cried so much over any other person and it made me hate him a little—or a lot—as he kept talking.

“I mean I’m not picky, I would take her to bed. I just might need to put a bag over her head first or something.”

That sent the rest of the guys rolling in laughter as the ground beneath me fell away and a sob caught in my throat. How could I have been so incredibly wrong about someone? Any hope, any thought that he was different—that any pretty boy could be different—was annihilated with those hateful, harsh words. Words that forever changed the way I looked at the opposite sex.

Nash Donovan was a beautiful, wicked, and hot flame that burned me when I got too close. He was just the first stop in a journey dotted by disappointment, but somewhere along the way I found my footing. My purpose. I just didn’t know that as soon as I did, Nash would manage to turn my world upside down all over again, and only a fool gets burned twice by the same fire.




CHAPTER 1 (#ulink_6419a7e2-51cc-5d1e-99a7-e16b29100004)

Nash (#ulink_6419a7e2-51cc-5d1e-99a7-e16b29100004)


Thanksgiving … Eight years later

My fully restored Dodge Charger was eating up the highway as I raced through the cold Colorado night. The massive engine was growling angrily in time with my thundering heart and light flurries of snow dotting the windshield, so I could blame the rapid blinking of my eyes on trying to see through the nasty road conditions and not the emotion threatening to overtake me. None of it registered, neither did the fact that I had to be pushing 120 and that terrified holiday traffic was undoubtedly scrambling to get out of my way. I was in such a fog, such a state of disbelief, that I felt numb and barely aware of what was going on around me. I had just found my uncle Phil, the one and only parental figure I had in my life, unconscious on the floor of his hunting cabin. He was cold and still. He looked like a skeleton, skin stretched over bones that appeared far too fragile. I was racing the “Flight for Life” the park rangers had called in to airlift him to the emergency room in Denver.

Just to add to the danger of the speeds I was traveling and the way my mind was on anything but the road in front of me, I put in a panicked call to Cora Lewis, my coworker and close friend. She was all kinds of take care of business and would rally the troops and get everyone else that mattered the information they needed without me having to worry about it. She would help take care of me, she always did.

I made it to the hospital in record time and surged into the emergency room on a tidal wave of anxiety and fear. I was more familiar with these institutional and sterile walls than I wanted to be—one of my closest friends, my surrogate big brother Rome Archer, had tangled with a bunch of bikers and a bunch of bullets not too long ago and I had spent hours upon hours nervously pacing these very halls waiting to see if he was going to pull through. But right now this visit felt like it might define the rest of my life. The security guard gave me a concerned look. I was used to it. When you had yellow, orange, and red fire tattooed along each side of your scalp and had ink from your collar to your wrist on each arm, people tended to think you weren’t really a very nice guy. Funny thing was that I was typically a lot nicer than most of the guys I loved like brothers, but not right now, and if the nurse who sat behind the desk didn’t tell me where my uncle was in the next second I was going to straight up lose my shit.

I was just about to breathe fire way hotter than the kind inked all over me when I saw her walking toward me. She looked like an angel, even though her name was Saint. It fit her, Saint Ford, healer of the sick and hater of anything and everything having to do with Nash Donovan. She was beautiful, breathtaking, absolutely despised me, and made no secret about it. I had run into her more than once on my unfortunately frequent trips to this ER, where she seemed to be a permanent fixture as one of the attending nurses.

We had gone to high school together years ago, and while I was all for striking up a reunion of sorts, she was having none of it. She made a big production of avoiding me, or giving me nervous, sideways looks like she didn’t trust me or was forced to endure my company. Only right now, in this moment, she was looking at me with equal parts compassion and seriousness in her soft, dove-gray eyes. It left no doubt whatsoever that things with Phil were really, really bad.

She put a hand on my shoulder and I felt like I was going to shatter under the gentle touch.

“Nash …” Her voice was light and I could hear the bad news in it. “Come over here and talk to me for just a minute.”

I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to hear whatever horrible words she was going to have to say to me, but because she was so pretty, because she had the loveliest eyes I had ever seen, I just numbly did what she asked. There were worse people to take bad news from.

We took a few steps away from the nurses’ desk, and I gazed down at her with trepidation. She was fairly tall for a girl, so we were eye to eye when she leveled it at me in a feather-soft voice speaking rock-hard words.

“Did you know Phil was so sick?”

I felt like she was asking me as a friend, or someone who actually cared about what was happening, and not as a medical professional. I knew logically she was just doing her job, but it made me feel better to pretend otherwise.

I didn’t have any words that sounded or felt right to answer her, so I shook my head.

“I recognized the name on the intake paperwork and the two of you look an awful lot alike. I figured I might find you out here.”

I gulped down my thundering heartbeat and nodded my head stiffly. “He’s my only family.” That wasn’t entirely true, but he was the only family I had that really mattered to me.

She sighed and I tried not to flinch when she put a hand on my cheek. I knew she didn’t like me, and for some reason that made the fact that she was being so considerate, so caring, hit home that whatever she was getting ready to lay out for me was way worse than I had imagined.

“He has lung cancer … the doctors are thinking stage four. He has an extensive medical chart. He’s been receiving treatment for a while. We got him settled, gave him fluids, he might have pneumonia, so that’s why he’s struggling to breathe, and his oxygen levels are dangerously low. We aren’t a hundred percent sure why he was unresponsive just yet, but we’re trying to get him awake. The attending doctor called the oncologist that was listed in Phil’s chart. It’s a serious situation, Nash. I can’t believe he didn’t let you know how ill he was.”

I let my head drop on my neck like it was suddenly just too heavy to hold up and her gentle fingers stroked along my cheek. It was startlingly soothing.

“He’s been avoiding me.” It sounded pathetic to my own ears.

She was going to say something else when a tiny, pregnant pixie and a hulking giant came thundering into the room where we were standing. I didn’t recognize the older guy that entered with them, but he had an intent look on his face that was almost scary. He took one look around the empty waiting room and turned on his heel in a way that made it seem like he was on a hunt for information or someone that had answers. The cavalry had arrived. Saint went to pull away and I instinctively grabbed her wrist. I needed my friends, loved my crew of misfits and rebels, but right now I needed her more. I couldn’t explain it. She gave me a wan grin and tugged her arm free.

“I’m gonna go check on him and see if we managed to get him awake so that you can see him. Nash … you should consider quitting smoking.”

The last of her words trailed away as I was steamrolled by a punk-rock pixie and engulfed in a hug I needed like no one’s business. I let Cora do her magic and try and make me feel better. I also let the quiet strength and steady assuredness of the guy I considered my older brother try and ground me. Rome Archer was a rock and I needed that kind of stability as my world was shaking around me.

I was pulling it together, getting the emotions that were churning and rolling in check, getting my head around what was going on when they showed up. It was bad enough that my mom was there, but that she had the nerve to bring that asshole she married with her was just pushing the limits of my already tattered control.

She just had to go and call me Nashville … no one called me Nashville and lived to tell the tale … well, no one but Cora. I think it was hearing my real name spoken from my mom’s lips that had all the questions rolling and the pieces tumbling into place. I went from hovering on the brink of calm to a volatile molten core of fury that was ready to take this ER down in flood of hate and wrath.

Why was she here?

Phil made her his next of kin, his power of attorney … like she was somehow more important to him than I was.

Why?

She didn’t answer.

Did she know he was sick and for how long?

She did. Phil didn’t want me to worry.

She tried to convince me it was all in my best interest and my top was about to blow with each biting question I fired at her, when my best friend, Rule, showed up with his fiancée. I had a moment of clarity and was starting to see through the haze of dread, anger, resentment, and everything else fueling my blood when Saint’s copper-colored head popped back around the corner. Her words had already changed my life once tonight.

I had no idea that she wasn’t even close to being done.

She cocked her head to the side, blinked those gray eyes at me like she wasn’t just going to break apart the foundation of everything I thought I knew, and said, “He’s awake and asking for you.”

“He is?”

“Yeah, he said he wants to talk to his son … that has to be you, right? You guys look identical.”

The world fell away. I stopped breathing, stopped feeling, and stopped living. I was just rooted on the spot, stuck in a moment where my beloved uncle Phil had somehow just morphed into my father. The lies, the secrets, the wasted time, the hollow feeling I had always carried around from being unwanted not only by a superficial and uncaring mother, but also by a faceless, nameless father turned around and around, and I felt like I was going to pass out from the dizziness it caused.

“Holy shit!” Typical Rule, he brought me back to the white room with a clatter and blood rushing into my face and ears. I was going to lose it, but like she knew it, Cora was suddenly there, right in my face, always the voice of reason. Always taking care of her boys.

“Nash.” Cora’s tone was stern and no-nonsense. “Now isn’t the time. We can work out all the details later. They don’t matter. You have to appreciate that he’s still here and focus on the now.” Her bright eyes danced over to her man and then slid back to mine. “Plus you can’t hit her and get away with it. I can.” Her spiky blond head tilted in the direction where my mom was cowering next to her husband. I wouldn’t put it past her to actually take a swing at my mom. It was why I loved her so much.

Cora moved to the side as Saint walked up to my side and put her hand on the crook of my elbow in a silent gesture to follow her.

“I got you, Nash.” Her eyes were a thundercloud I wanted to stare at forever. That was a storm I would never complain about getting caught in.

“Do you?” I hoped against hope she was the only one who could hear my voice crack and that Cora really did lay my lying, conniving mother out on the ER waiting room floor.

“I do.” She almost whispered it and I wanted to ask how long she had me for. Was she going to be there while I coped with putting my role model, the only person who’d given me their time, their love, who turned me into a man I was proud to be, in the ground? How about while I dealt with the fact that same man had lied to me my entire fucking life? I had no clue who Phil Donovan was, and as a result I was starting to wonder if I had a clue who Nash Donovan was. I couldn’t explain it, I didn’t know her. Barely remembered her from before, and really had no clue what kind of person she was beyond her personable and professional bedside manner, but I wanted her to be there, felt like I needed her to be there … it was too bad she fucking hated me.

It may have been Thanksgiving, but I was having a really hard time finding one single thing to be thankful for.




CHAPTER 2 (#ulink_3dd67635-6b36-5d0f-83a3-b22d1c8e1394)

Saint (#ulink_3dd67635-6b36-5d0f-83a3-b22d1c8e1394)


One week later …

I argued with myself the entire way on the short trip from the hospital to his apartment. I knew better. I hadn’t been a practicing nurse for very long, only three years, but I had been immersed in the medical field long enough to know that it was stupid to get involved, to make patients and what they were dealing with a personal matter. There should be no forming personal attachments, no taking one case more seriously than another, no treating any one person affected by a family member’s illness or accident any differently than the next … but none of that logic or professional training mattered against the need to find out why Nash hadn’t stopped by the hospital once since Thanksgiving to see his dad.

Phil Donovan had been moved almost immediately from the ER to the upper levels of the hospital where the oncology unit was located, so he wasn’t even my patient anymore. That hadn’t stopped me from stopping by at the end of my shift to check on him and see how he was doing. The older man that was the spitting image of his son was taking his prognosis surprisingly well, and I always enjoyed his easy demeanor. It didn’t look good, he didn’t look good. But I had noticed that he was never alone. There was always someone in the room with him when I stuck my head in. He seemed to have an endless parade of tattooed and pierced men and women who pushed aside the discomfort of visiting and spending time with someone so sick in order to keep him company and offer him support. Only it was glaringly obvious that his own flesh and blood hadn’t been among them. It wasn’t my place to question why his own kid hadn’t made an appearance any of those times, and I wouldn’t have been driven to do something so out of character had Phil not sounded so disappointed when he mentioned Nash’s disappearing act.

It wasn’t like I was overly anxious for another run-in with the brooding, tattooed hottie anyway, but tonight, when I popped my head in, Cora had been arguing with the older man. I knew her to be loud and up front from the time her boyfriend had been shot and nearly died in my ER. She was currently being very vocal in her opinion about Nash’s current behavior. Phil was telling her to leave Nash alone, that he would work through things in his own time and that he didn’t blame his son for not being by once since the holiday. She was all kinds of worked up, shouting that it wasn’t right, that Nash was acting like a big baby and that he was going to regret wasting any of this time they had together considering Phil’s prognosis wasn’t good. She might look a little crazy and sound kind of abrasive, but I had to agree that she had a point.

