Standing curbside at the airport, Nash patted his father’s back and had his own back gently stroked in return. Dad’s ability to give the most tender hugs despite being a huge lumbering manly-man had ceased to amaze Nash years ago. Emmitt looked a trifle concerned on his arm’s behalf, but managed not to voice it. Nash didn’t think Emmitt was intimidated by his father, but rather suspected it was a case of Emmitt’s instincts needing to catch up with the accurate comprehension of the man Dad was on the inside.
When Dad stepped away, he turned to Emmitt. “Myles, I expect you to take good care of my son.”
Emmitt nodded. “I intend to, Conrad. You don’t need to worry.”
Then Dad pulled in Emmitt for a somewhat less soothing embrace, although he kept it shorter than the hug he’d given Nash. Dad had given Mom her good-bye hug with a bonus smooch back at the condo.
When Dad drew out the handle on his rolling carry-on bag and walked away, he didn’t look back. He never did. Nash watched until he was out of sight.
“We’re about to be rousted by airport security,” Emmitt warned, opening the passenger door for him.
Nash grinned and slipped into the soft leather seat. Since he wasn’t cleared to drive yet, they were in Emmitt’s Lexus LS Hybrid, rather than Nash’s Ford Fiesta.
It was nice to be out of the apartment, taking in a little fresh autumn air. Nash had thought he’d need to argue with Emmitt to let him tag along, but Emmitt had readily agreed that Nash could have an outing if he felt up to it. He’d even suggested they stop off at the PT facility after the airport drop so Nash could meet “Grampy.”
“This will be my first encounter with someone I knew only from the missing time period,” Nash said. “Do you suppose that might jumpstart my memories?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Man, if only…”
Emmitt nodded absently. Uneasily? No. Emmitt had offered to tell Nash about his missing memories of them together, so he didn’t have anything he wanted to hide. It didn’t matter anyway. Either the memories would come back or they wouldn’t. He needed to just focus on what he knew was real, and that was the upcoming visit.
The timing was such that they would arrive shortly before lunch. Emmitt had arranged for two extra plates, so they could join his grandfather for the meal. Nash gazed out the side window as they hopped on the highway, then connected with the I-5 Express, heading north toward home, the hospital, and the nearby PT facility.
Home. Emmitt’s condo was starting to feel like home. He had to admit that having both of his parents there for the first week, and his mom still for another week, helped that transition.
Before long, they pulled into the parking garage attached to the PT facility. They stepped out of the car and Emmitt turned to Nash.
“Nervous?”
“To meet your grampy again? Nah.” Nash was used to meeting new patients every day at work. It was routine.
On the other hand, the stakes were a little higher here. Would he actually like Emmitt’s grampy? Maybe he’d only been feigning a level of fondness to be nice. He did tend to be pleasant in company regardless of whether or not he truly liked the people.
Emmitt snorted in a very un-Dr. Burlingham-like fashion. “No, I guess you wouldn’t be. I envy that about you.”
Nash raised an eyebrow. “How strange.”
It was Emmitt’s turn to quirk a brow. “Strange?”
“Yeah. That there could possibly be anything about me that someone like you, who has everything, could envy.”
Emmitt’s mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “I don’t have everything. But I’m hopeful.” He looked keenly into Nash’s eyes to leave no doubt as to the meaning behind his comment.
Nash smiled back, then stretched up to kiss Emmitt. It was a new experience, being the center of someone’s focused longing. Or was it? Maybe not—he probably just couldn’t remember it. Even so, they hadn’t been together nearly as long as he’d been with Sam, but Emmitt’s feelings felt stronger. Restrained, as fit his personality, but more intense. Emmitt looked at Nash the way Sam had stared at Henry’s photo.
The last thing he wanted to do was worry Emmitt with the concerns behind his casual bravado. It would be so easy to fall hopelessly in love with this man. Nash had always admired Emmitt professionally, and since his first day in the hospital, he’d seen the possibility. He’d done it once. He was halfway there again.
Emmitt held open the door to the building for Nash, then led the way down the corridor. Nash knew Emmitt had been a daily visitor—twice daily—since his grandfather had been admitted, so he obviously knew the way.
The door at which Emmitt stopped was ajar. He knocked lightly, peered in, then pushed it open, a wide grin on his face. Nash followed and pasted on a smile.
“Hello, Bernie!” Nash approached the chair where a beaming older man was seated. “I guess I don’t need to introduce myself, but Emmitt’s explained why I don’t remember you, right?”
