Dad had his feet up, kicked back in a recliner—one of a pair—watching some weekday afternoon junk TV when Emmitt opened the door, and Nash stepped over the threshold into his new home. Dad immediately turned down the volume and walked over to greet them.
“Jesus, Nash.” He shook his head and opened his arms for what Nash hoped would be a gentle hug. “You’re the biggest weird-shit magnet I’ve ever known.”
Nash knew better than to think the frowning face on his father reflected actual displeasure at seeing him. That was simply the way the man looked. He should’ve warned Emmitt. Then again, maybe he had. Fuck if Nash knew.
“Sorry.” Nash affected a grin, but doubted it looked like anything other than a pained grimace.
Dad’s embrace was indeed a barely-there encirclement of his huge arms around Nash’s shoulders, with care taken not to press against the arm that hung in a sling across his torso.
“Come on,” Dad said, leading him toward a large sitting area. “Take a load off before you faint.” He turned his ruddy face toward a flight of stairs located to their left, farther down near the bank of windows they were facing. “Paula!” he hollered. “They’re here.”
Emmitt set the bags he was toting on the kitchen island and rifled through them before coming up with a vial of pills. “You ready for a dose of pain meds?”
“Past ready,” Nash admitted. His arm throbbed, and all he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep through the next week. “I don’t suppose a medically induced coma would be an option?”
Emmitt looked up from his task, seemingly saw that Nash was being facetious, and wisely went back to fetching a glass of water without answering the question.
His mom hustled down the stairs that apparently led to the master bedroom, since Emmitt had mentioned something about her wanting to unpack his clothes. No surprise that his dad wasn’t involved. Oh, he’d have tried, but Mom would’ve shooed him out within minutes because Dad loved to stir the pot. Nash could just picture him insisting that the underwear should go in the same drawer with jeans, since they both covered the same part of the anatomy, while Mom fussed and stipulated they go in the top drawer, because that’s the way it had always been and always would be.
She approached as Dad guided him into a recliner. “Oh, Nash, honey.” The weepy tone of her voice coordinated with the tears welling up in her eyes. He’d had a good look at himself in the mirror at the hospital, so her reaction was no surprise. The bandage on his forehead didn’t cover all of the associated bruising, and his eyes were incredibly bloodshot. Although Emmitt had claimed his color was better, either he was being generous, or he’d looked like a ghost the first day.
“I’m going to feed you up,” Mom said. She turned to Emmitt as he approached with a glass of water, some crackers, and the longed-for pills.
“I’ll get something ordered,” Emmitt said. He gestured toward the coffee table. “There’s a stack of menus in the drawer, there, if you’d like to look them over.”
“Nonsense,” Mom snapped. All appearances to the contrary, she was the one people needed to be wary of, not Dad. Emmitt raised a questioning eyebrow, and Nash stayed the hell out of it. He did hold out his hand for the pills, however, silently beckoning Emmitt to pass them over.
Emmitt ignored him as Mom continued. “You’ve got that beautiful high-end kitchen with all the bells and whistles, but there was nary a piece of meat, or any cooking supplies to be found.” She narrowed her eyes. “You aren’t one of those vegetarians, are you?”
Emmitt’s eyes widened. “No, ma’am.”
“Good. I don’t know what you use that kitchen for, but it’s obviously not cooking. I’ll be charitable and assume it’s because you’ve only recently moved in.”
Emmitt blushed. He probably wasn’t used to being told off like that, but at least his expression seemed more discomfited than angry. It was going to be a long two weeks.
Mom said, “I sent Conrad to the grocery down the street while you were out. There’s enough for meals for a few days now. I’ll take care of the cooking and do a more thorough shopping myself tomorrow.”
For a moment, Nash got the impression Emmitt was going to protest, but then prudently thought better of it. He hadn’t made it through all those years of higher education by being dimwitted.
“Thank you, Conrad.” Emmitt nodded toward Dad, then turned back to Mom. “And thank you, Paula. I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a cook. My grandfather is handy with the slow cooker when he’s home, but that’s about our limit. I appreciate your offer, but I must insist that you allow me to reimburse you for your expense.”
