A Fallen Heart Page 11

  When they walked in, the hostess greeted them right away and showed them to a table in the corner against the window. The space was very open, painted in light colors, and had incredibly high ceilings. The wall behind the bar was constructed with what looked like large river rocks—after the name, Nash presumed. Tables were made from antique-looking wood, and mismatched chairs were clustered around each of them.

  They slid into their places as she set their menus in front of them. It had started to drizzle, and water slid in rivulets down the glass. The day was dreary and gray, and Nash was happy to be inside with Ford.

  The waiter appeared a few minutes later, hair piled on top of his head in a messy bun and a full beard covering his jaw. He looked like he belonged on a hipster runway somewhere rather than carrying plates of food in a restaurant. The man was gorgeous, and Nash saw Ford’s eyes following him as he approached.

  “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?” he asked, Ford’s appraising look returning.

  Nash wanted to snap him in half.

  “A mimosa for me,” Ford said.

  “Coffee,” Nash grunted.

  Ford glared at him.

  “Please,” he amended.

  “Coming right up,” the waiter said, turning and walking away.

  “No one could have pissed in your cornflakes yet, because I know you haven’t eaten, so what the hell was that?” Ford asked.

  “He was skeevy. I didn’t like the way he was staring at you.”

  “You mean like he wanted to fuck me over the table?” Ford asked.

  “Yeah. That.”

  “He looks at everyone like that. He makes better tips that way. If you hadn’t gone all caveman on him, you’d have realized he was looking at you the exact same way.”

  Nash turned his head and watched the waiter approaching a table of women. Ford was right. The guy was flirting shamelessly. Nash felt like an idiot.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “You should be. And besides, if I wanted to fuck that waiter, I have every right to. You don’t own me.”

  Ford’s eyes locked with his, the challenge clearly written there. Nash knew what he wanted to say, how he wanted to be with Ford, but after one night, and with someone as skittish, it was probably best to leave it unsaid.

  It was far too soon to be making claims of any kind. Nash didn’t know if he’d ever get the opportunity, but if he was too overbearing, too forceful with what he wanted from Ford, chances were better than good that Ford would run so fast, he’d leave rubber tracks on the pavement.

  Moments passed, and Ford’s eyes softened. “When I asked you up last night, I knew where it would lead. I asked you anyway. But I fully intended it to be a one-night thing.”

  “And now?”

  “I still don’t want a relationship,” Ford said.

  “Okay, I get that.”

  “Really?”

  He asked as if he couldn’t believe Nash wasn’t going to push. And truthfully, a part of Nash wanted to push. He didn’t want Ford fucking around with other guys. He could be patient, though.

  “Yeah. I understand you not wanting to dive into anything serious. But I like you. So if you want, let’s do casual. We can keep things light and see where it goes.”

  “Okay.” Ford grinned at him, and Nash’s heart stuttered.

  The waiter returned then with their drinks, and they both placed their orders. Nash made a point of being more polite.

  Their food arrived more quickly than Nash had anticipated, but with such a small menu, he supposed it would be easier to have things up and ready to go. They both dug in, and Nash was happy to discover that Ford had been right about the waffles. They were amazing. He could have easily eaten nothing but those waffles for all three meals for a month.

  “You weren’t lying,” Nash said, cutting another huge piece of waffle to shove into his mouth.

  “Nope. Best in the city. Sam and I come here at least once a month for Sunday brunch, sometimes more if Adam’s shift rotation falls on a bunch of weekends.”

  “I can see why.”

  “He’s going to be jealous that I brought you here and he wasn’t invited.”

  “I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

  Ford cracked a smile. “Sure. Depending on what time the police are done talking to Joel, we should stop by his office and say hello. He usually has lunch around twelve thirty or so. I’ll run across the street and grab some Mexican from the food truck. It’s his favorite.”

  “Sure, that’d be good.”

  “Do you think the cops will be there long?” Ford asked.