“He surely did. I turned on the news at the wrong time, too, and almost had heart failure watching you get smacked by that bird.”
Nash winced. “Sorry you saw that. I’m trying to avoid it myself.”
Bernie nodded. “There’s a reason you blocked out that memory. I wouldn’t want to remember it, either.”
Blocked? Funny, he’d forgotten about that thought after briefly considering it in the hospital. Could his amnesia be psychological rather than physiological? The beginning of his memory gap and accident at the end were certainly bad memories, but what about the four months in between?
Meeting Bernie hadn’t triggered any memories. Nash was shaken to recognize that he felt a bit relieved rather than disappointed by that. Surely the entire four months couldn’t have been so awful he’d want to forget it. No, it was probably a combination of suppressing those negative memories, the concussion, and the lowered oxygen level from his blood loss. Damn his subconscious mind trying to make him question what he knew was right.
“And call me Grampy now if you want. I told Emmitt I was gaining a grandson.”
“Yeah? Grampy it is, then. I’m tickled pink you want me to call you that. I have a Gramps, and a Grandpa, but never had a Grampy.”
Grampy chortled. “I always liked your sense of humor. Now hand me that walking stick, one of you. It takes me a while to make it down to the dining room.”
Emmitt handed over the cane. “How’s your pain today, Grampy?”
“Tolerable, I guess.”
“Hey, you and me both,” Nash said.
Grampy cackled and slapped his good knee. “They have you started on any PT yet?”
“I had to avoid progressive wrist or elbow motion for a few days, but my own personal torture master here—” Nash cast a look at Emmitt, who grinned in return “—has got me started on it now.”
“Ha! I’m sure you know he’s right.”
“Shh. Don’t let him know that!”
“Heh, heh. Eh, help me up now. No, not you, whippersnapper. Emmitt’ll do it. He warned me about how you’d probably try to do more than was good for you.”
“Did he, now. Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Nash squinted at Emmitt, but smirked to make sure it was clear there were no hard feelings.
Emmitt winked. “One of your more endearing traits.” He offered Grampy his arm and hefted the older man up.
It did indeed take a good fifteen minutes for the trek to the dining room. For the old guy’s age, though, he was recovering well. He had a good fighting spirit. Sadly, the meal was hardly worth the effort. The tasteless gravy didn’t do anything to offset the dryness of the meat. The vegetables were limp and bland.
Grampy ate it all anyway. Nash wasn’t sure if his taste buds were shot or if he’d taken to heart whatever lecture Emmitt was sure to have given him on the importance of eating well for his recovery. Nash sighed and did the same. Emmitt pushed his food around his plate for a bit, but ultimately ate it.
“One more week, Grampy, then you’ll be home again and get some good food,” Emmitt said.
“Aw, it’s not so bad.”
“Guess I won’t have to work too hard to impress you with my modest cooking skills, then,” Nash said. “And by ‘modest,’ I mean ‘very non-gourmet,’ although I can promise a step up from this fare.”
“You don’t have to, you know,” Emmitt said.
“I’ll need a hobby anyway. Might as well be that.”
Grampy perked up. “I’ve been wishing I was a better cook ever since Marjorie passed on. That was my wife. Crystal couldn’t be bothered with it, and Emmitt’s always so busy.” Grampy didn’t clarify who “Crystal” was, but if Emmitt’s frown at the sound of her name was anything to go by, then it was probably safe to assume she was his ex-wife.
“I like watching the shows on that food channel, though,” Grampy continued, his smile widening. “Maybe we can figure it out together.”
“Fantastic, we’ll be the blind leading the blind, but at least we’ll have fun trying.” Nash leaned toward Grampy. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”
By the time he and Emmitt said their good-byes, Nash was convinced of that statement. He breathed a sigh of relief. That was one concern gone, anyway. Not being much of a loner, he could even say he looked forward to the old guy’s return home that would coincide with his mother’s departure. He had no delusions regarding how much of Emmitt’s time would be spent away from home…and Nash.
When Nash gave the older man his farewell hug, Grampy whispered, “Thank you for bringing my grandson’s smile back.”
Interesting. So Emmitt’s dueling personalities had more to it than simply him having poles-apart professional and private personas. He’d been unhappy before Nash had come into his personal life.
Walking to the car, Emmitt held Nash’s good hand and used his thumb to trace back and forth along Nash’s fingers. It was better than any pain pill at distracting Nash from the ongoing throbbing ache in his other arm.
