It was like being on display in a cage at the zoo. Every nurse, aide, and office drone in the practice found an excuse to wander into the reception area and peer into the waiting room. They could’ve at least tried to be discreet.
Nash checked the clock on the wall and sighed. Apparently being engaged to one of the physicians in the practice didn’t get one any kind of preferential treatment when it came to schedule delays.
“Your turn,” Grampy said with a sly grin. He handed his iPad to Nash.
Percy glanced at the game on the screen. “Thirty-six points! Bernie, you’re killing us.”
“Gah! You are, Grampy. And once again it’s not even some obscure word.” Nash turned to Percy. “Clearly we’ve got to brush up on our Scrabble strategy. You see what he’s doing, don’t you?”
Grampy chortled, and Percy nodded. “It’s all about—”
“Nash,” called a nurse at the door that would lead him to the examination rooms.
“Whew! Saved from this butt-whoopin’ Grampy’s laying down on us.” Nash stood. “See you in a few, guys.”
“Good luck,” Percy said. Not that Nash needed any particular luck for a successful cast replacement and suture removal, but it was a nice sentiment.
“Thanks,” Nash replied.
“Give Emmitt a big ol’ smooch for me if you see him,” Grampy said.
Nash laughed at the thought. No, he was pretty sure Emmitt would be less than pleased if Nash were to plant a kiss on him in front of his partners or employees. He rather doubted he’d get to see Emmitt, anyway, since he’d probably be busy with his own patients.
The nurse, Jennifer, introduced herself and led him to an examination room. She took his vital signs, then walked him to another room for an X-ray, then back, where he waited while she set out the tools they’d be using. He was alone in the room for a few minutes, then she returned with Dr. Beltran.
The man was all smiles. “Good afternoon, Nash. How are you feeling?”
“Much better than a week ago. Pain level’s no more than one or two.”
“Are you still taking over-the-counter pain relief?”
“No, that’s without taking anything now.”
“Fantastic,” Dr. Beltran said. He lifted Nash’s arm and inspected it. The cast was no longer snug, as the initial swelling in his arm had gone down. “As expected, your vitals are normal. The X-ray looks very good. You’re healing well.”
Dr. Beltran gestured toward a nearby lower table with a chair on either side. “Let’s have you hop on down from this exam table so we can get you out of this first cast, take care of those sutures, and put on a fresh, better-fitting cast for your final stretch.”
“Great.” Nash settled into one of the chairs, and Jennifer draped him with a large cloth. She placed a cushioning pad on the tabletop and arranged his arm atop it.
Dr. Beltran used the cast saw and made his first cut on the ulnar—or pinky—side of his forearm, and a radial second cut along the thumb side. Next, he used the cast spreaders to separate the two parts, then cut the stockinette and removed the top side of the cast, leaving him briefly with the support of what was essentially a volar splint.
Dr. Beltran examined the visible sutures on the top side of his arm, then nodded, apparently satisfied, and delicately lifted his arm to remove the balance of the cast. He cautiously rotated the arm to check the sutures on the other side.
“Looks good,” he declared.
There was a knock at the door, and Emmitt entered. He smiled when Nash looked up.
“I wasn’t sure I’d get a chance to see you while I was here,” Nash said.
“Neither was I, but I can spare a minute. Snuck a quick look at your X-rays.” Emmitt took a peek at the sutures, too. His smile widened. “Everything’s looking good.”
“I’m pretty happy with his progress,” Dr. Beltran said.
“You going with the AquaCast liner?” Emmitt asked.
“Sure.” Dr. Beltran turned to Nash. “If you’d prefer the waterproof liner for your new cast.”
“Please,” Nash replied. “That would be terrific.” The fiberglass itself was waterproof; it was the cotton liners that were the reason behind the don’t-get-it-wet rule, even when the outer shell of the cast was fiberglass rather than plaster. He wouldn’t have to struggle with the plastic cover when bathing anymore.
Besides the convenience of being able to get it wet, his arm would itch less because the dead skin and perspiration could be rinsed away. Less itchy and less smelly. Win-win.
“Can I be cleared to drive again?” Nash asked. “My pain level isn’t a distraction anymore, and I’m completely off all pain meds.”
“Absolutely,” Dr. Beltran replied.
“And any other activities that don’t involve putting stress on my arm?” Getting that one answered while Emmitt was listening would head off any potential overprotection later. With his libido finally kicking in, Nash was anxious to ramp up their bedroom activities.
Dr. Beltran chuckled. Apparently, the question behind the question had been pretty obvious. Jennifer appeared to be fighting a grin.
“Yes, to that, too,” Dr. Beltran replied. “Although I want to make sure you understand that you’re still to refrain from helping out with any nursing-related activities at home until this new cast is off and you’ve had a few days to regain your strength.”
Nash held back on a reflexive eye roll out of respect. Evidently, Emmitt had put a bug in Dr. Beltran’s ear about Nash’s tendency toward doing more than he should.