I felt bad for eavesdropping and was going to duck out of the room and head home when her next statement sent a rebellious chill down my spine.

“He won’t even talk to Rule. He won’t answer the phone. He’s missed work all week. Rome went to the apartment and knocked on the door until a neighbor came out and threatened to call the cops. I told him he should’ve just broken it down. I think he was tempted because he never got any kind of response. The idea of Nash sitting alone in that apartment hurting, trying to process this all on his own, is breaking my heart, Phil. I don’t know what else to do.”

Phil murmured an answer that was too soft for me to hear and I jumped as another nurse came around the corner. I saw her give me an odd look because this was totally not my floor, I rarely went anywhere in the hospital outside of the ER. Before I could talk myself out of it, I went back to my own floor, snuck a quick peek at the file we had on Phil Donovan that listed Nash’s info as his emergency contact after some woman named Ruby Loften, and headed out on a mission to do I don’t know what. I wasn’t sure why I was so worked up, so invested in either of the Donovan men, especially considering the bitter taste my history with Nash left in my mouth.

I loved my job. I’d wanted to be a nurse since forever. Fixing all my dolls’ “owies” and making my big sister let me cover her in bandages and gauze when I was little had always been my favorite game, and I had worked hard and busted my tail off to be the best nurse and caregiver I could be. At twenty-five I was a certified ER nurse and I was thinking about going back to school and studying to get my master’s in nursing so I could look at being a nurse practitioner. I graduated at the top of my class from California State University in L.A. and I chose emergency nursing for the challenge, the fast pace, and because I knew I wanted to help people when they needed me most. It was a different environment, different set of patients and problems every single day. I was extremely skilled at it, completely invested in giving it my all each and every day. So I knew that whatever weird pull this case and these people involved had on me wasn’t something I had ever experienced with a patient or their loved ones before.

I should have known the instant those unmistakable purple eyes locked on to me, trying to place where they knew me from on the Fourth of July all those months ago, that Nash Donovan was once again going to set my well-ordered world on its side. Even after all the time that had passed, and even with the ages-old resentment and dislike I harbored for the darkly handsome young man—who, let’s be honest, had only improved with age—there was still something about him that got to me. With just a look he made my blood heat and I had that long-repressed feeling of longing and want whispering at me to remember. It seemed like I was always going to be stuck in a turbulent cycle of lust and hate where Nash was concerned and I didn’t like how extreme and out of control either of those things made me feel. In just a matter of a few short weeks those feelings and the man that inspired them had me doing something totally out of character and against not only my professional rule book, but also against my own sense of self-preservation.

The traffic cutting across downtown was terrible. There wasn’t any snow on the ground yet, but it was cold out and the hustle and bustle of Denver getting ready for Christmas was causing a nasty gridlock. Not to mention it was a Saturday night, so the rush of all the weekend-warriors to get out and enjoy their freedom made a three-mile drive take almost half an hour.

Being around someone from my past, someone who remembered the former me, just brought all those insecurities I still struggled with to a lesser degree now right to the forefront of my mind. Especially when that someone was the adult version of the out-of-my-league teenage boy I’d had a painfully intense, supersecret crush on.

It had never been easy getting made fun of and hearing mean things said about me. It hurt and tore down my already frayed self-esteem. I knew high school was fleeting and that in a few years none of those people would matter to me anymore, that Nash could be chalked up to a phase, but the way he made me feel when he ignored me and the even worse way it hurt me when I heard him saying awful things about me had taught me a valuable lesson, one I still held close today. People could only hurt you and disappoint you if you let them. They only had the power to hurt you if you thought they were special and above that. I didn’t let anyone close enough, didn’t let anyone touch my heart or emotions enough to risk that happening again … ever. I think that made dealing with my cheating boyfriend in college and handling the knowledge that my own father was a philanderer easier. Across the board, men in my life had disappointed me, and Nash was just the first in a long line.

Which made this need, this urgency to check on him, my nemesis, and my teenage nightmare even harder to process. Still, even though I was full of apprehension and doubt, I wheeled my new Jetta into a spot on the street in front of the Victorian that had obviously been converted into some apartments and got out. I gazed at the building for a second, trying to convince myself to mind my own business and just go home. I was still in scrubs, had my ugly work shoes on and my hair coiled into a tight, fire-colored braid that reached the middle of my back. I only had the barest hint of makeup left after a ten-hour shift and I didn’t know why I thought he would answer the door for me if he was ignoring his friends and the people closest to him.

I shivered because I hadn’t grabbed a coat and decided I either needed to go home or just go in. My gaze slid over a sweet Charger that was parked in front of the building and I sighed. I dealt with death and horrific injury on a daily basis. I could handle a brief encounter with a ghost from my memories and survive the encounter. I was made of stronger stuff now. Besides, seeing Phil so sick and sad and the traumatic way Nash had responded to the news on Thanksgiving had me concerned for both of them. And despite knowing better, I knew that my concern wasn’t going away.

I entered the lovely old building and looked around for the numbers on the door. It looked like the bottom floor had two apartments and Nash’s was on the left. I was just getting ready to knock when the opposite door across the hall swung open and a girl stuck her head out. Her gaze skittered over me and then landed on my startled face.

“You his girlfriend?”

Her tone was friendly, almost overly so, and she looked like she should be on the cover of a Sports Illustrated magazine. I wasn’t overweight anymore, now I was just normal, healthy, but this girl had abs for days and boobs that deserved an award. Hell, if I was her I would be walking around in yoga pants and a sports bra in the freezing December weather, too.

“Uh … no.”

“I just moved in. There’s been someone pounding on that door every five minutes for the last week. It’s driving me nuts. I saw the guy that lives there. He’s a total babe. I keep waiting for a girl to show up and claim him. I thought it might be you. I’m Royal, by the way.”

I nodded at her and cocked my head to the side. All single men should find themselves so lucky in the new-neighbor department. I bet Nash would just love her … well, once he got out of his funk.

“I’m just a friend. I thought I would check on him. I’m Saint.”

She laughed a little and shook her head, sending her dark auburn hair sliding across her shoulder like only models in shampoo commercials did.

“Our parents were obviously smoking the same thing when they picked our names out.” She inclined her head toward the closed door and her dark brown eyes flashed in amusement while I struggled to try and act like this scene didn’t totally intimidate me. Really pretty girls like her always made it harder for me to act normal and unaffected. “Seems to be the theme of the week checking on the sexy guy next door. That and superhot men. I swear all his friends are gorgeous. I wouldn’t toss a single one of them I’ve seen out of bed. Even the really big guy with all the attitude and the scar. He was scary as hell but dead sexy.”

I was getting uncomfortable. I did great with strangers when they were bleeding and needed my help, but this kind of interaction was out of my wheelhouse even if I did agree with her on the hotness levels of Nash’s crew of friends.

The guy with the scar was Nash’s old roommate, Rome Archer. He was dead sexy in a warrior, take-care-of-business kind of way. I knew firsthand because he had been a patient of mine not too long ago. At the hospital the other night I caught a glimpse of Rule Archer, he was Nash’s best friend and he was still gorgeous and dangerous-looking in his own unique way. Later on in the night Jet Keller had shown up with a blond guy who looked like he had escaped from the 1950s and another guy that was so undeniably handsome that it was necessary to look twice at him just to make sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you. All three, hot and oozing sex appeal and trouble in different ways. I just didn’t know this woman well enough to divulge any of those insights to her, not that I would be comfortable doing that even if she wasn’t a stranger.

I knocked on the door more out of desperation to get away from her and her curious gaze than to see if Nash would answer.

Of course he didn’t and I felt like an idiot. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot and tried to knock again.

“Good luck. He hasn’t opened it for anyone else.” She sounded amused and I flushed bright red. I would never get over feeling like I was always the butt of someone’s joke. It made me feel kind of sick to my stomach, more so because she looked the way she did.

I was lifting my hand to knock one last time when the door suddenly yanked open and I was face to chest with a mostly naked, furiously scowling, obviously inebriated Nash Donovan. Those amazing eyes that were trapped somewhere between purple and blue blinked sluggishly at me and I let out a startled gasp as he grasped the hand I still had lifted up to knock and pulled me toward him.

“You must have the lucky touch, Red. Good for you.” The neighbor’s laughing voice followed me into the apartment as Nash stumbled unsteadily backward, taking me with him.

He slammed the door closed behind me with a thud and tried to focus on me out of bloodshot eyes. He smelled like booze, cigarette smoke, and I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose up in distaste. I could physically handle myself. It was a job requirement in the ER, but at the moment he looked kind of feral and I had to admit his glowering, grumbling presence was slightly menacing.

He was taller than average, but so was I, meaning he wasn’t really looming so much as he was threatening, because he was so unfamiliar and unhinged in his current state. It would be a flat-out lie if I tried to pretend like I didn’t notice that even in his disheveled and drunken state he was in good shape. He obviously took pretty good care of himself aside from pickling his liver and that awful habit of smoking. He had always been a darkly handsome guy, his dark brows slashing and dramatic on a face that was full of character holding a hint of unknown ethnicity behind it. Those purplish eyes of his were out of this world and unforgettable. They were really too pretty and delicate-looking to be on such a masculine face.

I think it was the fact that all he had on was a pair of black boxer shorts revealing there wasn’t an exposed part of his olive-toned skin that didn’t have some kind of design inked on it that was making me a little bit overwhelmed. I liked tattoos, had a couple myself, but Nash’s dedication to decorating his body was on an entirely different level. I mean I wasn’t surprised at the amount of artwork he was sporting considering he had those brilliant flames tattooed on his head and a curved ring in the center of his nose. That was all designed to make a statement, to proclaim that he didn’t have to live by anyone’s rules but his own, which I guess was fine and worked for him, but it was a lot to take in for me when I already considered him a danger and kind of a douche bag.

I refused to admit I was openly checking him out. I couldn’t help it. He was missing clothes, built and gorgeous, even if all that was under miles of ink.

“I ordered pizza.”

I looked up at him and asked like a moron:

“What?”

“I thought you were the pizza guy, but you’re not.”

He stumbled back a few steps, grabbed the back of the couch, and sort of just slithered down until he was sitting on the floor across from me. He stuck his long legs out in front of him and rubbed his watery eyes with the knuckles of his hands. What in the hell was happening right now? It was like he had just folded in on himself right in front of my eyes. He was disappearing inside of himself.

“Are you okay, Nash? A lot of people are worried about you.”

He gave a laugh that sounded so broken, so jagged, I felt it scrape across my skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

“No.”

I wasn’t following his slurred or broken side of the conversation, maybe because I was totally distracted by his naked torso. I had seen a few good-looking guys in their underwear in my time, some at work, some not. None of them in memory held a candle to Nash. Someone should tell him what he did for a pair of black boxers should be considered a lethal weapon to a woman’s sanity.

“No, what?” I had to make a real effort to try and follow his scattered additions to our choppy conversation.

He tilted his head back so that he could look up at me. The flames over his ears were attached to more tattooed flames that curled up over his massive shoulders and onto the front of his chest. I guiltily wanted to see what they attached to on the backside of him. He also had what appeared to be some kind of intricately inked wings that draped all the way across his rib cage, down both sides of his corrugated abs, and disappeared into the front of his boxers on either side of his belly button. I couldn’t even imagine how bad something like that had to hurt, but the tattoo work was impressive in its enormity and detail and so was the rock-hard body that it lived on.

“No, I’m not okay.”

I blew out a breath and crouched down so that I was more on his level. His gaze followed me as I lowered myself to my haunches. People told me all the time how pretty my eyes were and it made me blush and stammer. They were all right, gray and clear, and my patients seemed to find them soothing. But I thought, as I gazed somberly into the sad depths of his, that clearly no one who thought I had pretty eyes had ever looked into Nash’s. I had never seen a more striking or unique color than the columbine blue of his. Sitting under those raven-black eyebrows, they were just magnetic.