On the drive back to the condo, Nash stole glimpses of Emmitt while pretending to people-watch as they drove the few city blocks to get home. He wanted his damned memory back more than ever. Who was this beguiling man? What was in his heart? What made him tick?
Nash knew he’d been busted when one stolen glimpse revealed Emmitt’s face with a quirked eyebrow glancing back. Nash raised both eyebrows in an attempt to imply, “Who, me? I wasn’t staring at you.”
It was doubtful Emmitt bought it, but Nash wasn’t about to confess his thoughts.
* * * *
Multiple friendly—and well-missed—voices could be heard when Emmitt opened the door to the condo.
“Hey, strangers!” Nash cried. “You’d better not be telling Mom lies about me. Mom, don’t believe a word these crazy people tell you.”
Then everyone seemed to speak at once.
“Look who’s calling people crazy,” Angela retorted. She shifted her gaze to Emmitt. “Hi, Dr. Burlingham.”
“Ha! I don’t have any trouble believing any of it,” Mom replied.
“Come in and take a load off, man,” Oliver said.
Harley turned from the bookcase, where he appeared to have been examining Emmitt’s old photos, and smiled. “Good to see you standing and all in one piece again.”
“You might as well call me ‘Myles’ away from the hospital, Angela,” Emmitt said, then turned to Nash. “You’re due for a round of pain meds, if you need it.”
Nash nodded. “Please.” He sat on one of the couches while Emmitt rummaged in the kitchen. “So what’s new at the hospital, Ang?”
“Other than the grapevine explosion you and Dr. B…er, Myles have caused? Not much. Same old, same old. Although my trustworthiness cred has shot through the roof for keeping such an awesome secret.” She gave Nash a hard look. “Nobody needs to ever know I wasn’t actually privy to the big surprise, right?”
Nash barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes, and smirked instead. “Of course not.”
He’d figured out the reason he hadn’t told her about the engagement—it had only just happened, and things had moved quickly from there, so the explanation was probably as simple as he hadn’t yet had the chance. Why he’d kept her in the dark about dating Emmitt was still a mystery, though. He imagined it had more to do with shielding Emmitt from possible gossip, rather than for himself.
Harley sat next to Oliver. “Busy week for me. Got two new contracts. Had a wedding yesterday, and another coming up next Saturday…Edward’s sister.”
Who was Edward? Harley said it like the name should mean something to Nash, but judging by the way he was studying Nash’s reaction, he probably knew it was an acquaintance from the missing memory zone.
Nash shook his head.
“Never mind,” Harley said. “Nobody you’ll ever see again, anyway.”
Emmitt joined them in the living room with a platter of fruits and cheeses. He filled a small plate and handed it to Nash. “I know you just ate lunch, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a little of this with your pill.”
Emmitt walked back to the kitchen and returned with a glass of mystery juice and the pill. Singular. They’d discussed it this morning and decided it was best to start tapering off the Oxycodone-Ibuprofen. He was already feeling the effects of the withdrawal on the physiological dependence his body had built up in such a short time. His pain level still held in the three—tolerable—range so far despite the decrease, but his whole body ached, and felt sweaty. Very unsexy, but hopefully his libido would start to bounce back.
“Thank you.” Nash reached up at Emmitt’s approach. “You always pamper me.”
Emmitt kissed his temple and handed him the glass. “You’re too self-reliant. I don’t think it’s possible to truly spoil you. Besides, I’m back in the on-call mix starting tomorrow, remember. The reprieve is over so there’ll be fewer opportunities.”
With limited exceptions, Emmitt’s days throughout the week were long even without being on call. Nash knew already that he would miss Emmitt on the evenings he was summoned away. He also recognized that it wasn’t merely a case of preferring company over being alone. It was Emmitt, specifically, to whom he was getting attached, and recognizing that fact was a huge weight off his shoulders.
Screw the lost memories. Falling in love with Emmitt all over again was easy. Nash flashed a smile at Emmitt and was rewarded with a grin in return.
The way Harley solemnly scrutinized the interaction was disconcerting. Nash narrowed his eyes in Harley’s direction, but his friend just held his stare.
Whatever. Nash took a tentative sip of the green-flecked, dark orange beverage, then a larger gulp. “Good batch, Mom.”
Ever since she’d discovered Emmitt had a juicer stashed in one of the cabinets, she’d stopped buying the ready-made stuff and had fun mixing all manner of vegetables and fruits with varying degrees of flavor outcomes. He gave her a thumbs-up and swallowed his pill.
