NASH WOKE up feeling better than he had in a long time. When he opened his eyes, he’d half expected Ford to have snuck out, or at least moved to the other side of the bed during the night, but he was right there, tangled up in Nash’s arms, mouth open and snoring.
It felt like the whole world was quiet and peaceful outside, and they were safe and warm inside. Nash watched Ford’s eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. He was so goddamn beautiful, and he was so goddamn guarded. It was nice to see him like this—relaxed and content in sleep.
After learning about Provost, there were facets of Ford that fit into place. As it was, there were scars that had started healing, but Nash believed Ford was stronger than he thought, and the damage that had been done was something Ford could overcome.
Ford stirred next to him, and Nash couldn’t help the smile that slid into place, watching him wake up. His eyes fluttered open and focused on him for a moment before he wore a matching smile to Nash’s.
“Morning,” Nash said.
“Morning,” Ford echoed.
Nash shuffled forward and kissed the tip of Ford’s nose. “I’m going to make us something to eat. Any preference?”
“Waffles.”
“Waffles it is,” Nash replied.
Ford chuckled and pulled the blankets farther up as Nash got out of bed. “Unless you’ve learned how to do some Harry Potter shit, waffles ain’t happening. I doubt I have any of the ingredients, and I sure as shit do not own a waffle press… waffle iron… whatever it’s called.”
“Oh.”
“We don’t need to be at the hospital for another few hours. You wanna go out?” Ford asked.
Everything seemed so… okay. Nash was a little surprised Ford wasn’t freaking out harder than he was. He’d half assumed Ford would try kick him out of his apartment again that morning, so inviting him for breakfast was unexpected.
“Yeah, that sounds good, actually. Albert’s?”
Ford sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Greystones.”
“I’ve never been there.”
“They have the best waffles in the city, and their mimosas aren’t bad either.”
The conspiratorial smile made Nash think Ford likely went there more for the mimosas than he did the waffles, but who didn’t like a little champagne to start off the day. The fact that Ford wasn’t hightailing it for the hills after spending the night together was reason enough for Nash to want to celebrate.
THE RESTAURANT was only a short drive from Ford’s place, which would have been even faster if they hadn’t had to walk back to Nash’s car, then take a detour to Nash’s for a change of clothes. Ford waited in the car when he dashed up to pull on the first outfit he could find. Feeling much less walk of shame and much fresher, Nash parked the car on the street in front and dumped a pocketful of change into the meter.
When they walked in, the hostess greeted them right away and showed them to a table in the corner against the window. The space was very open, painted in light colors, and had incredibly high ceilings. The wall behind the bar was constructed with what looked like large river rocks—after the name, Nash presumed. Tables were made from antique-looking wood, and mismatched chairs were clustered around each of them.
They slid into their places as she set their menus in front of them. It had started to drizzle, and water slid in rivulets down the glass. The day was dreary and gray, and Nash was happy to be inside with Ford.
The waiter appeared a few minutes later, hair piled on top of his head in a messy bun and a full beard covering his jaw. He looked like he belonged on a hipster runway somewhere rather than carrying plates of food in a restaurant. The man was gorgeous, and Nash saw Ford’s eyes following him as he approached.
“Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?” he asked, Ford’s appraising look returning.
Nash wanted to snap him in half.
“A mimosa for me,” Ford said.
“Coffee,” Nash grunted.
Ford glared at him.
“Please,” he amended.
“Coming right up,” the waiter said, turning and walking away.
“No one could have pissed in your cornflakes yet, because I know you haven’t eaten, so what the hell was that?” Ford asked.
“He was skeevy. I didn’t like the way he was staring at you.”
“You mean like he wanted to fuck me over the table?” Ford asked.
“Yeah. That.”
“He looks at everyone like that. He makes better tips that way. If you hadn’t gone all caveman on him, you’d have realized he was looking at you the exact same way.”
Nash turned his head and watched the waiter approaching a table of women. Ford was right. The guy was flirting shamelessly. Nash felt like an idiot.
“Sorry,” he said.
“You should be. And besides, if I wanted to fuck that waiter, I have every right to. You don’t own me.”
Ford’s eyes locked with his, the challenge clearly written there. Nash knew what he wanted to say, how he wanted to be with Ford, but after one night, and with someone as skittish, it was probably best to leave it unsaid.
It was far too soon to be making claims of any kind. Nash didn’t know if he’d ever get the opportunity, but if he was too overbearing, too forceful with what he wanted from Ford, chances were better than good that Ford would run so fast, he’d leave rubber tracks on the pavement.
Moments passed, and Ford’s eyes softened. “When I asked you up last night, I knew where it would lead. I asked you anyway. But I fully intended it to be a one-night thing.”
“And now?”
“I still don’t want a relationship,” Ford said.
“Okay, I get that.”
“Really?”
He asked as if he couldn’t believe Nash wasn’t going to push. And truthfully, a part of Nash wanted to push. He didn’t want Ford fucking around with other guys. He could be patient, though.
“Yeah. I understand you not wanting to dive into anything serious. But I like you. So if you want, let’s do casual. We can keep things light and see where it goes.”
“Okay.” Ford grinned at him, and Nash’s heart stuttered.
The waiter returned then with their drinks, and they both placed their orders. Nash made a point of being more polite.
Their food arrived more quickly than Nash had anticipated, but with such a small menu, he supposed it would be easier to have things up and ready to go. They both dug in, and Nash was happy to discover that Ford had been right about the waffles. They were amazing. He could have easily eaten nothing but those waffles for all three meals for a month.
“You weren’t lying,” Nash said, cutting another huge piece of waffle to shove into his mouth.
“Nope. Best in the city. Sam and I come here at least once a month for Sunday brunch, sometimes more if Adam’s shift rotation falls on a bunch of weekends.”
“I can see why.”
“He’s going to be jealous that I brought you here and he wasn’t invited.”
“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”
Ford cracked a smile. “Sure. Depending on what time the police are done talking to Joel, we should stop by his office and say hello. He usually has lunch around twelve thirty or so. I’ll run across the street and grab some Mexican from the food truck. It’s his favorite.”
“Sure, that’d be good.”
“Do you think the cops will be there long?” Ford asked.
“I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t know if Joel will even talk to them. I think there’s a better chance of them being able to get some information from him if you’re there. He talked to you about it a little yesterday, and that’s really promising, but even when it was the three of us there, he seemed to get pretty upset. I don’t know the kid very well, but I think a room full of cops and social workers is going to be pretty overwhelming.”
“That’s true. I don’t know how to make it easier for him, though.”
“You being there is the best thing you can do. He trusts you.”
IT HAD stopped raining by the time they finished up at Greystones and made their way to Saint Joe’s. There was still a sharp humidity that hung in the air, and Nash was grateful he remembered to grab a warmer jacket when they were at his place.
Nash parked in his normal spot at the station, and they walked across the soggy grass toward the main building. The halls were quiet when they stepped inside, and when they arrived at the emergency psych unit, Nash noticed the police officer who had been a permanent fixture the day before was missing.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, but he didn’t say anything, instead tamping down the strange feeling as Ford swiped his ID card to let them into the unit.
Helen was pale and shaky when they walked in. Her eyes went wide when she spotted them, her hands clenching on the desk as she leaned against it. The moment Nash laid eyes on her, he knew something was terribly wrong.
“Is Joel in his room?” Ford asked. Nash could hear the trepidation filling the question.
She hesitated, as though trying to find the right words. Time stretched out, and Nash’s mind dove directly to the worst possible scenario. When she finally spoke, her voice soft and low, his fears were confirmed.
“There was an incident last night…. They found him this morning…. I’m so sorry.”