“You need to talk to someone, family, your friends, or maybe a girlfriend. This isn’t a good situation for anyone, Nash, and drinking and smoking a carton a day isn’t going to make it any better. You need to be strong for your dad, but you also need to be strong for you. It seems like you have a lot of people you can lean on, they’ve been in and out of that hospital room all week. Trust me, this is not a fight you want to battle on your own.”

He threw his head back until it thumped on the dark leather of the couch. He squeezed his eyes shut. He pulled his long legs up and clenched fists up on the top of each knee. He even had scrolling artwork inked on his skin from beneath the hem of his boxer shorts to his knee on one leg and to the top of his foot on the other. There was simply too much of it for me to pick apart all the separate images and designs, all I knew was that it was all bold, dynamic, and full of color and had obviously been put on him by someone with an incredible amount of skill.

“Until a few days ago I thought my father walked out on me when I was just a baby. My mom told me he was a deadbeat, that he didn’t have any interest in being a husband or a father, so every time that asshole Loften talked shit to me, told me I was garbage, tried to put me under his thumb, I told myself it was cool because my mom deserved nice things, a guy to take care of her since my dad was an asshole. Only Loften is a judgmental, superficial prick and basically forced her to pick me or him. She picked him even though my dad was in the same fucking state all along and never walked out on anyone.”

He gave that laugh that made me hurt for him again, and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out a hand and putting it on one of his balled-up fists. I could feel the tension and dissonance creeping all over him.

“Turns out the only adult I ever looked up to, that ever showed me I was worth anything just the way I was, fucking lied to me my entire fucking life. Phil took me in when my mom kicked me out. He pretty much raised me, taught me how to tattoo, gave me a future, and showed me how to be a man. I walked into that hospital room, took one look at him, and wondered how I had missed what was right in front of me all along.”

He grunted and let his eyes drift shut again. I was following along as best I could with his story, but I was kind of lost. I felt like there was someone else he should be telling all of this to, but for whatever reason I was the one he had let in, both figuratively and literally. He hadn’t known Phil was his father until the other night? That was huge and just as hard to work through as the fact that his loved one was terminally ill. No wonder he was just a mess. I couldn’t blame him.

“He looks like he’s dying … so fucking sick, and he called me son. For twenty-five years I called him Uncle Phil and now that he might not be around much longer, he has the nerve to call me son. I grew up thinking I wasn’t good enough for anyone. Not my mom, not that shithead she married, not my dad who couldn’t even be bothered to see what kind of kid I would turn out to be … only Phil made me feel like I was worth a damn, and now I don’t even know what to do with any of this shit. Why didn’t he just tell me? He was more my dad than my uncle all along anyway.”

I sighed because he was spinning himself in circles and I could see the faster he turned the worse it was making him feel. I put my other hand on his and leaned forward.

“I don’t know, Nash. What I do know is the only person who can answer those questions is sick and hurting just as badly as you are. And I know that the two of you obviously need each other right now. This is wasted time you will never get back. I see it every day and you will live to regret it if you don’t move past it and go see him.”

He was drunk, obviously distraught and not thinking clearly. I doubted he would remember much of this heart-to-heart when he sobered up, but there was just a nagging part of me that wanted to try and make this heartbreaking situation more manageable for him. I thought I still hated him, still held him responsible for all my shattered teenage dreams of love and romance, but right now I just felt sorry for him. It didn’t matter how big and strong he was, or how much of a badass he appeared to be on the outside, not being able to fight back against something as devastating as cancer, especially when it was affecting someone he obviously loved, sucked. I knew it made him feel impotent and ineffectual, and right now it was obviously making him scared enough to think hiding from it was a viable option.

I gasped a little in shock when both of his wide hands suddenly seized my face on either side. His hands were a little rough but his touch was soft as his eyes suddenly flashed from periwinkle to a dark, intense indigo. His eyelids drooped down, and his erratic breathing suddenly slowed, making those flames dancing across his shoulders and pecs look like they were alive.

“You’re really beautiful, Saint.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and lifted my hands to wrap around his wrists. My fingers didn’t reach all the way around and I didn’t want to think about how sexy that was. It was on the tip of my tongue to remind him that he hadn’t always thought that, in fact if my memory was correct he had said it would take a bag over my head for him to be interested in spending any kind of intimate time in my offensive presence. I still felt the burn as the memory flashed behind my eyes.

“I just want to help.”

“You are helping.”

No I wasn’t. I shouldn’t have come here. He wasn’t my problem. What he was struggling with and whatever complicated family dynamic he was working with had nothing to do with me, but it was like I was seventeen again and couldn’t deny that there was just something about him that grabbed at me, pulled at my too-sensitive heartstrings.

I sighed and gave him a tight smile. “No I’m not. You need to let the people who love you, who care about you, in to help you out with this. That’s a heavy load to try and balance alone. Especially on top of everything else with your parents. It’ll be all right, Nash. You’ll see.”

His eyes got even darker, and it was like watching midnight fall over the sky. I was balanced on my toes, and he had a firm grip on my face, so when he suddenly pulled me forward I was both startled and off balance. I had to let go of his wrists to catch myself as I fell forward, and I swore the heat coming off his bare skin when my palms landed on the smoothness of his naked chest was enough to meld me to him forever.

I was going to ask him what in the hell he thought he was doing. I was going to tell him that I had stopped by more for his father’s sake than his. I was going to snap at him that he was the last man on earth I would let put his hands on me after the lasting damage his unnecessarily cruel actions and thoughtless words a lifetime ago had done. I never got the chance.

One of his hands snatched up the end of my long braid and wrapped it around his fingers like a rope. His other slid across the nape of my neck and unceremoniously jerked me forward until we were chest to chest, mouth to mouth, and I was plastered all along the very much undressed front of him. I pushed ineffectually at his rock-hard shoulders, tried to wiggle my way free, but he was too strong, had too good of a grip on my hair—and if I was going to be entirely honest, even drunk and sloppy he was one hell of a good kisser, so my effort to get away may have been halfhearted at best.

I had spent a good portion of my last year in high school wondering what it would be like to kiss Nash Donovan. Granted, in my fantasies it usually involved candles, soft music, and him being madly in love with me while I just laughed at him and told him there wasn’t a chance in hell he ever had a shot at getting with me. Wouldn’t it just be fate to shove it in my face that even though I didn’t particularly care for him, didn’t think there would ever be a situation or set of circumstances in the whole wide world where I would let him put his hands on me … that as soon as I was tested in those beliefs I crumbled like the Berlin Wall coming down.

His lips were a little dry, his skin rough from too many days without a shave, and when he moved his head just a fraction to run his tongue along the seam of my lips, I refused to open, and I felt the slight brush of metal against my upper lip from that hoop in the center of his nose. I thought it would weird me out, but it made me shiver, and when he pulled my hair just hard enough to make me huff out a breath of pain, he got the entrance he wanted and I quickly slipped from indignant and annoyed to something squishy and foreign that made my heart rate pick up and my pulse flutter jerkily under my skin.

Man, could he kiss. He was intent on it, like whatever was happening between my mouth and his was somehow the only thing that mattered to him in the entire world right now. He used his tongue, his teeth, and somehow lured me even closer so that I could feel the rapid rate his heart was pounding out against the flattened palm of my hand where it rested on the burning surface of one of his impressive pecs. I could taste all his vices as his talented tongue danced across my own and glanced against the sensitive curve of my upper lip. There was the tang of tequila, the acrid hint of cigarette smoke, a tinge of sorrow, and the unmistakable residue of injury caused by wounds self-inflicted by his stubbornness and fear.

One of us groaned and the other sighed heavily, and just as I was about to forget myself, forget why I was here and who this tattooed and inconsolable boy was to me and do something idiotic and unforgivable, there was a pounding knock at the door that had both of us jerking apart. His gaze was wild and hazy with a mixture of passion and confusion. I pulled back and jumped to my feet like that fire that was inked all over him was alive and could actually singe me.

I was breathing hard and felt like I wanted to maybe kick him or fall back on top of him and kiss him all over again. The banging on the door increased in intensity and I cleared my throat and shoved my now messy, tangled column of hair over my shoulder.

“Your pizza is here.”

He just looked up at me like I had landed from another planet. He ran his tongue across the damp curve of his lower lip and lifted an eyebrow at me, like he was daring me to say something, like he was savoring the taste I had left on him.

I glowered down at him and turned on my heel to head toward the door. I should’ve listened to my instinct that had yelled at me as loudly as it could that I should just leave well enough alone. The past belonged buried in the Pandora’s box of hurtful memories and savage misconceptions I left it in. Nash had no place in my here and now. No matter how gorgeous I thought he was, no matter that he was the best kisser ever or how desperately my libido was screeching at me that I needed to know exactly where those wings on his stomach and hips disappeared to … I knew there was more under the surface of him, and it wasn’t very pretty.

“You taste like a bar floor that hasn’t been scrubbed clean in a month.”

I snagged the half-full carton cigarettes he had sitting on the breakfast bar that divided the kitchen from the living room and waved the box at him over my shoulder.

“I told you that you needed to quit. Stop acting like a spoiled brat. Yes, people you love being dishonest sucks, but you’re an adult now, so deal with it accordingly. You said your uncle took you in, believed in you, taught you a craft you clearly love, so focus on all that he did do and not what he didn’t do because you don’t know how much longer you might have with him. Man up, Nash. It’s how we deal with the things that hurt us most that defines us.”

I pulled the door open just as the pizza guy was getting ready to pound again and slipped around him. I heard a shuffle of bodies, male voices muttering to each other, and I was almost out the security door when I heard the neighbor’s sultry voice float across the hall.

“Honey, if you’re gonna have this much traffic on a daily basis, you need to invest in a doorbell.”

I paused just long enough to look over my shoulder. Both Nash and the pizza guy were staring at her in all her toned and glorious beauty. I rolled my eyes at the obvious display. Nash flicked his gaze in my direction and then back at the beauty queen.

“Who are you, exactly?” He sounded less discombobulated, less scattered.

“I’m your new neighbor.”

I heard him chuckle and it made me grind my teeth together as I pushed through the door.

“Welcome to the neighborhood.” I didn’t need to see him to know he was grinning at her, and that she was probably spellbound by all that dusky skin and ink barely concealed by his boxers.

It shouldn’t twist my guts up. It shouldn’t make me want to pull all of her fabulous auburn hair from her head and knee Nash in the balls so hard his future grandchildren would walk with a limp, but it did and that was something I absolutely didn’t want to think about. Not now, not ever.




CHAPTER 3 (#ulink_08bff4f9-ef8f-50da-8d54-3ab2d211fd43)

Nash (#ulink_08bff4f9-ef8f-50da-8d54-3ab2d211fd43)


It took me another full day and a half to pull my head out of my ass and stop acting like a lunatic. I was a mess. Torn up about kissing Saint, mostly because I didn’t regret it for a second but also because I knew better. In the haze of tequila and sorrow, I could still taste her, feel her pressed up against me, and it was the only good thing I could seem to recall in the last few weeks.

I would love to be able to say that Saint’s surprise visit had smacked me across the face with some much-needed clarity, but that wasn’t the case. After her hasty departure because I mauled her like a uncouth jackass, I finished off the bottle of tequila I’d been steadily working my way through before she interrupted me and passed out on the living room floor. The next day was more of the same, only at some point I had made my way to the couch and had managed to doze off using the pizza box as a pillow. Oh yeah, I was totally behaving like a responsible adult.

I cracked open an eye when the front door to the apartment swung open and heavy footfalls made their way over to where I was straight up wallowing in my own piss-poor choices and inconsolability. The only person who still had a key to the apartment was Rule. Obviously he was done letting me have a pity party for one and was tired of me ignoring all his phone calls. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and it took more than a minute for my hazy gaze to clear enough to meet his angry, pale blue eyes.