“I wrote it down for you.”
“Thanks!”
Emmitt sat to Nash’s right. Close. Closer than casual friends would ever do on a wide open couch. Nash felt the body heat radiating off Emmitt as he tucked an arm around him. “You look tired. Feel free to lean on me.”
He was feeling a bit tired. He scooched around and did just that.
“When do those stitches in your forehead come out?” Oliver asked.
“This evening,” Nash replied. “It’s a minor thing, but I’m excited. I feel like it’s a little milestone on my way to recovery.”
“Cool,” Angela said. “And you’re backing off the Oxy, too. That’s another notable step.”
Nash wasn’t surprised she’d picked up on the signs. He nodded. “Yeah, not fun.”
“Did you see that Disney’s The Little Mermaid is coming to the 5th Avenue Theater?” Harley asked, once again watching for his reaction with pointed interest, like it wasn’t a casual question, but more of a test. What was that all about?
Nash glanced reflexively at Emmitt. Did he like going to the theater? Damn, even if he did, it was doubtful he’d want to see a show like that.
Emmitt’s brows raised inquiringly. “You interested in seeing that one?”
“Sure. Sounds like fun. You wanna?” Nash crossed the fingers on his right hand and caught his lower lip between his teeth.
“Sounds good. I’ll compare the show dates to my on-call schedule and we can order tickets.” The best thing about Emmitt’s words—other than the friendly hand that landed on Nash’s thigh as he said them—was the sincere smile that also accompanied the promise. He wasn’t simply humoring Nash; he was genuinely happy to go.
Nash beamed. “Fantastic.”
When he tore his gaze away from Emmitt, he saw Harley purse his lips, turn to Oliver, and shrug. “Okay,” he mouthed silently. Oliver nodded with a smug little smile on his face. Again, what was that all about?
Screw it. Whatever Harley was looking for, apparently he was satisfied, so Nash wasn’t going to waste any effort worrying about it.
Mom passed around the snacks, and the conversation turned to the Seahawks until Nash gave in to his exhaustion and closed his eyes, leaning his head against Emmitt’s shoulder.
“I know it’s the medicine causing it now, but he always could fall asleep anywhere,” Mom said.
Nash groaned. Hopefully she wasn’t about to launch into a bunch of his childhood stories.
“He’d fight to the bitter end if I tried to put him down for a nap,” she continued. “Then fifteen minutes later, I’d find him conked out on the floor with a Matchbox embedded in his face.”
Emmitt’s shoulder vibrated beneath Nash’s cheek. “Mom…” Nash grumbled. He didn’t bother opening his eyes, though.
“So he’s always been a pain in the neck, huh?” Harley said.
Nash opened his eyes to glare at his best friend, not that it would do any good, or that Mom needed any encouragement in the first place.
“No, mostly he was a model child. Never was finicky. He’d eat anything.”
“Mom…” he muttered a bit louder this time. Christ, he hoped the reason for the snickers he heard around the room went over her head.
“Although he would only eat his macaroni and cheese if it was left over, and all rubbery and stuck together in a quivering lump. Always rejected it fresh, which was funny, considering he’d eat worms,” she continued. “Night crawlers, even. Boogers, scabs, and once a cat turd he found in the sandbox.”
Emmitt’s shoulder was beyond mere quivering now, and Nash had to lift his head. “No fair,” he protested. “There’s no one here to tell stories on Myles for me.”
“Don’t worry.” Emmitt patted Nash’s thigh. “I know for a fact Grampy’s already told you a number of embarrassing stories. He’ll take great pleasure in doing it again.”
“I’m going to ask him all about your hippie days.”
“I had hippie days?”
“Those pictures of you…you’re all ‘peace and love, man.’”
Emmitt laughed. “You don’t think I’m that now?”
Nash stared into Emmitt’s eyes as it hit him. He was ashamed of how he’d judged Emmitt in the past based on his professional appearance and restrained manners, rather than by his actions.
“You’re a stealth hippie.” Nash tilted his head and sighed. “Tell me something fun about yourself. Something completely new, that I didn’t know before the accident, either.”
Harley snorted, and Nash frowned in his direction. What was with him? Had he not approved of Emmitt? Oliver was less than pleased with Harley’s behavior, too, if the scowl he was leveling at Harley was any indicator.
Emmitt squeezed Nash’s leg. “I can fit fifty-four gummy bears into my mouth at one time.”