“Insist” probably wasn’t the best word to use when addressing Nash’s mother, but she let it go, perhaps seeing a worthy foe in Emmitt.
Nash wriggled the fingers in his outstretched hand to remind Emmitt that he held the pain relief. Emmitt placed a bowl on the end table to Nash’s right. “Eat some of these crackers before you take the pills.” His tone didn’t leave any room for argument. At least he didn’t hold out on the cold packs, which were placed with care inside Nash’s sling.
Scowling, Nash picked up a few crackers and nibbled them. His mom looked on approvingly. He should probably be grateful they appeared to have reached an unspoken mutual respect…or at least understanding.
Crackers consumed, Nash held out his open palm again and was finally rewarded with the pills. He swallowed them quickly.
“Have a few more crackers to chase that down,” Mom ordered. Make no mistake, it was a demand, not a request.
Emmitt nodded in agreement. “It’s been a couple hours since you had lunch at the hospital. You don’t want to take those on an empty stomach.”
Dad watched the scene, wearing the same frown he always displayed. Who the hell knew if he approved of their ganging up on him or not? Probably did, since Nash knew in his heart they were right. He picked up a few more crackers and chewed them silently.
Mom’s nose crinkled as she assessed him more thoroughly. “I think you need to take a nice relaxing soak in that magnificent tub up there while I get to work preparing dinner.” She glanced at Emmitt. “Did you get one of those bags they make to protect casts when bathing?”
“Of course.”
Mom narrowed her eyes, and Emmitt quirked an eyebrow in return. If nothing else, the next two weeks promised to be entertaining.
Nash downed the crackers like a good little boy and sipped his water while Emmitt retrieved the aforementioned Seal-Tight cast cover. He leaned forward with a moan and used his right arm to push himself up. Dad was at his elbow in a flash, giving him the boost he needed.
Dad landed a kiss to the side of his bandaged forehead. “Go relax and maybe take a nap. Then I want to see you eat a big dinner tonight.” Light reflecting from his glistening eyes conveyed the depth of feeling that the rest of his face tried to deny.
Nash nodded. “I will. Don’t worry. This sucks right now, but I’ll be fine.”
Dad passed him off to Emmitt, who’d come up behind Nash and placed a hand at the small of his back as they walked toward the staircase. At the base of the stairs, Emmitt asked, “Are you feeling lightheaded at all?”
Nash shook his head. “Just a little weak, but not dizzy or anything like that. I’ll make it up okay.”
Mom headed to the kitchen, and he and Emmitt slowly ascended the stairs. At the top, a landing led to an open door. Emmitt ushered him through, then closed the door behind them.
The bedroom itself was large enough to easily accommodate the California king-sized bed with a hefty wooden frame and two coordinating bedside tables along the wall to their left. The opposite wall was a bank of windows facing east.
There were no other furnishings in that room, but an opening in the wall opposite showed a huge bathroom at least as big as the main bedroom. They stepped through the entry.
A massive shower stretched the length of the wall to their right. Glass block windows extended across the top portion of its span, stopping short of the ceiling to leave space for a couple of traditional, but stylish high-end shower heads with handheld attachments offset toward the two sides. There was a bench seat at each end, and a couple of giant rain shower heads were spaced near the middle section. Christ, they could shower at the same time without ever touching if they wanted. Maybe they already had.
On the opposite wall was a large vanity with two sinks with a wide expanse of counter between them. At each end of the vanity was a small stall, evidently with a pair of toilets. They wouldn’t even have to take turns shitting if the urge hit them at the same time.
In the middle of the room was a large round tub that included both the usual tub fixtures as well as another handheld for easy rinsing. Nash’s toiletries were scattered across the right-hand side of the vanity. Mom had gotten them unpacked, but not yet stashed out of sight.
Emmitt filled the tub and selected a moisturizing bubble bath to add to the basin while Nash stepped through the next opening into a room-sized closet. There were no windows in this room, with clothes rods and shelving for jeans or sweaters or whatever taking up the space on both the left and right sides. Evidently Nash had been assigned the right-hand side since he recognized most of the clothes hanging there—and the ones he didn’t recognize looked to be his size. Two matching dressers with a full-length mirror between them graced the opposite wall, and a round cushioned bench took up space in the middle of the room. It wasn’t just a closet; it was a dressing room.