Rule knew me better than anyone. We were best friends for a reason. There was no judgment, no censure, and no disappointment from either of us, even when the situation sometimes called for it, like right now. We were a team no matter what, and the role we played in each other’s life was that of rock-solid support and more often than not official ass kicker of the other one when they needed it, which was clearly what he was thinking as he crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his pierced eyebrow at me.

“You look like crap.”

“Well, that’s accurate since I feel like crap.”

“It’s been a week. That’s as long as I’m putting up with this shit from you. Take a shower, go brush your goddamn teeth, put some fucking pants on, and we’re going to see Phil. Enough, dude. Yeah, that was a pretty nasty bomb you got dropped on you, but it doesn’t change the fact we all owe Phil more than we’re ever going to be able to repay in one lifetime. So get over yourself and let’s go.”

I grunted up at him and peeled myself up off the greasy cardboard. Yeah, I was a winner. I rubbed my hands over the shorn surface of my hair and waited for the room to stop tilting sideways. I didn’t know what to say to the man who had raised me. I had walked into his hospital room that night, taken one look into eyes that were the exact same color as mine, listened to him call me son in a voice that had no strength behind it, and turned around and walked right back out. It was a cowardly move, not to mention insensitive and shallow, but my head was spinning all around and I couldn’t find any solid ground to balance on. Phil did deserve more than that from me no matter who exactly he was in my life now; he had always been there for me, supported me when no one else would.

I shoved to my feet and promptly fell back on my ass. Rule reached out and put the hand that had the cobra head and his name inked across the knuckles on my shoulder to steady me. He shook his head, his spiky blue hair, making it sort of hard to take his look of reproach seriously.

“Just give me twenty.”

I would need that long to scrub the disgusting taste of stale booze and cigarette after cigarette out of my mouth.

Saint wasn’t lying, I did taste like a barroom floor. That was an entirely different mess I needed to try and clean up. I knew she only stopped by out of some kind of professional obligation, because she was nice and kind, and obviously possessed a huge heart. I knew she wasn’t particularly fond of me, but she had looked past her dislike and offered comfort and soft words when I needed them most, and in repayment I had acted like a jackass. I needed to apologize and see if I could minimize some of the damage. I wanted her to like me, wanted her to think I was an all right guy, and not just because I thought she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. It went beyond her awesome hair, rocking body, and soft gray eyes. I wanted her to like me because she had a way about her, a delicate kind of sweetness that I wanted to wrap myself all up in. It didn’t make much sense, but nothing in my life right now did.

I had vague recollections of Saint from high school, still pretty but slightly heavier and desperately shy to the point of it being painful. She was smart and in all the accelerated programs Brookside High had offered, so our paths generally never crossed. There had been a point in time when I recalled our lockers being side by side and I had tried to engage her, made it a point to smile and say hi, but beyond that we moved in different circles and I don’t think she wanted to slum with the likes of me. Still I remembered her hair and those eyes … even then the light gray was full of kindness and understanding. She wasn’t the kind of chick my teenage self tried to get lucky with, mostly because she was out of my league intellectually and even then radiated a class I didn’t understand. Rule and I had spent most of our teenage years screwing anything that moved and partying in ways that the older versions of ourselves marveled at now. We were a couple of unscrupulous horn balls, and girls like Saint Ford, then and now, were not the kind of girls that wanted to get tangled up with guys like us.

Only to everyone’s amazement Rule had settled down, was getting married in a few weeks to a bona fide society princess. She was just as smart, just as classy and beautiful as Saint, and she loved Rule with everything she had. Shaw Landon was any guy’s dream girl and Rule was the lucky bastard who’d landed her. Now he was going to make sure he got to keep her forever because he was putting a ring on her finger and changing her last name to his.

After a scalding-hot shower that made my skin red and woke me up enough to get my feet under me, I crawled into a pair of jeans and pulled a long-sleeved thermal over my head that had the logo of the tattoo shop where Rule and I worked on the front of it. Catching sight of myself in the mirror over my dresser, I had to wince. My face was covered in a week’s worth of stubble and my normally clear eyes were lined with red veins. Despite my outward appearance I was generally a pretty mellow guy. I had learned to go with the flow and take things as they came. I had to with a guy like Rule as my partner in crime. He had enough attitude and a desire to stir shit up that I never needed to be “that guy”—the volatile, unpredictable type. Plus when you put bold and bright tattoos on the sides of your head, people took it at face value that you weren’t someone they wanted to mess with. However, right now the reflection staring back at me was totally “that guy.” I looked angry, confused, ready to throw down for no reason, and behind it all I looked sad … really really sad.

I sighed and pulled a plain black baseball hat on over my shaved head. I grabbed a hoodie and met Rule back in the living room. He had thrown the discarded pizza boxes and Chinese food containers away and tossed the empty bottles of Patrón I had lying around into the recycle bin. We had lived together for a long time before he had bought a house and moved in with Shaw. He knew where everything was and just gave me a “really” look when I shrugged.

“I was thirsty.”

“Obviously. Between you and Ayden, I should buy stock in Patrón.”

Ayden was Shaw’s best friend and the wife of another one of our childhood buddies. She was model pretty, had legs that made men stupid, spoke with a light southern twang, and could drink most of us under the table. Jet Keller was another one of my friends who’d found the quintessential dream girl and decided to keep her until the end of time. It seemed to be happening to everyone around me lately.

Even Rome, Rule’s older brother and someone else I looked up to because of the kind of man he was, had found his perfect match. I don’t know that anyone would consider Cora Lewis a dream girl. She was too bossy, a little too mouthy, and a whole lot of stubborn packed into a small, colorful package, but Rome seemed to think she was great. They were two very different people, but together they worked, so much so that Cora was expecting their first baby sometime in March. Everyone I cared about was falling in love and settling down. It made me happy but also made me nervous because I had seen what happened in the name of love when someone made life-changing choices based on it. I was a child that had been cast aside by an uncaring mother in the name of love.

We walked out the front door and I turned around to lock it behind me. The door across the hall opened and the goddess that lived across the hall came strolling out with a gym bag in her hand. She was pretty, really pretty, in an overly exaggerated way. Had I not had so much on my mind and still felt like such a bastard for treating Saint like I did the night before, there was a good chance I would’ve been all over welcoming her to the building in a much more personal and hands-on way. As it was, all I could do was offer her a brief nod in greeting as her gaze slid over the top of Rule’s crazy hair to the tips of his worn black boots.

“Nice.”

Her tone was friendly and flirty and her dark eyes sparkled with humor.

“The building manager should put it in the ad that the view is across the hall, not facing the mountains. He could charge like a hundred dollars more a month in rent for it.”

Rule lifted the eyebrow that had the rings pierced through it and looked at me sideways. I just shrugged and headed toward the front door. I held it open for her as she preceded us out.

“I’m Royal Hastings, by the way.”

I shook her hand and Rule followed suit. I saw her gaze drift over Shaw’s name that he had tattooed on the knuckles of his other hand. It was more effective than any wedding band could ever be. A ring came off, a tattoo never did.

“Nash, and this is Rule. Sorry about all the noise and chaos the last week. Normally it’s a pretty quiet building and we all keep to ourselves.”

She laughed and pulled the hood of her light jacket up around her dark red hair. Man, she really was a knockout and I should be all over her, but the desire just wasn’t there and in the next sentence she brought up the reason why.

“It’s been interesting for sure. You have an interesting group of friends, neighbor. The girl from last night was my favorite. The blonde with all the tattoos is loud, the brunette doesn’t seem very friendly, and the other blonde was nice enough but she acted like I didn’t have any right to ask what was going on. The redhead was super nice, kind of shy, even so she’s been my favorite. If all those girls are attached to the sexy man parade that has been flooding in and out of the hallway, I have to say those are some lucky ladies.”

I rolled my eyes and Rule laughed as we stopped on the sidewalk.

“The impatient blonde is mine. She’s in the middle of planning a wedding and is pretty protective of her friends, so she’s just a little fierce at the moment. The brunette is actually one of the nicest people you can ever meet, she’s was just worried about this dumb-ass and the fact he’s been AWOL all week. She’s married to the guy in the skintight jeans.”

The hot neighbor nodded and continued to laugh.

“I see.”

“The pregnant blonde with the ink is with my brother, the big dude that looks like he could rip the door off the hinges. The blond guy that kind of looks like Johnny Bravo and the other blond guy that is prettier than you are both unattached … just FYI.” He cut his frost-tinted gaze in my direction. “I don’t know who the redhead is.”

This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have on the sidewalk in front of a stranger, or anywhere else for that matter, but they were both just staring at me, so I groaned and shoved my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.

“The ER nurse, Saint, she stopped by to check on me. I was pretty fucked up, drunk and out of it. She basically told me the same thing you guys have been trying to tell me all week. I need to get over my shit and go make peace with Phil before it’s too late.”

The neighbor shrugged and turned toward a new-looking 4Runner parked on the other side of the Charger.

“That was nice of her. Nurses are usually really impersonal and clinical, so it’s sweet she reached out. You boys have a lovely day.”

We watched as she drove away and Rule turned to me with a lifted eyebrow. I scowled and patted my pockets searching for a pack of smokes. I swore when I remembered Saint walking out the door with them.

“What?”

“New neighbor.”

“So?”

“So?”

I walked to the passenger side of his gigantic pickup truck and waited until he popped the lock so I could climb in. Once I was in the seat, I slumped down and rested my head against the cool pane of glass and closed my eyes. I knew I had to go to the hospital, but I really didn’t want to. What was I supposed to say to Phil?

Something like … oh, so you’re my long-lost dad … good to know, oh, by the way, thanks for waiting until you had cancer and might be dying to tell me …?

There just weren’t words that made any sense.

“So a week ago I would have walked into that apartment and there isn’t a chance in hell that you would’ve been alone. That neighbor would have been with you and you both would’ve been naked.”

I barked out a laugh and opened one eye to look at him.

“I’ve been too jacked up. I was so sauced the last week there isn’t a chance in hell I could’ve got it up let alone gotten it in.”

But that wasn’t entirely true. When I had pulled Saint against me, when she had finally opened up and let me into the warm, damp recesses of her mouth, I had gotten hard as a rock and there was nothing the river of tequila in my blood could do about it. Like he was reading my mind, Rule asked, “So what’s the story with the nurse?”

“We went to school with her. She was like super smart, shy, kept to herself mostly. She didn’t party or go out, so I don’t think you would really remember her. I recognized her the night I picked Rome up from the ER after he got his head smashed in. My locker was next to hers senior year. She looks a little different now, lost some weight, I guess, and her hair is longer. She doesn’t seem to care for me very much, but she was great the night Phil was rushed to the hospital and it was nice of her to check on me last night.”

“But why would she do that if she doesn’t like you?”

“I don’t really know. I think she’s just a really nice person.”

Rule snorted. “She’s hot.”

I nodded. “She is.”

“Sucks she doesn’t dig you.”

I blew out a breath. “I guess. It’s not like I’m in the market for a girlfriend anyway.”

“Why the hell not?”

It was a familiar argument we had now. Ever since he had decided Shaw was it for him, he was on my case to settle down, to find the one girl that would make me think love actually stood a chance and that monogamy was worth trying out. While I was happy for him, for all my friends that had found “the one,” I just didn’t see that being the route for me. When my mom had tossed me aside for her idiot husband under the guise of love, I knew even at such a young age that was not something I was ever going to do. Love someone enough that they made me willing to sacrifice the rest of my life for them. I liked being single, liked having the opportunity to experience different women, different moments with different people whenever I wanted. I didn’t need a girlfriend to be fulfilled, nor did I really want one.

“Dude, I just found out my uncle is really my dad, he has cancer, and my best friend is fucking getting married in less than a month. Not to mention my pseudo big brother is expecting his first child. You tell me where in any of that I have the time or the mental capacity to try and be some chick’s boyfriend.”

He grunted and pulled the truck into the parking lot of the hospital. I felt my heart rate start to pick up and a cold sweat start to trickle down the back of my neck. We climbed out of the truck and met at the front of it. Rule gave me a hard shove with his hand and grunted when I dug the point of my elbow into his ribs to retaliate.