An image of Emmitt with his mouth overflowing with the colorful candies flashed through Nash’s mind, and he laughed.
Angela snickered. “It’s hard to imagine you doing something so dangerous. I could sooner picture you lecturing someone on the dangers of choking if they suggested such a stunt.”
“I would, now,” Emmitt replied. “In my defense, I was nineteen at the time, and quite susceptible to peer pressure.”
“I wouldn’t want to be judged today on choices I made at that age, either, let alone when I was a preschooler.” Nash winked at Mom, then turned to Emmitt. “I don’t suppose you ever ate a cat turd?”
“What?” Emmitt laughed. “No, not that I’ve been told. I used to entertain my brothers by sucking cooked spaghetti up my nose and pulling it out my mouth, though.”
“Gross!” Nash exclaimed.
“Says the guy who ate night crawlers,” Oliver said.
“Didn’t one of those Jackass guys do that spaghetti trick with a night crawler?” Angela asked.
Emmitt shuddered. “I think that might be worse than eating one.”
“Only if you chew it,” Harley offered.
Mom squeaked and winced. “Okay, enough of this.”
“You started it,” Nash said.
“And now I’m ending it. Besides, you need a nap.”
Mom shooed everyone out while Emmitt extended open invitations for them to visit anytime.
Nash snuggled into the crook of Emmitt’s arm. He truly felt at home here now. Their conversation was eerily close to what it was like talking to Angela or Harley. Well, he supposed the grammar and style of speech were a bit more proper, peppered with fewer swear words, but generally speaking, Nash felt as comfortable speaking with Emmitt as with his friends. Turned out Emmitt was just like any other person Nash knew, kicking back after work, reading or watching the news and maybe a little Netflix or a movie. This afternoon’s easy interactions between Emmitt and his friends simply reinforced what he already felt.
* * * *
“You’ll be more comfortable leaning back in one of the recliners,” Emmitt said. “I think if I sit on the stepstool, I’ll be at the right height to work on your forehead. Go ahead and get settled while I grab the suture removal kit out of my bag.”
The lingering smell of Mom’s pot roast from dinner was different from the scents Nash was used to noticing during clinical procedures, but the easy classical music playing on the stereo was reminiscent of the times he’d assisted Emmitt in the operating room before his transfer to the surgical floor.
After Emmitt fetched the kit he’d brought home, he retrieved a folding stepstool from the laundry alcove, then set up a TV tray next to it. He wiped the tray, stepped away to wash his hands, then returned with a bowl of sudsy water and a washcloth.
Emmitt wrung out the cloth and washed Nash’s forehead, with special attention paid to the wound itself. Then he put on a pair of gloves—overkill if you asked Nash, but Emmitt was always extra careful—and got down to business.
He spread a small disposable sterile table cover over the TV tray, then opened the suture removal kit. Mom hovered nearby, watching with rapt attention. She’d never trained as a nurse, but Nash had gotten his interest in all things medical from her.
The first step was using an alcohol wipe to further clean the suture area. Emmitt’s touch was tender, as Nash had come to expect from his ministrations. Funny how Nash had never thought too much about it when they’d worked together.
Thinking back, Nash recognized that Emmitt’s treatments had always seemed gentler than that of other physicians, he’d just never pictured himself on the receiving end of them before. Nash kept his eyes on Emmitt’s, watching as the man focused on the task. The corner of Emmitt’s mouth twitched, and Nash knew he’d been busted, staring.
“I’m going to start removing these,” Emmitt said. He peered into Nash’s eyes and blushed when Nash winked. “You’re going to feel a little tug.”
Emmitt was all business again as he used tweezers to pull up a knot, then the small sharp scissors to cut one side of the loop under the knot. He then tugged out the first suture with the tweezers.
One down, four to go. Emmitt repeated the pull, cut, tug actions until all five sutures were removed, then swabbed the area with a fresh alcohol wipe.
“Stay put,” he said. “You’re going to get Steri-Strips to make sure this doesn’t pull apart at all.”
Nash sighed. That meant keeping his forehead dry when bathing for the first twenty-four hours, as he’d had to do when they were fresh stitches. Afterward, the strips would stay on until they fell off naturally, anywhere from two days to two weeks later. But he supposed he appreciated the effort to minimize scarring, since it was his face.
Emmitt smoothly pressed the strips onto Nash’s skin, then removed his gloves with a snap. “You’re good to go.”
