Nash flung open the front door, and there they stood, standing around the open trunk of Sam’s car. Sam and Henry, the merry fucking couple. Had Sam even wasted two minutes thinking about his fiancé back home while he’d been in Hawaii reuniting with his husband? He sure as hell hadn’t wasted any precious Henry-time placing a single goddamned phone call to Nash after that emotional reunion when the Coast Guard cutter ferrying the castaways home had docked. Bastard. Had he figured Nash would simply get the message loud and clear from watching that televised scene? He’d gotten it, all right…loud and clear.
Sam and Henry both turned to look at Nash standing in the doorway. The kid stopped short—he’d been skipping down the walkway toward the door, apparently not a concern anywhere in his innocent little mind. The kid—what were they calling him? Buddy?—dropped some basket he’d been holding and ran back to his precious Henry’s arms.
Henry’s brows came together in an annoyed look he flashed in Nash’s direction as he gathered up the kid. Priceless. Henry was annoyed with Nash.
Well, fuck him. He could damned well get over it. Had he expected Sam wouldn’t have moved on with his life? Nash had done nothing wrong, and he wasn’t about to feel bad for being here. If Sam had had the balls to make a simple decision—Henry or Nash—Nash would’ve been long gone by now. But no, that was apparently too much to ask. Wishy-washy bastard.
Nash spun on his heel and strode into the house. “Great,” he said to Harley. “Now I’m traumatizing small children.” He might not feel any sympathy for Henry, let alone Sam, but he didn’t feel good about scaring the poor kid.
“I’m sure he’s not traumatized,” Harley replied. “Come on, let’s just finish packing this stuff and get out of here.”
Nash paced, his emotions reeling. Sam was going to be sharing their bed—the bed Nash and Sam had been sleeping in, having sex in—with Henry tonight. Meanwhile, Nash would be sleeping on Harley and Oliver’s couch. Poor Oliver. Nash barely knew the guy, and he’d only just moved in with Harley. Having an unexpected emotional wreck of a couch-surfing guest wasn’t likely to do that fledgling relationship any good.
Sam, Henry, and Buddy appeared at the door. Nash spun to face them. The kid looked alarmed, clinging to Henry’s arm. Henry looked apologetic. Goddammit. It was hard to hate the son-of-a-bitch. It wasn’t his fault any more than it was Nash’s.
“I’m sorry,” Nash said to Henry. “I thought I could deal with this better.”
Nash turned to Sam. That bastard did deserve his wrath. “I had to watch that reunion scene on television. Do you have any idea how upsetting that was to me?” Nash’s closed fists were rigid at his side, and his jaw clenched as he bit out the words. “I begged you to make a decision before you left. Begged you!”
Sam stood there with his mouth flapping open like a landed fish.
Henry whispered, “Sam, please take Buddy and me to your parents’ house.”
“What?” Sam said. “Henry, no, please. You and Buddy can walk down to the lake.”
Fuck you! Nash wanted to scream. How he managed to keep it in was beyond him.
* * * *
“Fuck you!” Nash screamed, waking himself with a heart-thudding bounce. He lay there catching his breath, then raked his hands through his hair. What had happened next? The memory stopped where the dream had stopped.
What a horrible scene that had been. No wonder he’d been bitter, as Harley had said. But really, he should have known better. Should have been more understanding. Should have packed up and left as soon as he’d realized Henry was alive. Why on earth had he clutched at straws like that?
He better understood Sam’s apology now. Had Nash ever apologized to Sam? Neither he nor Sam had handled the situation particularly well, but to be fair, it had been a unique set of circumstances.
It was so obvious to him now—had to love twenty-twenty hindsight—that he and Sam had each settled. Anybody Sam would have been with who wasn’t Henry would’ve been settling for Sam. To be fair, it was only now that Nash was married to a man with whom he was truly a perfect match that he realized he’d only been settling with Sam.
“Nash?” Grampy’s voice came across the monitor’s speaker. “You okay?”
Damn, he really had screamed that, hadn’t he? Nash reached for the monitor and held down a button.
“Sorry, Grampy. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be down to help you in two minutes, okay?”
Grampy chuckled. “No hurry. Take your time.”
Nash glanced at the clock. It was just after seven in the morning. Emmitt was long gone, but tonight was their The Little Mermaid night. Percy would arrive about the time Emmitt would be getting home and would stay to keep Grampy company while Nash and Emmitt joined Gil and his wife Julia for dinner and the theater.
Nash smiled as he got up to begin his day. Yeah, his life was pretty well flawless. Day-to-day life was simple and pleasant. Emmitt, although MIA quite a bit of the time with his demanding work schedule, was indeed a perfect match for Nash when he was home. How had Nash ever thought he was a staid yawn of a man?
* * * *
The Purple Café seemed weirdly familiar, although the déjà vu feeling shouldn’t have felt odd, since Nash had been there many times. Emmitt’s hand at the small of his back helped soothe the eerie feeling as they walked to their table.
When they were seated and looking over the menus, Gil checked his watch. “Not six yet, so it’s still happy hour. Want to share a bottle of the daily white? Or red?”
Emmitt nodded. “I plan to order the filet mignon, so I’d prefer red.”
“Red’s fine with me,” Julia added. “How about a starter? I adore their gorgonzola-stuffed dates.”
“Nash?” Gil said. “Any preferences?”
Nash blinked. The freaky sense of having done this before hit him again at the mention of the stuffed dates, which was strange, because that was something he didn’t actually remember trying in the past.
“Nash?” Emmitt asked. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Um, yes to the wine, and yes, I’d like to try the dates.”
“They’re fantastic,” Gil said. “You’ll like them.”
