“What have I done?” Nash blurted when Oliver opened the door. Harley came up behind him, and Nash pointed a finger at his best friend. “How could you let this happen?”
Harley frowned. “Come in.”
Oliver ushered Nash inside.
With his hands fisted on his hips, Harley said, “Sit. Explain.”
Oliver put up a hand. “Go easy on him. You can see he’s freaked out. I think he’s remembering stuff.”
Nash plopped onto the armchair and stared at the ceiling. How had he screwed up his life so bad?
“Nash?” Oliver said.
Forcing himself to sit up, Nash turned to the pair sitting on the couch staring at him.
“I remember,” he said.
“What do you remember?” Harley asked.
“Everything.”
“Okay,” Harley replied. “What part of it are you upset about?”
“Are you kidding me? Seriously, are you fucking kidding me?”
Harley tensed, and Oliver laid a hand on his thigh. After a couple deep breaths, Harley loosened up. “Look, I want to help, but I haven’t been present for all of your interactions with Myles. All I know is what you’ve told us.”
“You know we didn’t love each other. That was the whole basis of our agreement. ‘Fuck love,’ we’d said. We didn’t need it, and we didn’t want it.”
“And?”
“And he let me fall in love with him! He encouraged it!”
“And?”
“You don’t think that’s a problem?”
“Not if he fell in love with you, too.”
Nash smiled at him. “I can see why I fell in love with you.”
Emmitt blinked, then smiled back. He leaned down and lightly kissed the side of Nash’s face and whispered, “Likewise.”
“Do you think he did?” Nash whispered.
Oliver leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “He’s said he loves you, right?”
Emmitt leaned in and kissed Nash. 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.”
“Yes.” Nash groaned. “I think he meant it, too. But he still lied to me.”
Harley looked at Oliver. “Yeah. He at least lied. Any way you slice it, the guy’s a creeper.”
“What?” Nash exclaimed. “Emmitt is not a creeper. Seriously, where the hell did that come from?”
Harley turned back to Nash and winked. The bastard. “Knew you’d jump to his defense.”
“We were a couple of fools…I guess I wouldn’t mind declaring a Mulligan.”
“He was lying to himself,” Nash muttered. Emmitt hadn’t been deliberately misleading him. Like Nash, Emmitt had been skeptical of the concept of love, but had likewise learned that the self-deception went against his nature.
“He’s crazy in love with you,” Oliver said. “Even Harley saw it.”
“Hey!” Harley protested.
Nash flopped back and stared again at the ceiling, groaning. “What have I done?”
“What now?” Harley asked.
“I didn’t think I’d ever fall in love again. Didn’t think I even could, but I’m head over heels in love with him.”
“Yeah, I know. Like I said, the ‘memory loss’ thing did you good. It gave you perspective.”
“But I just screwed everything up by making a scene at the Purple Café.”
“What happened?” Harley asked.
“Edward was there. He started talking to me, and everything just came back. Just zapped into my brain.” Nash sighed. “Edward says to tell you ‘hi,’ by the way.”
Harley rolled his eyes. “Who gives a shit? What did you do?”
“I accused Emmitt of making a fool out of me and stormed out.”
“He didn’t follow?”
“I don’t know. A cab was emptying as I burst through the door. I grabbed it. He didn’t have a chance.”
Harley and Oliver glanced at each other. Oliver shrugged. “Well, you said he was pretty chill with what you put him through with that withdrawal shit.”
“Yeah, but that was a legit chemical imbalance in my brain causing that. He’s a physician. He understood it wasn’t my fault. This…this is me being an idiot. I was all accusatory.”
Harley bit his lip, and Oliver said, “Give him a call. I think he’ll understand. After all, having four months’ worth of memories zap into your head like that, especially when it’s a bunch of emotional stuff, is probably a valid reason to have a temporary judgment lapse, too.”
“I hope so.” Nash stood and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Shit. He hasn’t called me, though. What do you think that means?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Harley said. “Maybe he’s giving you time to sort things out. Who knows, but jumping to conclusions never helped anybody.”
“Shit!” Nash stomped his foot. “Or did he?”
“Huh?” Oliver said.
“Maybe he did call. I ignored a call in the cab. It wasn’t Emmitt’s number, though. I didn’t recognize it and figured it was a wrong number with crappy timing.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Oliver said. “If it wasn’t a wrong number, they’ll probably call back.”
Nash shook his head. “They left a message. I was pissed off and deleted it.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harley said.
Nash plopped back down in the chair and put his head in his hands, groaning. “What the hell is wrong with me, sabotaging myself like this?” He scowled at Harley. “Seriously, I went on this whole deleting spree through my old messages and history. I can’t even call back now to see if it was about Emmitt.”
“Maybe it wasn’t,” Harley said. “Just call the number you know.”
Nash opened his contacts list and pressed Emmitt’s name, then pictured Freddie Mercury singing “Love of My Life” on Emmitt’s phone. Hopefully, he wouldn’t hear it and immediately wonder what he’d been thinking assigning such a song to Nash.