“Thank you.” Nash pushed down his feet to move the recliner into a sitting position. “I think I’ll go soak in the tub.” A shower was out since he couldn’t get his forehead wet. He cast a meaningful glance toward Emmitt, silently willing him to follow, then turned to his mother. “Dinner was great. Thanks again, Mom. I feel better enough that we can do something touristy tomorrow, if you want.”
Nash refrained from heaving an audible sigh as Mom glanced at Emmitt, presumably to make sure he agreed with Nash’s self-assessment.
He nodded. “You’ll have to drive Nash’s car, though. He won’t be released to drive until he’s completely off the Oxy and his pain isn’t a distraction at all.
“I wouldn’t mind visiting the Seattle Art Museum,” she said. “Won’t you come with us, Myles?”
“I’d love to, but I’ll want to drive separately since I’m on call.”
“Sounds great,” Nash said, standing. “I’ll see you in the morning, Mom.”
* * * *
The bedroom door clicked shut. Nash opened his eyes and sat up in the tub.
Emmitt pulled his polo shirt over his head as he trod through the bedroom. He turned toward Nash as he walked by the tub.
“Want company? Or would you rather I shower separately?”
Nash was going to have to work on his “meaningful glances” if Emmitt didn’t know the answer to that question. “Sure, join me.”
Emmitt’s answering smile could’ve lit the room. Nash still didn’t feel up to anything overtly sexual, but he knew Emmitt wouldn’t have anything like that in mind. Intimacy, though…there was no need to avoid that. In fact, considering Nash’s circumstances, it would be hugely helpful toward moving the relationship along. Now that he’d successfully pushed his feelings for Sam out of their position dominating his thoughts, he was more than ready to explore and expand his feelings for Emmitt.
Emmitt wasn’t stupid. No doubt he understood that, too. It was reassuring to know he didn’t regret anything regarding his relationship with Nash, and wanted to move things along.
Nash watched as Emmitt tossed his shirt into the hamper. It had been only a week, and he was still fascinated by the strikingly beautiful contrast of Emmitt’s dark body hair against fair, untanned skin. Emmitt kicked off his shoes, then leaned down to pull off his socks.
When Emmitt straightened, Nash’s gaze traveled up to meet his eyes, and he saw that he’d been busted ogling. With his mouth hanging open, no less. Nash snapped his jaw closed, but held the stare. One corner of Emmitt’s lips curved up, and Nash felt his face warm.
Without breaking eye contact, Emmitt unfastened and removed his belt, then unbuttoned and unzipped his khaki pants. Nash lost the stare-down so he could lower his line of sight. Peripheral vision wasn’t going to cut it.
“Common sense tells me I’ve seen this before, but I’ll be damned if I can remember it.”
“Seen, handled…been handled.” Emmitt’s pants fell, and he stepped out of them.
“Fuck,” Nash breathed as Emmitt dropped his boxers.
“Yeah,” Emmitt whispered. “That, too.”
“Things to look forward to.”
“Indeed.” Emmitt joined him in water. “Feeling okay?”
“Yeah. Only with the pill, though. It’s still pretty bad when I first wake up in the morning.”
Emmitt scooted to Nash’s right side, studying him as he moved. He raised an eyebrow as he got closer, silently asking Nash’s approval. Nash nodded. Emmitt lightly placed an arm across Nash’s shoulders at the positive response.
Nash snaked his right arm around Emmitt’s back and leaned his head on the man’s shoulder. It felt so right. How many times had they done this in the past?
Their silence, serenely snuggling until the water cooled, was comfortable. Like one borne of long familiarity…of love.
Eventually, Emmitt warmed the water so they could complete their wash-up, then he shampooed and rinsed Nash’s hair, taking care not to wet the fresh Steri-Strips. Finally, he took care of his own hair, rinsed them both off, and drained the tub.
For the first time—well, the first time Nash could remember—they lay in the large bed cuddling, rather than like two acquaintances sharing a hotel bed on the cheap. Nash pressed a kiss to Emmitt’s neck, then another closer to his mouth.
Emmitt had kissed him many times since he’d woken up in the hospital, but other than the possessive-yet-tame display for Sam’s benefit, they’d been only quick pecks or mellow grazes to the side of his face. Nothing particularly sensual. Nash was dying to know what it felt like to receive a true kiss from his fiancé.
Emmitt took the hint and placed his hand on Nash’s jaw. Warm lips brushed his, and Nash whimpered softly when their mouths finally came together. It wasn’t remotely sexual, but it was relaxed and warmly intimate…and just what the doctor ordered.
* * * *