The image of a plate of the dates sitting on the bar in front of him—no, in front of someone else he couldn’t quite bring into focus—reeled through his mind.
“Maybe…”
Emmitt placed a hand over Nash’s. “Do you remember something?”
“Maybe. I think I might have tried the dates, but it’s in the missing time. I’m getting a fuzzy scene in my head.”
“That’s a good sign,” Gil said.
Nash nodded and turned to Emmitt. “I had another dream last night. Another early memory.”
“Yeah? Early on still? Nothing more recent?” Emmitt asked.
“Right. I still don’t remember us.”
Emmitt frowned. “Well, don’t worry about it.”
“I wish it would either just all come back or stay gone. These little flashes are creepy.”
“I can imagine,” Julia said. “How are you doing physically? Is your arm back to normal now? You’ve had the cast off for, what, a week?”
“Yes. My wrist was sore for a few days as I got used to using it again, and of course my whole arm was weak, but I feel like I’m mostly back to normal.” Nash grinned at Emmitt. “I was finally able to convince Myles that I could handle anything that might come up with Bernie.”
“Nash has been busy this week downloading forms from the Washington State Department of Social and Health Services website,” Emmitt said.
“Oh!” Julia smiled. “You’re moving forward on getting approved for adoption? How exciting.”
“Feel free to use us as a reference,” Gil added.
“Thank you. I was planning to ask.” Emmitt’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “I’m glad Nash is taking the reins on the paperwork, since there’s a mountain of it. Everything from the application, to background checks, miles of personal information to disclose, medical and financial statements, marriage and divorce documentation.”
“And that’s all before the home study,” Nash said. “It’s daunting, and who knows how long the approval process will take. Years, maybe.”
“I understand the references will be sent a questionnaire to fill out, too,” Emmitt added.
Julia waved away his concern. “No problem. We’re happy to do it.”
“Sure,” Gil said. He turned to Nash. “Myles mentioned that, on your way over for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, you’re planning to stop—”
“Nash?” A cheery voice called. Nash turned toward the source of the voice. “I thought that was you. How are you? I heard about your accident.”
“All better now,” Nash said. The man was so familiar. A vision of him at the bar flashed through Nash’s mind. A memory of the man turning to greet Nash, a disappointed look on his face, then later, passing a plate of gorgonzola-stuffed dates. “Edward. How are you?”
As Nash reached for the glass of wine, Edward raised his mug of draft beer toward Nash in a toast. “Here’s to the new Nash.” Nash lightly tapped their glasses and took a long swallow. Yes, the new Nash. New everything. New priorities, new job, new home, new life, new self-image. The sooner it all started, the better.
Nash wobbled as earlier memories rushed through his spinning mind. He recalled sitting across from Angela in the hospital cafeteria, bitching about his relationship, work, and living-situation woes. She’d been sarcastic in her reply.
“So yeah, don’t bother dating…simply ask him to marry you five minutes into the conversation. I’m sure it won’t scare him off or anything.”
“Great!” Edward said. “You seeing The Little Mermaid tonight?”
“Yes.” Nash’s voice was weak, but he forced a smile. Memories continued to flood his mind. He’d seen Edward toward the end of his memory gap. The night before…
“That’s why I hope to convince a nurse I already know, like, and respect to take it on.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Edward glanced around the table, then back to Nash. “Well, great seeing you again. Say hi to Harley for me.”
Edward and his bearded, brunet companion with the pursed lips and tension-filled face walked away.
Nash put his hands on the table to catch his balance.
Emmitt covered one of Nash’s hands with his own. “Nash? What is it?”
“Would you like to see the apartment? It’s where you’ll be living if you accept the position. Might as well, since you’re here already.”
Nash shook his head. No, it couldn’t be true. He focused his eyes on the tabletop in front of him. These couldn’t be actual memories.
“You’re misunderstanding me. Please, just answer…did you mean what you said?”
Nash clenched his jaw. Fine. He wasn’t going to lie, and there was nothing about what he’d said to be ashamed of. None of it was inherently bad simply because it was different from social norms.
“Yes.” He held up his chin defiantly. “I meant every word.”
Emmitt’s stiff stature relaxed at Nash’s words. “Good. I pretty much have the same outlook these days. Not so much when I was young and dumb, but we live and learn, right?”
No. It wasn’t true.
“Nash? Please, tell me what’s wrong,” Emmitt implored.
“It can’t be true…”
“I hate dating, but I want the same things you want. The things you listed off for Angela. Commitment is important to me. Companionship…someone to come home to each night. Someone to go out and do things with. And…well, we’re healthy adults. Like you said, a regular, monogamous sex life would be a fucking dream.”
“This Edward…is he one of your lost memories?”
“Love is bullshit. It’s fleeting. A relationship built on compatibility, like this, has a better chance of enduring than ones built on love.”
“Fuck love.”
Emmitt smiled. “Nash, will you marry me?”
“I would be honored, Emmitt. Yes, let’s do it.”
A sob broke loose, and Nash lifted his head to look into Emmitt’s eyes. “It is true, isn’t it?”
Emmitt’s brows turned down in concern. “You remember? Everything?”
“How could you?”
“Nash, I don’t understand. What is it—?”
“You let me make a total fool out of myself.” Nash pushed himself to a stand.
“No.” Emmitt’s eyes widened, and he shook his head vehemently. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
Tears ran down Nash’s cheeks. “You let me fall in love with you.”
He turned and ran for the door, blocking out Emmitt’s reply. He stumbled into the cool night air just as a cab pulled up to let people out. Nash lurched toward the open door, dropped in, and slammed the door shut behind him.
The cabbie turned with a cocked eyebrow. “All-righty, then. Where to?”
Nash gave him Harley’s address, then leaned back and closed his eyes. What had he done?
* * * *