“Please, please, please,” Nash whispered.
When the call went through to voicemail, Nash disconnected.
“He’s ignoring me.”
“That’s pretty cold,” Harley said. He looked at his watch. “They’re still at the restaurant, right?”
“What did you just say to Nash about jumping to conclusions?” Oliver asked.
Harley groaned. “Fine.”
“Okay, then,” Nash said. “He didn’t answer the call. That much is a fact.”
“No assumptions,” Oliver said. “Do you want to go back to the restaurant and see if they’re still there? We’ll drive you.”
Nash shook his head. “They’d be leaving by the time I got back.”
“I kind of doubt Myles will still go to the show without you,” Harley added. “Maybe the best thing would be to wait for him at home.”
“Yeah. Maybe he’s already there. I can call a cab or something. Are you guys heading to Eugene tonight or in the morning?”
“Ass crack of dawn,” Oliver replied. “My folks aren’t having their Thanksgiving dinner until later in the day. You’re not taking a cab. We’ll drive you home.”
“We won’t be back until Sunday,” Harley added. “But you still have our key, right? I mean, I don’t think things will go south for you, but just in case.”
“And call us,” Oliver said. “I don’t think things will go badly for you, either, but…you know.”
“Thanks. You guys are the best.”
* * * *
When Nash opened the door to the condo, he heard the television playing in the living room. Grampy and Percy turned to look at him when he stepped in.
“Is Emm—er—Myles home yet?”
“No, we weren’t expecting either of you until late,” Percy said.
“Is everything okay?” Grampy asked.
Nash’s face crumpled. Where was Emmitt? Would he really continue on to the show with Gil and Julia?
Nash pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to call again. He shook his head when the call went to voicemail. He staggered to a sofa and sat, staring desolately at Grampy.
“I think I’ve screwed everything up.”
“You haven’t screwed anything up.”
“You don’t even know what I did.”
“Can’t be any worse than when you were earning those green eyes of yours thinking Percy was trying to steal Emmitt away from you.”
“What?” Percy exclaimed. “Is that what was driving your behavior when I first started working here?”
“Grampy,” Nash grumbled. “You didn’t have to tell him.”
“Oh, man,” Percy said. “That couldn’t have been any further from the truth.”
“Well, I know that now! The point is, it wouldn’t have been an issue at all if I hadn’t been addled at the time from that stupid Oxy withdrawal. I don’t have that excuse anymore.”
“I know he loves you,” Grampy said. “And he’s very empathetic. Whatever it is, you’ll work it out.”
“I ran into someone at the restaurant that triggered all my memories to come rushing back. I got upset with Emmitt about something I remembered and overreacted, said some stuff, and stormed out. Now he’s not answering his phone. I tried calling from Harley’s and again just now.” Nash shook his head. “He’s not taking my calls.”
“That doesn’t sound like Emmitt,” Grampy said. “He always answers his phone.”
“Maybe not if he knows who’s calling and doesn’t want to talk to them.”
Or…Nash’s eyes widened…what if he’d hurried to follow Nash, flustered and upset, and had been in an accident? What if Nash was now responsible for Emmitt being injured, or worse?
“I don’t know…” Grampy’s voice trailed off. He was apparently out of ideas, too. “Time will tell. Time always tells.”
* * * *
Yet, four hours later, time hadn’t told its story. Percy had insisted Grampy go to bed, and had finally retired himself. More, Nash suspected, to give Nash privacy if or when Emmitt returned than because he was tired.
Even Tigger had abandoned Nash. The cat usually slept with Grampy now, and had followed the older man to his bedroom. Nash couldn’t blame him.
Surely the show had ended. For that matter, if Emmitt had been in an accident, he’d probably have heard about that by now, too. Nash paced and replayed the scene at the Purple Café over and over in his head. Had it really been bad enough to justify Emmitt ignoring him like this? Was it the last straw?
Nash had tried calling two more times to no avail. Emmitt had gone to Gil and Julia’s home. That had to be it. Emmitt didn’t want to see him, and Gil would hate him now.
“Screw him over, and you’ll never work in Seattle again. Are we clear on that?”
After Emmitt left him, he’d have to leave Seattle to find another job. Perhaps it was just as well. He’d be better off starting completely over in another city.
Except he wouldn’t have Harley. Or Oliver. Or Angela. Goddammit.
His eyelids felt so heavy. He sat on the sofa and stared out the window at the city’s lights. There was no point torturing himself about it anymore. What was done was done.
It was time to be rational. Apparently he’d be spending his Thanksgiving packing, so he’d best get some sleep. Try to, anyway—it was doubtful he’d actually manage to do it.
Nash kicked off his shoes and curled up into a tight ball, hugging his knees to his chest. It was hard to believe that just this morning he’d been thinking about how perfect his life was now. He’d smiled and kissed his husband when he’d arrived home from work, both of them excited about their upcoming date night.