“No problem.” And it wasn’t, now that his mind was clear, and he saw Percy for the decent guy that he was.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” Emmitt said. To Nash’s surprise, he leaned down and gave Nash a quick peck on the lips. He couldn’t imagine the Dr. Burlingham he’d known ever doing something like that at work. Had he totally misread Emmitt in the past, or had the man changed?
Emmitt was gone in a flash, and Dr. Beltran shortly afterward, leaving Nash to sit with his unprotected arm unmoving on the table, and Jennifer to clean up the cast removal debris, carefully wash his arm, and set things up for the suture removal and the new cast fitting.
* * * *
Nash was pretty sure that preparing dinner—admittedly with some assistance from his sous chefs, Percy and Grampy—qualified as an activity that didn’t put stress on his arm. It was so much easier to participate in activities like this when he didn’t have to worry about food or water splashes on the liner.
He was inordinately pleased by the impressed expression on Emmitt’s face at the sight of the platter containing the Mediterranean turkey cutlets and fettuccine he’d prepared. Once upon a time he’d have scoffed at the idea of himself relishing the role of house-husband, but over the years he’d evolved.
First, he’d realized he wanted to find his Mr. Right and settle down. He’d started to take an interest in helping out with meals when he’d moved in with Sam. Still, much as he’d been looking to mellow out his career, he hadn’t pictured himself giving it up altogether before. In the past, that had been because it hadn’t really been an option, financially. With Sam, he probably could have done so once they’d gotten to the point of adopting kids, but the subject hadn’t come up.
Now, with Emmitt, the thought of being able to focus his energies on family was front and center, and incredibly appealing. He was a caretaker at heart, that’s why he’d become a nurse. Making life easier and more enjoyable for Emmitt, who worked hard every day helping injured and hurting people, and likewise making Grampy’s remaining years pleasant, were worthy goals.
Kids, too. The more he thought about it, the happier he was to know that Emmitt wanted them to raise a child or two together. Much as it was possible for both parents to work and still successfully raise a family, Nash liked the idea of being a stay-at-home dad.
“So what do you think,” Nash began, as he and Emmitt got undressed, preparing to shower, “about putting our marriage plans back in the works?”
Emmitt stopped in the middle of unbuckling his belt to give Nash his full attention. “Are you sure that’s what you want? You still don’t have the bulk of your memory back.”
“Positive.” Nash made sure his tone couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than confident affirmation. “These three weeks have only solidified my initial thoughts that I should be able to trust in my previous decision, even if I can no longer remember it.”
As if he could read Nash’s mind, and wanted to add his two-cents to the discussion, Tigger rubbed the side of his face against Emmitt’s ankle, firmly and repeatedly, claiming Emmitt with his scent. Emmitt glanced curiously at Tigger as if he couldn’t imagine why the cat would try to befriend him, then approached and lifted his hand to caress the side of Nash’s face. Nash closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to Emmitt’s hand. When he reopened his eyes, Emmitt was staring into them.
“I’m as committed as ever to marrying you, Nash, but I have…misgivings about proceeding before you remember our past.”
“But I may never get the memories back, and it doesn’t matter. Early on I recognized why I’d fallen in love with you in the first place. My feelings now…Emmitt, I know it’s only three weeks, but I’ve fallen back in love with you. Between trusting in my past judgment and my current feelings, I don’t see any reason to wait.”
Emmitt’s beaming smile bolstered Nash’s resolve, and he pushed on. “The situation hasn’t changed. We still want me here for Grampy once my arm is fully healed, and I’ll still be quitting my job to do that. You said the timing of our wedding was for my security since I’d be out of a job. I gotta admit, that’s still a concern for me. Something must happen if I resign at the hospital.”
Emmitt leaned in and kissed him. A sweet gentle kiss full of promise and longing, accompanied by Emmitt’s hands—one at the back of Nash’s head, and the other at his waist—holding him firmly in place, and sending delicious shivers up Nash’s spine.
When he pulled back, Emmitt stated, “I love you, too.” Then he studied Nash’s reactions for a few moments. “Would you tell me what made you fall in love with me?”
“That’s easy. More than anything, I value an innate kindness or caring in a person. You’ve got that in spades.”
“I guess what I need to know is this…would you feel confident in your decision based solely on these three weeks? Forget completely about trusting your past self. Pretend we have no past.”
That seemed like an odd request on the surface, but looking at it from Emmitt’s perspective, Nash supposed he could understand Emmitt’s desire to make sure Nash wasn’t making a decision he might regret down the road.
“Yes. I enjoy your company. We’re…comfortable just hanging out. I feel like I can be myself and you’ll never judge me. I love the passion you have for your work. I love the way you caress my hand when we’re sitting together on the sofa. I love how you treat your grandfather. I love how you accepted my friends and family—and Tigger, even though you aren’t a cat-person. All that, plus I’m wildly attracted to you.” Nash squeezed Emmitt’s hand. “It doesn’t matter what happened with us before. No relationship is flawless, and I’m not worried about whatever did or didn’t happen between us. I’m perfectly happy wiping the slate clean and going forward from what I know firsthand.”