“That’s the thing, Nash, you aren’t ‘some girl’s’ boyfriend, you’re ‘the girl’s’ boyfriend and when it’s ‘the girl’ you find the time for it, and you get your head around it really quick because the idea of being without her is about the worst thing you can imagine.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just kept my mouth shut and followed him through the sliding glass doors and to the elevator. Unconsciously my gaze searched the long white hallways for a glimpse of fiery-red hair. I didn’t see her and I couldn’t decide if that made me feel relieved or irritated.

We got to the top floor of the hospital where the oncology unit was located and I had to follow Rule because I didn’t know which room Phil was in. Man, I really did suck and I wanted a damn cigarette so bad it was making my skin hurt. The door was cracked just a little bit and Rule stepped to the side.

“Go in there and spend some time with the guy that raised you. He might have called you his nephew, Nash, but he always treated you—hell, all of us—like his sons. I’ll give you a few minutes before I come in.”

I nodded jerkily.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The curtains were pulled slightly open and the winter light was casting eerie shadows across Phil’s fragile form. He had always been a big, strapping guy, and now that I knew he was my father I could see all the similarities between him and me. It was so much more than our unusual eye color. He lifted his eyelids and looked at me. I wanted to shuffle my feet and clear my throat, but I didn’t. I walked to the end of the bed so that we were just watching each other. He was so thin and his pallor looked awful.

I rubbed my thumb along the edge of my jaw and tried for a grin. “You scared the hell out of me, old man.”

He grunted and lifted the hand that had some kind of monitor on it attached to miles of wires and tubes coming out of him.

“I was tired of all the poking and prodding. I wasn’t going to spend Thanksgiving in a goddamn hospital. I just needed to get away. I didn’t know I was sick, I thought it was just a cough.”

“Just a cough?” I couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into my tone. “I thought you were dead when I saw you lying on the floor of the cabin. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

“I’m sorry, Nash. For all of it. I’ve made some bad decisions along the way, done some things I regret, but you, son … you were never one of them.”

There it was. Son, something I had always wanted to be and never thought I would be. I rubbed my hand across the back of my neck.

“I don’t even know what to do with that, Phil. I don’t even know what to call you anymore.”

“What you always did. I’m still just Phil, Nash. The things that happened between me and your mom, it was too long ago and had nothing to do with you. Who you are today is a man you should be proud of … a man I am proud of as a father, uncle, as a boss and anything in between. I thought I was protecting you, thought maybe getting sick was a sign. I thought it would just go away, honestly.”

“Cancer? You thought cancer would just magically go away and that you could indefinitely hide from it? Hide from us?”

“Seems to be a family trait. Took you a full week to get your ass in here, didn’t it?”

He had a point, so I just sighed and leaned against the edge of the bed. I wrapped my hands around the rail and stared at him. He was sick, it was obvious, but there also appeared to be a lightness in him that had never been there before. I wondered how hard it had been for him to pretend all this time, to listen to me bitch about my imaginary father and the blame I placed on him for the way things broke loose with my mom and her husband. Maybe it was true, and the truth really did set you free.

“I had to get my head around some stuff. I needed to do that alone.” I knew it should be on the very tip of my tongue to ask why he hadn’t disclosed that he was my father before now, why he had been keeping secrets from me my entire life, but I think I was kind of terrified of the answer. My mom had never made me feel like I was worthy of carrying her blood. I don’t think I could handle it if Phil had any of that kind of reasoning behind his actions.

“Where you at with everything now?” His tone was hesitant and I felt like an asshole for making him uncertain of where he stood with me.

“I don’t really know, but you’ve never let me down in my life and I would never be able to live with myself if something happened to you and we left things the way they were. I owe you everything I have and everything that I am. I’m not going to let you fight this alone.”

He cringed a little and looked away. The goatee that surrounded his mouth curled down on the sides and I felt my stomach dip.

“There isn’t a fight anymore, Nash. The cancer has officially had a TKO on my system. It’s metastasized, it’s moved into my lymph nodes. Not much we can do but wait it out.”

I gulped and felt moisture start to burn at the back of my eyes. I pulled the brim of my hat down lower over my forehead and blinked hard to keep the emotion in check.

“What about chemo, or radiation … hell, what about a voodoo ceremony? No options?”

He shook his head, and while I felt like he was giving me the worst news in the world, Phil looked like he had had plenty of time to come to terms with his fate and the lack of satisfying answers.

“I know this is all new to you, and that you haven’t had enough time to really come to terms with the lot of it, but I’ve been sick for a while and this isn’t my first go-around. The time I had with you, with the rest of the crew, it was a blessing.”

I felt anger start to coil back up in my gut and I had to concentrate on breathing in and out to stop from lashing out.

“You were sick before?”

He made a noise of affirmation and reached a shaky hand out for a glass of water. I walked around the side of the bed so I could hand it to him. Our matching gazes locked and I had to swallow back all the sour-tasting feelings this conversation was leaving in my mouth.

“Yeah. Same thing. Right before I bought the shop. It was a tumor in one lung and I had surgery to cut it out and then had to do treatment for a year afterward. It was one of the main reasons I was so eager to let you and Rule apprentice under me. There is a lot of crap work out there, people don’t take the art, the work behind tattooing, seriously. I knew if I taught you boys the right way to do it, made you respect the skill and craft inside and out, if anything happened to me my legacy would be left in good hands. I beat it that time around, thought maybe I could beat it again.”

“Why didn’t you quit smoking?”

“Because quitting is hard. Because I thought I was invincible. I don’t know, Nash. There isn’t a good reason. I wish I had quit, and I hope you will. There is absolutely no reason for you to tempt fate.”

I opened my mouth to say something else but got sidetracked when the door swung open and Rule walked in.

“All good in here?”

“Working on it, kiddo. Come in here really quick, I want to talk to both of you about something.”

Rule shut the door and made his way to the opposite side of the hospital bed. Phil opened his mouth, and before he could start speaking broke off into an awful fit of coughing. It hurt me to watch the way the hacking cough moved his frail body. It took him a few minutes to catch his breath and Rule and I shared a concerned look over the bed.

“Damn, that hurt.” He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze back and forth between the two of us. “I’m signing the shop over to you boys. We own the location outright, so the deed to the property is going in Nash’s name. You two have been an unstoppable team since you were old enough to start giving me gray hair, you’re also the best artists in this town. You both put the Marked on the map, gave it a style and a name that I never could. You made it yours and I think the two of you as business partners have a lot to offer this city.”

Rule and I exchanged stunned looks and then looked at Phil like he was speaking French and we didn’t understand. We could tattoo, we could work with clients, but neither one of us had any clue how to manage or operate a business.

“I was looking for a new location, a second shop in LoDo. I wanted to expand, get our name and work to a different breed of clientele. I found the perfect spot. Signed a five-year lease on it, but now … well, now it’s going to be up to you guys to get it up and running.”

LoDo referred to the lower downtown portion of Denver. It was filled with bars, restaurants, and any kind of lease on a storefront down there had to be astronomical. Rule was the first to ask:

“Uh … you do realize we have no idea how to run a shop, right?”

Phil rolled his eyes and snorted at us.

“Of course I know that. I already talked to Cora. She’s going to be your business manager. You really think once that baby gets here she’s going to want to answer phones and schedule appointments for you boneheads all day? No way, that little spitfire was born to take care of someone, she’ll wanna spend as much time with the baby as she can. Give her an office in the new building, she can handle the technical aspects for you, and if she still wants to pierce, she can schedule it on her own time. All you need to do is find a new shop manager and hire the staff for the new location. I have faith in you boys. You’ll do me proud.”

“You’ve planned this all out without bothering to ask either of us how we feel about it?” I couldn’t keep some of the simmering anger I was feeling from bursting through.

“Nash …” Phil’s voice dipped down an octave. “I don’t have enough time left to argue. I want my family taken care of, I want what I worked so hard to build to live on. This is the way to achieve both those things. Trust me.”

I used to trust him without question … recent events made that a little bit harder to do.

“Where are we supposed to find a new shop manager? And how do you expect either of us to vet an entirely new staff of artists? Rule and I don’t have any idea how to do that.” I sounded a little bit petulant even to my own ears.

“You’ll figure it out. I have a few calls in to some people, some contacts I’ve made over the years. I’m not going to leave you high and dry.”

Both of us had a million and one questions to ask, but Phil broke off in a fit of coughing that didn’t seem to have an ending point. He was obviously uncomfortable and in an immeasurable amount of pain. Rule went and found a nurse, who gave Phil something that soon had his eyes drooping closed and his chest moving up and down in a steady rhythm. He faded out and Rule jerked his head toward the door, so I followed him into the hallway.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, that about covers it.” I took my hat off my head and then slammed it back on. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Figure it out, I guess. That’s what we always do.”

“This is insane, all of it.”

“No doubt, but we’ll just take it one step at a time. We got your back, Nash. Remember that next time you want to play ostrich and bury your head in a bottle of tequila for a week.”

I did know it. “Thanks, Rule. Hey, give me just a minute. I wanna try and track down Saint and apologize.”

“Apologize for what?”

“At this point I feel like I need to apologize to her for simply existing. Thanks for dragging me out of my stupor.”

“Anytime. I’ll meet you at the truck. I need to call Shaw. She still hasn’t told her parents about the wedding. I don’t care one way or the other if they’re going to come or not, but I know Casper well enough to know she’ll feel guilty if she doesn’t at least give them the opportunity to prove they aren’t horrible, even though we all know they are.”

I snorted because he wasn’t kidding and because it still made me laugh when he used his nickname for Shaw. Her super white-blond hair lent itself to the endearment. His words were also a harsh reminder that I wasn’t the only one that had seriously screwed family dynamics. The building blocks that made me who I was as a person were changing, being rearranged and placed in different places. I wasn’t scared of change, one look at my body and anyone could see that … what I was terrified of was having to look back and see that my mom giving me up … letting me go, had nothing to do with a broken heart left from a deadbeat dad, but everything to do with me and the fact I wasn’t what she wanted. It had to do with the fact that I just wasn’t good enough, and even though I had long since made peace with never meeting her standards, it still left a mark.




CHAPTER 4 (#ulink_597d3dca-77d8-587f-ab81-7a65b9c49e30)

Saint (#ulink_597d3dca-77d8-587f-ab81-7a65b9c49e30)


The little boy I was working on was just too cute. He was probably only five or six and the gash he had on his head was pretty nasty, but he seemed to be taking it in stride. The mom was a hysterical wreck, like they all tended to be when their babies got hurt, but a couple of stitches later and the advice to get some Tylenol and have the child wear a helmet when he was riding his bike and they were on their way. Of course I had to scrounge up a sucker to give the young patient. I couldn’t stand seeing him leave without some kind of smile. Working on little kids was hard, but it always made my insides happy when I could fix them up and send them on their way with their tears dried up.

I snapped off my surgical gloves and nodded at the attending ER doctor as he moved on to the patient in the next room. It was flu season, so we were running at a pretty steady pace, not to mention the colder weather had the homeless population in and out dealing with a variety of weather-related injuries and symptoms. I always had to be on my toes, never knowing what was around the corner, which made my days move quickly and kept my job challenging and interesting. However, when I came around the corner and saw a familiar tall, dark figure leaning against the intake desk, I had to pause and decide if I wanted to turn around and run the other way before he caught sight of me. Nash wasn’t a challenge I particularly felt up to dealing with today.

I was irritated at him for acting so selfish while someone close to him was suffering, but more than that, I was furious with myself for giving in and getting involved when I knew better. I was also peeved that even though he rubbed me all kinds of the wrong way, the kiss he had forced on me had had me tossing and turning in bed at night, and if I concentrated hard enough, I could still taste the imprint he had left on my mouth. Ugh … why did he have to be so memorable in every possible way?

I narrowed my eyes and straightened my shoulders as I headed toward him. The nurse behind the desk was gazing up at him with a look I could only describe as awed. She was probably a decade older than me, had four kids, and her husband was a cop, but that didn’t stop her from falling into the charismatic snare that Nash seemed to so effortlessly weave around the opposite sex.