And then Nash had screwed it all up. He couldn’t blame Emmitt for being fed up with all the drama that seemed to follow him around.
Nash froze when his phone rang; “Dream Lover” told him who it was. There was no good reason for Emmitt to call after this much time. He sniffed as tears formed in his eyes.
Emmitt wanted to tell Nash to clear out so he wouldn’t have to even look at him. Sherlock Holmes had said “when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
Nash could disregard the possibility that Emmitt had simply not noticed four calls from him. The man was too responsible. Nash could also exclude the idea that after choosing to ignore him four times, Emmitt had suddenly had a change of conscience and wanted to make nice again. So yeah, he was calling to tell Nash to be gone.
Well, fuck that. He could damned well tell Nash to his face. Nash stretched out, tummy down on the sofa, buried his face in his arms, and wept.
* * * *
A warm hand rubbing gentle circles between his shoulder blades pulled Nash from his dream. In it, he’d been watching Kinky Boots, only he hadn’t been sitting next to Edward. Emmitt had been by his side, holding his hand as they watched the show together. Earlier when they’d first met at the bar, Emmitt had turned to greet him, and instead of disappointment, his wide smile had reflected elation.
When Nash opened his eyes, Emmitt was there, the man behind the hand. It definitely wasn’t elation on his face, but at least it wasn’t disappointment. More like concern crossed with exhaustion.
“You don’t need to sleep on the sofa,” he whispered. “Come to bed…please.”
Come to bed.
He’d said “come,” not “go.”
Nash flew up, wrapped his arms around Emmitt’s neck, and blubbered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I swear, I’m not usually such an unreasonable drama queen.”
Maybe it was the hope that surged through Nash at Emmitt’s simple word choice, but he abandoned all of his earlier thoughts toward stoic acceptance of his fate and simply threw himself at Emmitt’s mercy.
Emmitt enveloped Nash in a hug and rocked him. “Shhh. I know all that, sweetheart. Come on. I’ve been working half the night, and I’m exhausted. We can talk about it in the morning.”
“Sweetheart” and “I’ve been working half the night” rattled around Nash’s brain, and he relaxed in Emmitt’s arms, knowing everything was going to be all right.
“…jumping to conclusions never helped anybody.”
Fuck Sherlock Holmes. He should pay more attention to Harley.
* * * *
Snuggled in bed with Emmitt’s arms around him, Nash smiled and lightly swirled his fingers through the hair on his husband’s forearm. Tired as he was, sleep wasn’t going to come easy.
“I hope you know,” Emmitt murmured, “that I didn’t intentionally deceive you.”
“The love thing? I figured that out. We were both fooling ourselves, trying on cynical defenses that didn’t fit who we really were.”
“I should’ve told you about it…should’ve known it would hurt you when you remembered.”
“I told you I didn’t want to know stuff like that, though.”
“You weren’t the best judge of that since you didn’t know what you didn’t know. It’s on me. I’m sorry.”
“We haven’t even been together two months yet, and I’ve put you through so much. I don’t deserve you.”
Emmitt patted Nash’s belly. “We need to work on your self-esteem issues.”
Nash snorted. That was true enough. A less-than-normal sense of worth was probably at the root of why he’d never stood up for his wants when he’d been with Sam.
“Sure, we’ll do that while we’re working on your desire to take responsibility for other people’s actions.”
Emmitt’s silent laughter vibrated along Nash’s back.
“Do you want to stay home tomorrow instead of what we’d planned?” Nash asked. “I understand if you’re not feeling up to it.”
“I’ll be fine. Give me a couple extra hours in the morning and I’ll be recharged.”
“Are Gil and Julia upset? Will I still be welcomed there?”
“They’re not upset, and of course you’ll still be welcomed. The first thing Gil did was reassure me that you obviously loved me and only needed a little time to sort through the flood of emotions the memories had dredged up.”
That message he’d deleted in the cab had probably been from Gil or Julia’s phone to inform him when Emmitt had been called in. “Probably” would have to do. He wasn’t about to ask, and therefore own up to the added display of poor judgment.
“Oh, good. He gave me this whole ‘I’d better not hurt you’ speech before the wedding ceremony.”
Emmitt chuckled. “That sounds like something he’d do. Don’t worry. He’s harmless. Are you still comfortable with the detour we had planned? Did your new memories affect that?”
Nash nodded. “If anything, they’ve emphasized how much of an apology I owe Sam. Henry, too, I suppose. I’m not particularly proud of how I tried to manipulate Sam’s feelings when he was figuring out what to do.”
“Then we’ll still plan on stopping by.”
“You’re sure you won’t feel weird visiting my ex’s family?”
“I trust that you love me and are over your feelings for him. You didn’t have your memory back yet when Sam visited you last month. If this’ll help you complete the closure you need to fully move on with your life, then it’s worth any mild awkwardness I might experience.”
“I love you,” Nash said.
“Love you, too.”
Emmitt kissed the back of his neck, and Nash turned in his arms to capture his husband’s lips with his own.
* * * *