Nash turned back to the bathroom, where Emmitt stood watching him. There were racks for ties and belts hanging on the wall on either side of the doorway.
Nash simply said, “Wow.” But, that was an understatement. It felt like he’d been transported into a fairytale, and Emmitt was his Prince Charming. Much as Nash had never considered himself to be materialistic, neither was he a fool. Prince Charming’s castle was everything he’d never allowed himself to hope for because he didn’t believe in pipe dreams.
Emmitt smiled. “That was my reaction the first time I saw this apartment, too.”
He stepped toward Nash and led him back into the dressing room. “Sit.”
Nash did as he was told and watched with a detached frame of mind as Emmitt knelt and untied his laces. “Got anything with Velcro closures?” Emmitt asked.
Nash shook his head.
Emmitt looked at the size on the pair he’d removed. “I’ll pick something up for you tomorrow on my way home. You’re not going to want to deal with laces until this cast is off.”
Nash nodded. “Thanks. I’ll just loaf around in house slippers tomorrow. Not like I’ll be going anywhere anyway.”
Emmitt would probably take off pretty early in the morning after missing today. Nash would be getting himself dressed tomorrow, because he wasn’t about to have his mom or dad do it for him. Somehow he felt comfortable with Emmitt carefully guiding his arm out of his T-shirt in a way that would be just plain awkward with one of his parents.
Nash stood and Emmitt wordlessly slipped down his track pants and boxers, then tilted out a bin in what had appeared to be a small cabinet but was evidently a laundry hamper and tossed the worn clothing into it. There was only one of those in the room. Nash smiled at the thought of his dirty undies mingling in the hamper with those of the somber Dr. Burlingham he remembered from work.
How did it not feel odd standing naked in front of the man? He supposed it was a combination of the drugs, the distraction of the pain, his fatigue, and Emmitt’s demeanor, which had gone into “professional medical caregiver” mode.
There was nothing remotely sexy about the way his fiancé carefully removed the sling and knelt to delicately ease the top of the plastic protection over his cast. Nash flinched as the tightness of the cover’s opening traversed the length of the cast, despite Emmitt’s efforts.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“S’okay,” whispered Nash, because some kind of encouraging response was expected in situations like this, even when one felt anything but “okay.”
Emmitt’s eyes and the tilt of his brows articulated his understanding of the non-verbal cues that contradicted Nash’s voiced reply. Emmitt worked the covering the rest of the way up, then leaned in to give Nash a light kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Nothing. Nash felt no response whatsoever to the gesture. Not the mildest of thrills. At least it hadn’t felt parental…or brotherly. It’s just that it hadn’t seemed particularly lover-like, either. Loving, yes, but without any erotic overtones.
Of course, Emmitt wasn’t about to pursue anything sexual. Knowing him, he’d probably make Nash wait the full six to eight weeks until the cast was removed. But still, shouldn’t Nash have felt at least a little flicker of something when his fiancé kissed him?
Emmitt stood and stepped into the bathroom to turn off the water. He stuck in an arm to double-check the water temperature, then fetched a humongous fluffy towel and a washcloth and laid them on the wide ledge bordering the side of the tub opposite the faucet and sprayer fixtures.
Nash sat like a lump on the dressing room bench watching this, then finally got up and walked toward the tub.
“I should pee first.” He nodded toward the toilet stalls. “Does it matter which one?”
“No.”
Emmitt started like he was going to say more, then thought better of it. Probably was going to ask if he needed help. Nash reflexively smiled while imagining that scenario as he stepped through the nearer door to relieve himself. Already bare-assed naked, it was easy enough to handle the task one-handed.
Nash flushed and stepped out. He automatically moved to the sink and had rinsed his hand before realizing the absurdity of washing his hand at the sink only to step into the tub.