“What are you doing down here? Your dad is on the top floor.” I saw him wince when I used the word dad, but I refused to feel bad about it. I had trouble with tripping over words and saying what I really meant with people, but for some reason none of that was a problem when I spoke to him.

I tossed the paperwork I was holding to the admitting nurse and crossed my arms over my chest as he turned so that he was facing me. The baseball hat he was wearing cast the top part of his face in shadow, but I could see he had dark circles under each eye and that there were fine white lines of tension bracketing each side of his mouth. All in all he looked a lot better than the last time I had seen him. Well, better, minus the fact he was fully clothed, and even though I didn’t want to, I could still picture him half naked in vivid detail. I really did want to know what the front part of that massive tattoo was attached to on the backside.

“Do you have a minute?” His voice was kind of gruff but he softened the question with a half grin that made my heart trip.

“Not really. We’re pretty hectic today. The weather makes people go nuts, so we’re extra busy.”

He sighed and shifted so that he could shove his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the other nurses floating in and around the desk watching us with open curiosity.

“It’ll just take a second, please, Saint.”

I didn’t really think big, tough, tattooed guys used words like please, not that it was going to sway me. He had an unwanted effect on me and I knew it was a good idea to keep my distance from him. Just as I was about to refuse, the other nurse behind the desk, the one that was clearly smitten with his handsome face, offered up, “I’ll take the next room that just came in. You go ahead and take a breather for five minutes.”

I wanted to shift my glare to her, but she was just trying to be helpful, so I bit my lip and tilted my head toward the waiting room. There were more private places in the hospital I could have led him to, but being alone with him made me nervous and anxious.

“Follow me over there.”

He nodded and did as I asked. I felt the way his gaze burned into my back, and had to take several calming breaths and make sure I schooled my face into an impassive mask before I turned around to face him again. He sighed and used one broad shoulder to prop himself up against the coffee vending machine I had stopped by. We just stared at each other for a long moment. I was about to throw my hands up and walk away because the silence and his intense gaze gave me anxiety, when his quiet words surprised me.

“Phil’s condition is really bad. He told me there isn’t anything they can do. He’s dying and he just seems to be rolling with it, I don’t know how. I should have been here sooner.”

His tone was somber and his eyes under the dark bill of his hat had lightened to the shade of lilac. I could see how glassy they were, how much emotion he was trying to swallow down, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to reach out and touch him, to try and soothe him. He wasn’t a wild animal that needed to be gentled … even if he kind of emanated that vibe.

“I’m sorry. Stage four is ugly and has a terrible prognosis no matter what kind of cancer it is.”

He nodded jerkily and tossed his head back on his neck so that he was peering down at me from under the brim of his ball cap.

“I’m sorry about the other night. I was really drunk, my shit was all over the place, and I swear I’m not usually that kind of guy. It was very nice of you to come over and check on me, and I acted like a dipshit. I just wanted to apologize, to tell you thanks.”

I was dumbfounded. That wasn’t what I was expecting from him, so I just stared up at him like a moron. He must have taken my silence as a rebuff because he pulled his hat off and scraped one of his hands roughly over the top of his shaved head. His dark eyebrows dipped down low over those fabulous eyes and his nostrils flared out a little. With that piercing he had in the center of his nose, it kind of made him look like an angry bull.

“Cut me some slack here, Saint. My life went sideways and this shit has been hard to deal with. I know you don’t like me, so it was extra nice of you to swing by. What I don’t know is why you don’t like me.”

I jolted back and dropped my defensive stance. Sure, I had my reasons for being standoffish and keeping my distance from him, but I had never meant to make my discomfort and unease around him totally palpable to others, especially to him. The last thing I wanted was to relive that moment, either of them. There was no way I was ever going to tell him that his dismissal, his harsh words, had forever changed me, forever changed how I looked at the opposite sex. It was humiliating and obviously way more memorable to me than it was to anyone else. If he had no recollection of it, I wasn’t going to remind him. He gave his head a shake and put his hat back on his head. He pushed off the vending machine and shrugged the wide expanse of his shoulders.

“All righty, then. I’ll steer clear of the ER if I can avoid it because clearly I make you really uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know that I appreciated you reaching out when obviously you would rather poke your own eye out with a dull spoon. You’re a really nice girl, Saint. I’ve always thought you were.”

He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his hat and turned around and walked away from me. Once he was out of sight, I had to put a hand on my pounding heart inside my chest and concentrate on not hyperventilating. He always thought I was nice? Then how could he have encouraged me, urged me to go out of my comfort zone, and then act as though I didn’t exist? Heck, kiss another girl right in front of me when I thought he was there for me? How could he say those hateful things that made me feel ugly and worthless to this day? Pretty boys shouldn’t try to hurt nice girls … at least in a perfect world they shouldn’t.

I didn’t get any more time to dwell on it because one of the nurses came flying around the corner frantically looking for me.

“Crash on the interstate. Four cars involved, multiple injuries coming in. They need at least four rooms prepped, if not more. The ambulances are three minutes out, so it’s all hands on deck.”

I didn’t have time to worry anymore about Nash or the past or how off balance any time I was face-to-face with him made me. I shoved it all aside and settled firmly into the role I was most comfortable in. Here I had no questions, no doubts, I wasn’t shy or hesitant, I was confident and secure. I just went to work and did what I did best … helped other people.

It was a long and grueling shift. I had to stay late because after we had the accident victims taken care of, we had a fire, another accident, and not one, but two gunshot wounds. It was hectic and chaotic, and I appreciated that it gave me the chance to push aside all my emotions from my recent run-ins with Nash and categorize them as trivial and fleeting.

I was walking out, dragging my feet and unwinding my long hair from the tight bun on the top of my head, when I ran into the only person outside of my sister who I considered a friend here in Denver. Sunshine Parker was the assistant nursing director, my boss, and probably the most honest and forthright person I had ever met. She was just a tiny little thing, part Filipino, with jet-black hair and a smile that went on for days. She had made the transition to this emergency unit bearable considering all my weird social hang-ups that often made settling into a new environment challenging. She was a few years older than me, totally dedicated to her career and to helping people in need. I so wanted to follow in her footsteps. She was just like me, only she had no problems talking to people or interacting like a normal person. She also wasn’t struck dumb by simple conversation.

“Hey you. Rough day?”

I was rubbing my fingers hard into my scalp where my hair had been trapped, and had to admit I was exhausted. Today I’d seen an excessive amount of blood and guts, even for an ER, and my short conversation with Nash had worn me out. I felt awful for him and what he was going through, but it also grated on my nerves that I cared at all one way or the other. I wanted to be immune to him. Only that didn’t seem to be an option my hormones were allowing.

“I’ve had better. It was a busy one.”

She tossed her blanket of shiny hair over her shoulder and cocked her head at me.

“You are an amazing nurse, Saint.”

Those kind of compliments I could take. I grinned at her and pulled out my phone as it started to ring. The display showed my sister’s face, so I silenced the call and shoved the phone in my pocket. I loved Faith, hard, but lately the only time she called me was when something was up with our parents, more specifically our mom, and the drama could wait for a second.

“Thanks, Sunny. That’s always nice to hear, and coming from you it means a lot.”

She grinned at me and put a hand on my shoulder, which had to look comical because she was so much shorter than me.

“Right. So believe me when I tell you that you need to find more in your life than this ER, or any ER. This is a job, a career, and yes, it’s an important one, one that requires dedication and sacrifice, but it does not require that you lose yourself in it. You’re a lovely, brilliant woman who has a bright future ahead of her. I see a lot of similarities between the two of us. Believe me when I say none of that means anything if you don’t have anything else.”

I made a confused face at her and shifted my weight so that she had to drop her hand off my shoulder.

“What brought that on, Sunny?”

She gave a little laugh and flipped her long hair over her shoulder again.

“I heard a rumor Dr. Bennet asked you out for drinks the other night, and you turned him down cold. Why would you do that? He’s gorgeous, and you have work in common, so I know you would have things to talk about. Why didn’t you even consider it? It just makes me worry about you. You’ve been here for almost two years, and you never socialize with us, never open up. I like you. I want you to be living the best life possible.”

Dr. Bennet was the hospital’s catch. He was twenty-eight, built like a fitness model, and had wavy black hair and dreamy green eyes that made most of the nurses and any other female whose path he crossed turn to mush. He was a total Lothario, but a seemingly nice guy, and had been hinting around for the last six months that he would like to get to know me better outside of work. Generally, I brushed the attention off. I wasn’t the type of girl doctors wanted to date, and there was no way I was in the market for an office hookup—not when I could hardly act normal as it was. But he had flat-out asked me on a date on Thanksgiving. Instead of responding, or trying to stumble my way through a mumbled excuse, I’d rushed off the moment the Flight for Life info had come in bearing Phil Donovan’s name. I had seen the information on the chart, and I had the single-minded need to find Nash and see what was going on with him. I hadn’t exactly turned the doctor down, but whatever draw Nash still had was just more powerful than getting to know the handsome doctor better.

“Come on, Sunny. I don’t really think I’m Bennet’s type and I don’t go out because I don’t really have time. I work, and you know how crazy things have been with my mom. I do live a good life.”

“A good life is not the same thing as a fulfilled life, Saint. If the man is asking you out, then I would say you are most definitely his type. You need to buy a new mirror, one that accurately shows you what everyone else sees when they look at you. I’ll never understand how you can’t see that you’re pretty much every man’s type.”

I wanted to tell her she was wrong, I did see what everyone else saw, but no amount of spectacular cleavage, a nice hourglass figure, or pretty hair could overcome the fact I had a hard time connecting with people, that trusting someone enough to let go and lighten up was nearly impossible for me, or the fact that trying to make small talk and just act like a typical girl was almost an insurmountable task for me. I was always so worried about saying or doing the wrong thing. I was saved from leveling more excuses, more justification at her, by my phone going off again. I could practically see my sister’s frustrated face on the other end of the call.

“I have to take this, Sunny, but seriously, thank you for looking out for me.”

“Sure thing, my friend. Someone has to … you’re too busy caring for everyone else to care for yourself.”

As if to prove her point, as soon as I cleared the sliding glass doors at the entrance of the hospital, Faith’s voice rang shrill in my ear.

“Are you ignoring my calls?”

Faith and I were close. Since we were only a year apart, we had gone through school together until she graduated. Going away to college on the West Coast had been necessary for me, but it had also been hard to leave her behind. Now she was married to her college sweetheart. They had four kids under the age of seven and were expecting a fifth. She was the primary reason I had come back to Denver even though I loved the beach, missed the hospital and staff from my postgrad job in California, and had a really hard time returning to the town that reminded me of my younger self every day.

“No. I had to work late and got caught up talking to my boss on the way out. What’s up?”

I heard her sigh as one of the kids screamed in the background.

“Did you talk to Mom this week?”

Considering my week had been crazy and spent alternately punishing and berating myself over Nash, no, my mom has not been on my radar.

“No. I was busy. Why, did something happen to her?”

My parents had been married for over thirty years, twenty-five of them happily. At some point, while I was gone and Faith was starting a family, my dad had decided that being home alone with my mother was no fun. Unbeknownst to any of us, he had started seeing his much-younger dental assistant who worked with him at his practice. The marriage had struggled on until my mom couldn’t take the infidelity and insult anymore. As a result a seriously contentious and ugly divorce started two years ago. It was drawn out, filled with hate and bickering, and had turned my parents not only against each other but practically into strangers to Faith and me. That was the other reason I came home. I wanted my mom back.

My mom wanted us to have nothing to do with my dad. She was angry, irrational, and all her focus had been on Faith and the kids. It was driving my sister bananas, and after one too many teary and desperate phone calls, I had applied at Denver Health Medical Center and had come home to help out and try and minimize the damage. My mom was on the brink of a meltdown. I could see it coming like speeding lights at the other end of the tunnel, but there didn’t seem to be anything I could do to prevent it. She was self-medicating, taking pills and drinking her weight in wine to try and deal with the hurt. It sucked for all of us because even though my dad’s actions hurt us all, it was impossible just to cut him entirely out of our lives, and that drove my mom crazy.