Emmitt palmed Nash’s jaw, and his thumb caressed Nash’s cheek. “My list mirrors yours.” He blew out his breath, shaking his head. “We were a couple of fools.”
What had they done or said that was so foolish? Had they argued? No, it didn’t matter. Nobody was perfect. If Emmitt could overlook whatever it was and move forward, then so could he.
Nash had known Emmitt professionally for years and had long recognized the high standards to which he held himself. “If we were fools, then I’m glad it’s forgotten.”
Emmitt snorted a laugh. “I guess I wouldn’t mind declaring a Mulligan.”
“A do-over it is,” Nash agreed. “So we’ll set a date? Go get the license?”
“Yes.”
“I think this calls for some celebration sex.”
The wide grin on Emmitt’s face gave his answer. “Celebration slash shower sex.”
Fan-fucking-tastic. “I like the way you think.”
In fact, Nash liked the way Emmitt acted, too…his authoritarian demeanor that had surfaced when they’d made out this past week. It was sexy as hell. Emmitt knew where to draw the line, though. Whereas he’d been strongly assertive at work, in their private lives—aside from bedroom activities—he treated Nash like an equal.
Nash hurriedly stripped off the rest of his clothes, never moving his gaze away from Emmitt, who contrarily took his time leisurely hanging his belt, meticulously placing his shoes in their proper cubby hole, and either stowing the dirty garments in the hamper or hanging the items destined for the cleaners.
It was unmistakably deliberate, exposing a playfulness that Nash was coming to relish as an aspect of Emmitt’s personality that was by and large masked. At least it had been concealed from Nash in their former professional relationship. It was becoming less and less veiled at home.
Finally naked, Emmitt pulled Nash into his arms and kissed him. Nash’s worries that he might not be physically attracted to Emmitt were long forgotten. His sex drive had been building all week since coming off the Oxycodone, and was fully recovered.
Nash giggled as the kiss broke. Everything was coming together in his life. He loved his fiancé, his engagement was back on track, and his libido hadn’t died. Sex with Emmitt promised to be exciting.
“Dream Lover” popped into his mind. Knowing that he’d assigned that ringtone to Emmitt sent a tremor through his body. His old ringtone for Sam had been “Melody of Love” by the Four Aces. Sure it was sweet, but on reflection, it was insipid when compared to the upbeat and sexy tone of “Dream Lover.” The ringtone analogy told him more than any missing memories ever could.
“It’s so good to have you back,” Emmitt murmured. He hitched his head toward the shower. “Come on. I’ve got plans for you, and they don’t involve yakking in the closet.”
Emmitt adjusted the water temperature and Nash joined him under a rain fixture. Nash tilted back his head and let the water drops splatter his face and cascade soothingly over his skin as Emmitt’s lips teased his exposed neck.
When Nash brought his head up, Emmitt delivered a cocky double-eyebrow flash, then began kissing, nipping, and licking his way down Nash’s body. Nash shuddered, torn between wanting to feel Emmitt’s mouth on his cock directly, and savoring the teasing journey as Emmitt lingered first on his nipples, then midway down his abs.
There would certainly be a mark on his hipbone in the morning. Nash moaned and clutched at Emmitt’s hair as he finally zeroed in on the target.
Emmitt’s tongue trailed once up the underside of Nash’s eager cock, before Emmitt popped up to a stand.
“I’d feel better with you sitting on that bench.” Emmitt gestured with his head. “At least while you still have a cast on your arm.”
There was no point in arguing. Emmitt had that determined glint in his eyes.
“Fine,” Nash replied, putting his arms around Emmitt’s neck. “One more kiss under the water first.”
Emmitt grinned and covered Nash’s mouth with his own, and the peaceful tinkles of the simulated rainfall were interrupted by the penetrating sounds of Icona Pop’s “Emergency” coming from the direction of the vanity.
They both stiffened at the sound, knowing what it meant. It was the ringtone Emmitt had assigned to his practice’s answering service.
“I’m so sorry.” Emmitt groaned, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and crossed to the sinks to answer the call.
Nash turned off the water and stood, shivering, waiting for the verdict. When Emmitt ended the call, his eyes alone gave Nash his answer. The accompanying “I’m sorry. Don’t wait up,” as he got busy toweling off was superfluous.
If Nash hadn’t already known that “understanding” didn’t necessarily equate to “not being disappointed,” he knew it now. He grabbed the other towel and slowly dried off as Emmitt threw on some clothes and ran a comb through his hair.
Emmitt paused in his automated movements to stop in front of Nash. He put both hands to the sides of Nash’s face. “I’m not on call tomorrow.”
He leaned in for a brief kiss, and was gone. Footsteps trod down the stairs, then faded. The door clicked open and shut, and Nash stood still for a few more moments.
“Well, fuck.”
Sighing, he mechanically moved through the rest of his bedtime routine and slipped under the covers to dream of the promise that tomorrow night would bring.
* * * *