When he turned, he saw Emmitt had been staring at his ass. Only it wasn’t Nash’s ass anymore and Emmitt hastily averted his eyes, then cleared his throat and held out an arm to assist Nash into the tub.
His professional mask once again in place, Emmitt guided Nash into the tub. Just as well Nash had washed his hand, after all, since he was using it to grip Emmitt’s forearm, treating the man like a handicap railing. The water in the bath was nicely warm, although not particularly full so his arm wouldn’t hang into the heated water. The tub itself perfectly molded for him to lean back and rest his head on the towel Emmitt had placed in just the right spot to double as a pillow.
“Thank you.” Nash sighed and smiled at Emmitt. Between the pills kicking in and the soothing caress of the water, he didn’t even have to force the smile. “I’m really grateful for everything you’re doing for me. I realize we’re engaged, and we’ve got a history together, so I know it’s not really as bizarre as it feels to have you taking care of me like this.”
Emmitt nodded. “You’ve got an intellectual versus emotional battle going on right now. And I fully appreciate what you must be feeling sorting through your emotions about your former fiancé. It’s understandable.”
Sam is the past. Emmitt is the present and the future.
“And you must be a saint, or…” Nash grinned at the thought. “You’re very secure about how we feel about one another and know you don’t have anything to worry about.”
Emmitt’s blush was appealing. Nash had noticed it a few times since he’d woken up in post-op, but didn’t remember ever seeing the man pink up like that when their relationship had been strictly professional. Yeah, Emmitt’s charm wasn’t overt, but it certainly existed and Nash found himself drawn to the man. Not sexually, although that could be due to his current physical condition and drugged state. That had to be it. He wouldn’t get himself engaged to a man he wasn’t attracted to, for Christ’s sake.
“I don’t think I’m guilty of either. I’m pragmatic, and…”
Nash lifted a brow. “And?”
“I feel anything but secure. I’m afraid I’ll lose you, and that scares the hell out of me. I can’t decide how much I should tell you or what I should wait and let you remember in your own time, or just say to hell with it, and let things play out.”
How much did Nash want to know? He’d been told various things he needed to know for practical purposes. Relationship stuff, though…wouldn’t it be better to let that take its own course? He kept telling himself his memory would return, but it was beginning to feel like he was trying to convince himself of that fact more than he truly believed it. If his memory never returned, wouldn’t it be better to allow himself to naturally fall in love all over, rather than have details of their past spoon-fed to him?
“Door number three,” said Nash. “That’s how I usually roll.”
Emmitt nodded solemnly. “It’s a risk. But if you agree to be kept in the dark, I’ll take it.”
“Fuck it,” said Nash. “Let the chips fall where they may.” He gazed into Emmitt’s eyes. “I get the feeling you don’t have anything to worry about. I know I was loopy when I said something about knowing why I fell in love with you, but I really can see it. I think my stumbling block right now is wrapping my mind around breaking up with Sam. I’m glad you understand that’s something still fresh in my current state of mind.”
“I do.”
“I’m pragmatic, too.” Now that he knew Sam was alive, and neither of them had really messed up, he should be able to move past it. It had probably been easier getting over it the first time around because he’d had the chance to say his good-byes. That’s what was so difficult. There wasn’t any closure. Calling the man, when he was four months into renewing his relationship with his husband seemed wrong, though. “Eh, I’ll get over it. Fuck, I’m still loopy, aren’t I? Oh, well, it’s more like it’s loosening my lips rather than making me say stuff I don’t really mean.”
Emmitt smiled. “That’s why I’m okay with that ‘let the chips fall where they may’ plan.”
Nash snorted. Fuck it. His forgotten-self loved this man, so there was no need to hide his feelings.
“How about you relax for a bit while I get the rest of this stuff put away,” Emmitt said. “Then I’ll wash your hair for you, and we can rejoin your parents.”
“Sounds lovely.”
And it did. Pain was relative. Relaxing in the tub with Ibuprofen and Oxycodone running through his veins, he was probably at a five on the comparative pain scale. That shit was better than morphine. Compared to yesterday and this morning, it was a dream. Compared to a normal day, it was hell.
* * * *