“Yes, something happened. One of the neighbors called me to let me know that the fire department was out at the house. Apparently she went to the backyard and put all the old family photos in the barbecue and decided to burn them.”

I groaned and made my way to the parking lot where my car was.

“Seriously?”

Faith exhaled and I could hear how tired she was. “Yeah. The fire got out of control because of the wind and the amount of lighter fluid she used. It caught part of the backyard on fire. I guess it wouldn’t have been a huge deal if Mom had reacted, tried to put water on it or something, but the neighbor said she just stood there and watched it burn while laughing like a lunatic until the fire department arrived. She could have burned the entire neighborhood down. The homeowners’ association isn’t happy.”

She hollered something at one of the kids and muttered something at her husband while I got in the car and turned on the engine.

“She’s going off the deep end, Saint, and I don’t know how to stop it. She’s going to end up in a mental ward or in jail if we don’t figure something out. She’s gone from a handful to a menace. What if she tries to hurt herself?”

I had to crank the radio off when a Band of Skulls song came blasting out as the car started. I turned up the heat and tapped my fingers on the steering wheel.

“I’m off on Thursday. I’ll go and talk to her.”

“Oh, Saint, don’t. It just makes both of you upset. I just needed to vent to someone. I’m so tired of both of them.”

“This is so sad, Faith. Someone needs to try and talk some sense into her. So she got dumped, it’s not the end of the world. I know she took Dad’s cheating really hard, is having a hell of a time with the new girlfriend, but she really needs to stop it and move on. We did.” I think it had been easier for me because I never really had any expectations of a man ever being able to be faithful to one woman.

Faith snorted and I heard the connection rustle as she shifted the phone from one shoulder to another.

“Says the girl who let one mean boy spoil her on love for the last eight years. Face it, Saint, the women in this family do not deal well with heartache.”

I must have made an involuntary noise because her voice got sharp when she asked, “Did you see him again?”

I blew a breath out between my teeth and closed my eyes and let my head flop back on the seat. I never should have mentioned running into Nash when he came to pick up Rome after that bar fight a few months ago. All I wanted to do was go home, take a hot shower, and wash this day down the drain.

“He has a family member in the oncology unit at the hospital. I’ve run into him a couple times.”

She made a growling noise in the back of her throat that had me chuckling at the protective gesture.

“Did you tell him to go to hell?”

Faith had long thought that I needed to tell Nash off, tell him how horrible his careless words had felt, and leave the damage he had done firmly at his door. She thought he was a thorn in my side that needed to just be yanked out quick and clean.

“No. I pretty much just turn into a mime around him. I just gape at him and stare at him awkwardly until he gets uncomfortable and goes away.”

She laughed a little and I heard her husband ask her a question.

“It really is too bad he didn’t gain a bunch of weight or come down with some weird flesh-eating disease that made him hideous to look at.”

I drew a heart on the fog in the window with my index finger.

“No. He still looks really good, better than he did in high school, just a lot more tattooed … and you know, built.” He was ridiculously handsome, and those eyes … God, those eyes were made to drop panties.

“That sucks and you shouldn’t be noticing that. You should be telling him to eat shit and die. Stay away from him, Saint. For your own good. Look, I have to go. Justin needs me to watch the kids while he finishes dinner.”

“I’ll give you a ring after I talk to Mom.”

“Ugh, all right. I still think that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.” Her confidence was overwhelming, but I needed to make sure my mother hadn’t really gone too far over the edge in her heartbreak.

“Probably, but it has to be done. Kiss the kids for me.”

“I will. Seriously, Saint, steer clear of Nash Donovan. I don’t think your heart ever mended from the first time he stomped on it.”

I told her good-bye and tossed the cell on the passenger seat next to me.

She was right. My heart had never been the same after everything he had put it through. Even if he hadn’t known I had feelings for him, even if he had come across as a nice guy for a few fleeting encounters, the way he had blindly destroyed all that was just unforgivable, even now.

Once I had gone off to college and got out on my own, things had started to change for me. The healthy California lifestyle changed my physical appearance, and the fact that no one out there knew who I was, didn’t know I was a nerd with no friends, made talking to people easier. It also made handling attention from boys not exactly easy, but manageable, and as such I started to date casually. Some of the guys I liked more than others, some I loosened up enough with to let them get past first base and even second, but it wasn’t until I took my first job at a hospital in Los Angeles and met a male nurse named Derek that I was comfortable enough, trusted someone enough, to actually go to bed with him.

We had dated for three months, he was nice, had the same passion for the medical and health-related field and helping others that I did, and he was really, really cute. He seemed to like me, like a lot. He told me over and over that he thought I was funny, smart, pretty, and fun to be around, and he never pushed me. Things had progressed naturally … one thing led to another, and we ended up in bed together. That was where the one and only relationship I had ever attempted to have fell apart. The idea of being naked, stripped down and exposed to anyone, terrified me. The thought of being judged and found lacking had me breaking out in hives and into a cold sweat. There was nothing romantic or sexy about a girl struggling through sex, crying all over you, and bolting for the door as soon as it was over.

But Derek had seemed like a wonderful guy and wanted to stay with me, wanted to work on it, and eventually wore me down to the point that I had agreed to give the entire relationship another try. Only sex never worked the way I wanted it to, really never went the way he wanted it to, and it wasn’t long before I found him in the arms of another one of the nurses on our rotation. Of course she wasn’t crying when I walked in on them at his apartment. The betrayal had stung and it had completely reinforced that I couldn’t really trust a guy, that they would always pick a sure bet over a girl with hang-ups and insecurities any day. Besides, Derek had always been way more into me than I was into him, and frankly, having an excuse to walk away when he seemed so nice and caring was actually a relief. It was exhausting trying to force it, to try and pretend like sex was getting better and more enjoyable … I didn’t blame him for wanting to take a girl that behaved normally to bed.

Moving forward, there had been a guy or two along the way who I had been interested enough in to try it out again with, thinking a one-night stand would be less pressure. I thought that if the guy didn’t know me, didn’t know how I worked, maybe I could keep the irrational fear of rejection and ugly judgment at bay. It never worked. I always felt sick and just wanted it to be over with, so after the second time I was called a frigid tease, I decided to stop trying to make something happen. I stopped thinking ordinary boy-girl stuff was in my future.

I didn’t blame Nash and what he had done entirely for all of my hang-ups. A lot of them were bred into me by simply being me. I was the odd one, the one that didn’t really fit. Faith was tall like I was, she also sported bright red hair, but hers was manageable and I don’t think she ever had a zit in her life. She was cheerful and popular, played volleyball, and was on all kinds of committees and in clubs. She was the perfect mix of both my parents and somehow still managed to be a sweet and delightful girl. No one seemed to know what to do with me, even at home, where I knew I was loved unconditionally. Even with that, in an effort to help, my parents put me on diet after diet, dragged me to dermatologist after dermatologist, and enrolled me in activity after activity, all of which just proved to be waste of money. I knew their intentions were good, that they wanted me to come out of my shell and live a full life, but all they succeeded in doing was making me feel inferior and awkward in my own skin.

Of course none of my issues had been helped when right about the time Derek had proved to me that men were not to be trusted, my dad had decided that he was bored with my mom and that he wanted to trade her in for a newer model. It didn’t matter that we were a loving, caring, rock-solid family unit that helped and supported each other. No, what mattered was a pair of perky boobs and a toothy smile that made him feel ten years younger. He didn’t think twice about breaking our family apart, and I was left with a bone-deep understanding that men always picked the easy choice. If you put a pretty girl, someone that was obtainable and glossy in front of them, their penis was ultimately going to make a choice for them, and that sucked.

Even though I knew he wasn’t for me, I had built an extravagant fantasy around who I thought Nash was back in the day. I liked that he was into art, thought the allure of him painting graffiti and being into tattoos and piercings was dangerous and cool. Most teenage girls did. I thought he was different, thought the way he interacted with me at our lockers made him above the way the rest of the typical teenage boys in our school treated me. When I found out how wrong I was, it had shattered me and just dug the pit where my sense of self and all the shattered pieces of confidence had fallen even deeper. It had taken becoming a nurse, finding a greater purpose, to enable me to go into that deep, dark hole and get all those fragments of myself out. I wasn’t entirely whole, but I was a far sight better off than I had been as a teenager.

Faith was right. Ford women didn’t deal well with heartache, and I was loath to admit that one drunken kiss from Nash had more of an effect on me, got more of a response out of me, than all three months of the gentle wooing Derek had offered me. I was shrewd enough to know that wasn’t good, and I needed to take Faith’s stern warning and steer clear of him. Nash Donovan wasn’t good for my sense of self or good for keeping my life in the neat and orderly, straightforward way it was running now.




CHAPTER 5 (#ulink_ff009a5f-6bc6-5b7a-ab3b-66daa77158ef)

Nash (#ulink_ff009a5f-6bc6-5b7a-ab3b-66daa77158ef)


I was running on empty and getting increasingly short-tempered. Instead of working noon to seven, I was having to go in at nine and stay until eight or later to make up for all the people I had screwed over by skipping their appointments in the midst of my mental breakdown the previous week. My appointment book was always pretty full, so trying to reschedule an entire week’s worth of work wasn’t just a nightmare for me, but also had Cora ready to choke me.

I was also trying to spend each lunch break visiting Phil, which meant there wasn’t a moment of downtime in my entire day. He wasn’t doing so great. His lungs had water in them and one of the pain medications they had him on wasn’t agreeing with his stomach, so he was having a hard time keeping anything down. It was hard to see him like that, like he was just wasting away right before my eyes. Seeing him fading away from me had hundreds of questions rattling around in my mind. I really wanted to pin him down and get the story from him. The shock had worn off some and now I wanted answers. I wasn’t scared of his response anymore. There was no way Phil was ashamed or unhappy that I was of his blood.

I could’ve just hounded my mom until she gave the details up, but dealing with her was always a nightmare and I didn’t know that she could be bothered to tell the truth. Cora mentioned that her dad seemed to be privy to the insider information and she was totally open to prying the story out of him if I wanted. Her dad and Phil had been enlisted in the navy together years ago and had maintained a tight bond over the years.

I told her to hold off because I needed to give the people who’d been involved, who’d let me live a lie for so long, the right to explain their decisions. However, if Phil didn’t decide to stop stonewalling me soon, I was going to take her up on the offer and not feel one ounce of guilt over it.

I was the only one in the shop. I had to finish a zombie Hello Kitty tattoo on a girl’s leg. I was so over zombies. Every day it was zombie Elvis, zombie Marilyn, zombie Harry Potter … it was all zombies all the time. I mean I always made sure to give one hundred percent attention and dedication to every tattoo I put on a client. I owed them nothing less considering they would be sporting my artwork forever, but really I wondered if a lot of the younger clientele who ended up in my chair gave any thought to the passing trends. In five years zombie Elvis wasn’t going to seem nearly as cool as it did now, so I had to make sure it was at least an awesomely done tattoo even if the subject matter wouldn’t always be relevant.

I was just finishing up and looking at the clock that sat on the front desk to see if I had time to go to the hospital, and was surprised when the front door to the shop swung open and Rowdy came strolling in. Rowdy St. James looked like a modern-day James Dean. He had a retro-cool vibe that was all his own and he was one of the funniest guys I had ever met. He made the atmosphere in the shop more lighthearted, since Rule could be such a dick and Cora liked to cause drama and be in everybody’s business. I lifted an eyebrow at him and finished wrapping the girl and her zombie up.

“What’s up, man?”

The client paid and told me how deliriously happy she was with her zombified kitty as I showed her out and locked the door behind her.

“You’ve been pulling some crazy hours lately, dude.”

To make his point even more obvious I yawned and had to crack my neck.

“It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have been acting like such a douche canoe last week.”

“That was some heavy shit to deal with.”

“Yeah, but I’m a grown-ass man. I was acting like a baby.”

“No one blames you.”

No they didn’t, but they should have. It took Saint showing up and telling me to pull my head out of my ass to see beyond my own churning feelings and Rule strong-arming me into acting right.

“What are you doing here so late?” I asked as I started to straighten my station up.

“I was looking for you. I stopped at the hospital to see Phil and he mentioned the new shop. That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do about it, though.”

He chuckled and leaned on the front desk while I wiped things down with strong antiseptic.

“Well, I don’t know shit about hiring a new staff, and thinking you’re going to find someone to replace Cora is a pipe dream. That mold didn’t just break, it got shattered into a million pieces on the floor. The world couldn’t handle more than one of her.”

I laughed because he was right, and stood up so I could crack my back. I sounded like I was falling apart.

“True.”

“I know a guy, he does custom renovations and stuff like that. He’s a good dude, one of my clients actually. I just wanted to let you know I had a name when it comes to getting the place ready to be turned into a tattoo shop.”

“Who is it?”

“Zeb Fuller.”

I had heard the name before. Zeb was a fellow car guy. He had an old International that he took to the same mechanic I used whenever the beast had something wrong with it I couldn’t handle on my own.

“Cool. I’ll keep him in mind. I haven’t even made it down there yet. Between trying to catch up here and spend time with Phil, I’m just running in circles.”

Not to mention even though I knew she wanted me to steer clear of her, I was still silently searching for Saint every time I stepped inside the hospital doors. So far I hadn’t had any luck, but that didn’t stop me from looking for her.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that, and Rule is all in super-groom mode. Oh, how things have changed around this place in the last few years. I remember when we were all about a good time and a few cold ones.”

“Hey, I still am.” My argument was halfhearted at best. I was too tired for a good time.

He laughed at me and rolled his ocean-colored eyes.

“No way, Nash. Our entire crew is getting married and having babies, we’re all growing up and settling down.”

Rowdy was the youngest of our band of brothers, so it was funny hearing this coming from him. I hit the lights and pulled a black beanie on over my shaved head.

“Had to happen sometime, I guess, but marriage and babies …” I made a face. “Not for me.”

“We’ll see, brother. We’ll see. Honestly, none of that was really why I tracked you down. I have an idea I want to run by you for the new shop.”

Rowdy was an interesting guy. He was funny, the jokester of the group, but he also had a lot going on under the surface. I think that’s why he and Jet were so tight, there was so much more going on there than most people took at face value. He was way more into the art of what we did for a living than the rest of us were. I think underneath his tremendous hair, perfectly groomed chops, and jovial persona lurked the soul of a truly artistic man. I appreciated it, and him, so if he had an idea I was more than willing to give it a chance. Plus it had to matter a lot to him if he was approaching me after everyone else had cleared out for the day.

“Shoot.”

I was a little surprised to see he looked a bit nervous. There was a little flush of pink behind that big-ass tattoo of an anchor he rocked on the side of his neck.

“Cora mentioned there was an empty space on the top floor of the new space that had offices and stuff. I think you should turn it into a store. Keep the tattoo shop and the piercing stuff downstairs, but upstairs you should consider selling stuff … like our own brand. More than just T-shirts and shit like we do now. I also think it might be a profitable idea to showcase some original art by the artists. Like Rule did that mural in the man cave for those rich guys and the way you did the back of that restaurant in graffiti on Broadway. People would buy it, and in that location you guys could charge an arm and a leg for it.”

I could only stare at him. He must have taken my stunned surprise the wrong way because he shrugged and lifted a tattooed hand to rub the back of his neck.

“Or not. It was just an idea.”

I blinked and reached out to shove him in the center of his chest with my palm.

“A fucking brilliant idea. Goddamn, dude, Phil should have left you in charge of this new project. I had no idea you were so business savvy.”

We walked out the front door and entered into the cold Colorado air. The chill sucked the breath out of my lungs and made me shiver inside my hoodie.

“I just watched what Rome and Asa did with that dive of a bar they ended up running and I thought we should try and up our game some as well. I love this place, love what we do, so why not take it to the next level?”

“That means whoever we hire to manage these shops in place of Cora is going to have to be a perfect fit. You don’t happen to know anyone that can fill that role, do ya?”

I automatically patted the pocket of my hoodie looking for a smoke and almost threw a fit when I came up empty. Quitting sucked and I sucked at quitting, but I was trying hard, and every time I saw Phil in that bed it made it a little bit easier.

Rowdy shook his blond head and pulled the collar of his quilted flannel up around his neck.

“Nope, but you’ll find someone. You have great instincts about people and Rule is like the gatekeeper from hell, not to mention whoever you hire has to pass the Cora test. You need to give yourself some credit, Nash. This is Phil’s life, his legacy … of course you’re the only one he would trust with it. We’re family, he wanted you to carry on the tradition and keep this place a home. You’ve got this, brother. Have some faith.”

I just grunted and turned to walk to where the Charger was parked. Light flurries of snow were starting to blanket the ground.

I glanced at him when he asked, “Hey, I heard your new neighbor is a solid ten. What’s up with that?”

I lifted a shoulder and let it fall. What was up with that was that her hair was the wrong color of red and her eyes were dark, not a lulling, gentle gray.

“Too busy, too jacked up over Phil … I dunno. Swing by for a beer and you can introduce yourself.”

He didn’t respond, just gave me a look. A look that clearly stated if I wasn’t trying to actively get in the hot neighbor’s pants, something else was going on. Luckily it was freezing, so neither one of us wanted to hang out on the sidewalk, and I got to cleanly escape without floundering around for a weak excuse as to my real reasons for not throwing all my considerable game at the hottie across the hall.

When I got to the hospital, it was almost nine. I tried to park close so I didn’t have to trek to the front door and freeze my balls off on the way, but fate wasn’t working for me and it took me five minutes to walk around the side of the complex to the front doors after finally finding a spot. I was muttering under my breath about needing a cigarette and rubbing my hands together to keep them warm when I came to a stumbling halt as I cleared the corner of the main building.

Saint was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. The lights from the building were casting her in an ethereal and glinting light, like the heavens above were illuminating her with their glow, making each snowflake trapped in her amazing hair glimmer. She wasn’t just called Saint … it was like some unknown force was trying to push me into seeing her as so much more. Her normally restrained hair was all over the place, rioting around her pale face like fire and copper. Snowflakes were gathering in the loose strands but she didn’t seem to notice. She was dressed in her scrubs, no coat or gloves, and the cold didn’t seem to have any effect on her as she meandered back and forth. She was moving frantically, her arms crossed tightly around her chest like she was trying to give herself a bear hug.

I knew she didn’t want to have anything to do with me, that she wanted to pretend I didn’t exist, but I couldn’t just walk by her without asking her what was wrong, without seeing if she was okay. I wasn’t that kind of person, and more importantly it actually mattered to me why she was out here when she was obviously upset, and why she didn’t have a coat or anything on when it was so cold out.

“Saint?”

I called her name softly and moved a little closer. When she turned around I could see the frozen tracks of tears on her cheeks and could practically feel the coiled tension coming off her body. I was surprised the snow that was landing on her face and clinging to her eyelashes didn’t melt right off with all the heat and energy she was throwing off.

“Are you all right?”

She blinked at me like she didn’t recognize me, and I thought maybe it was the hat covering my head. She opened her mouth and then let it snap close again like words just wouldn’t come out. Her arms fell to her sides and she just stared at me, not saying anything or moving for a long moment. I was about to apologize for bothering her, yet again, when she suddenly moved toward me … she lurched like she had come untethered from the earth. I had no idea what she was doing, but the expression on her face was intent and focused, so I braced for her to smack me across the face or put a knee in my balls. With this girl I just never knew which way the tide was going to turn.

I wasn’t prepared for her to throw herself against my chest. I was so startled I actually had to take a step back as I wrapped my arms around her waist. She put her hands up around my shoulders and curled her freezing-cold fingers under the collar of my hoodie and dug her fingers into the back of my neck. Her breasts smashed into my chest and her long hair coiled around my fingers where I was holding on to her lower back. It was silky and cool, like touching frost on a pane of glass. I was dumbfounded, trying to figure out what she was doing, when she slammed her mouth across mine. Good thing she was tall and didn’t have to reach very far because if I had been holding her up, there was a good chance I might have dropped her right back to the ground in surprise.

Her mouth was hot, frantic, wild, and desperate. She tasted like winter and some kind of tangy citrus. I knew this because she didn’t hesitate to roll her tongue into my startled mouth. I had been kissed by a lot of girls, probably too many over the years, and not one of them sent me from comfortable to feeling like my boxers were ten sizes too small in a fraction of a second the way Saint did. It wasn’t even that it was a great kiss. There was something behind it, something with more edge, more meaning than any other kiss I could remember. The way her soft lips felt pressed tightly against mine, the way she used her teeth with just enough bite, the way her short nails dug into the tendons on either side of my neck turned me inside out.

If we hadn’t been standing outside getting snowed on, hadn’t been standing in the middle of a sidewalk, I would have pushed her against a wall … hell, I would’ve found a soft spot on the ground and let her work out whatever was hounding her in the sexiest, nastiest way possible. If she needed a physical release to get her emotions out, I would be only too happy to volunteer my time and my body. I had a sinking suspicion if I was ever lucky enough to get her naked, I would never let her put on clothes around me again.

She slid her hands around to the front of my face and grabbed both of my cheeks. She started to shiver, and when she pulled back I was stuck in the rolling thunderstorm that was her gaze. I moved one hand up and wiped away a single, crystal tear that was stuck on her eyelash with my knuckle. She let out a shuddering sigh and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to attack you with my mouth.” She sounded embarrassed and sad at the same time.

I burst out laughing and took a step back as she let her hands fall. Some of her awareness must have come back because she started to shake. I sighed and pulled the zipper on my hoodie down so that I could hand it over to her. She looked at me silently for a second and then took it.

“Saint, you can attack me with any part of you at any given moment of any day. I will not complain … ever.”

She laughed a little shakily.

“Thanks.”

“Do you wanna talk about what has you out in the snow pacing back and forth?”

It was a long shot. She never seemed to really want to talk to me, but she still looked so haunted, I had to ask.

She shook her head and shoved her hands through her hair. Some of the red strands floated up like a halo around her head.

“It’s been busy all week. The weather makes things insane and it’s flu season. I can typically handle everything that comes through the door. Sometimes it can get overwhelming and breaks my heart, but I do my job and can typically wait until I get home to process it all or fall apart.”

I couldn’t even imagine what she had to deal with on a day-to-day basis. Rule’s twin brother, Remy, had been brought to this very ER when he had crashed his car on the interstate in a horrific accident. He hadn’t made it and it occurred to me that was something she had to see all the time.

“Today a teenage girl was rushed in. Her parents found her overdosed in the bathroom. She was just a baby really, had her entire life in front of her, but she swallowed an entire bottle of pills because kids at her school were picking on her, bullying her. They were being mean to her, calling her awful names on the Internet, and she just couldn’t take it anymore.”

I saw her bottom lip quiver before she trapped it between her teeth. Her eyes lifted back up to mine and the gray had turned slate. I wondered if she was seeing her teenage self in that patient, and felt a twinge of remorse that I hadn’t paid more attention to her back then.

“I see death and tragedy all the time and nothing makes it worse than when it’s totally senseless. All she needed was some niceness, some basic human kindness, and she wouldn’t be on her way to the morgue and her parents wouldn’t be devastated. It’s heartbreaking and so senseless.”

She pulled her hands into the sleeves of my hoodie and looked up at me. “And I have to go talk to my mom tomorrow, which is the equivalent of getting a hundred root canals at one time. This day was vicious and I think I went a little off the rails for a second.”

It was my turn to shiver.

“I’m sorry, Saint. That sounds awful.”

She narrowed her eyes at me and tilted her head toward the front of building.

“How do you know? Have you ever had anyone make fun of you, been called awful names, had anyone make you feel like you didn’t deserve to live just because you weren’t the same as everyone else?”

I winced at her harsh tone and tried to put together how she could go from sweet to hostile toward me so quickly. Her train of thought moved like a scared jackrabbit.

I reached out and grabbed her elbow and spun her around so that she was facing me.





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