  “I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t know if Joel will even talk to them. I think there’s a better chance of them being able to get some information from him if you’re there. He talked to you about it a little yesterday, and that’s really promising, but even when it was the three of us there, he seemed to get pretty upset. I don’t know the kid very well, but I think a room full of cops and social workers is going to be pretty overwhelming.”

  “That’s true. I don’t know how to make it easier for him, though.”

  “You being there is the best thing you can do. He trusts you.”

  IT HAD stopped raining by the time they finished up at Greystones and made their way to Saint Joe’s. There was still a sharp humidity that hung in the air, and Nash was grateful he remembered to grab a warmer jacket when they were at his place.

  Nash parked in his normal spot at the station, and they walked across the soggy grass toward the main building. The halls were quiet when they stepped inside, and when they arrived at the emergency psych unit, Nash noticed the police officer who had been a permanent fixture the day before was missing.

  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, but he didn’t say anything, instead tamping down the strange feeling as Ford swiped his ID card to let them into the unit.

  Helen was pale and shaky when they walked in. Her eyes went wide when she spotted them, her hands clenching on the desk as she leaned against it. The moment Nash laid eyes on her, he knew something was terribly wrong.

  “Is Joel in his room?” Ford asked. Nash could hear the trepidation filling the question.

  She hesitated, as though trying to find the right words. Time stretched out, and Nash’s mind dove directly to the worst possible scenario. When she finally spoke, her voice soft and low, his fears were confirmed.

  “There was an incident last night…. They found him this morning…. I’m so sorry.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “WHAT HAPPENED?” Ford demanded, an edge in his voice that he couldn’t have stopped even if he’d wanted to.

  “Shortly after you left yesterday, we had three new patients admitted. We were at capacity, and we needed the bed…. He was doing so much better and was through the acute withdrawal. They had an open bed in one of the private rooms on the surgical floor. I’m so very sorry,” Helen repeated, obviously distraught.

  Ford felt as though the bottom had dropped out. He was reeling with the information, disbelief swirling around the spike of rage that served as eye of the storm. Someone had fucked up. Someone was responsible.

  Ford bit back the hot, angry tears that welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over. There would be time to be sad later. Now he needed to find out who the fuck had done this.

  Without another word, Ford turned and stormed out of the unit, marching with determination down the hall.

  Nash jogged to catch up, coming to a stop beside him as Ford repeatedly stabbed at the call button for the elevator. Why wasn’t that goddamn thing ever on the main floor when Ford needed it? Yet another element of a hospital in need of updating.

  When the doors finally opened, they stepped in and waited, the doors taking forever to slide closed behind them. It was a silent ride to the sixth floor, and Ford could feel Nash looking at him. He wished Nash had stayed home or that he’d been more adamant about Nash leaving the night before. He didn’t want an audience for this, and the emp
athy visible on his face was making Ford feel more on edge.

  Finally they reached the sixth floor, and with a low grinding noise, the elevator doors skidded open once more. They stepped out, and Ford beelined for the nurses’ station, but when he saw the east hallway cordoned off and several police officers milling around near the end, he changed course.

  Ford’s gaze narrowed in, spotting Jack among those standing outside the room at the end of the hallway. He was talking to one of the other officers, who was seated in a chair. Jack hulked over him, his shoulders tight, his body commanding. Jack could be intimidating when he wanted to, but that show of power did fuck all to Ford.

  He marched forward, crowding in close.

  “What the fuck happened, Jack?” Ford demanded, all movement and fury. Jack didn’t get a chance to answer before Ford was spitting more questions at him. “Where was your fucking cop? There was supposed to be a fucking cop watching over him. No one was supposed to get to him. You were supposed to protect him. I told him nothing bad was going to happen to him.” Ford’s voice broke.

  Jack grabbed him, his hands wrapped tightly around Ford’s biceps as he forced Ford down into one of the chairs pushed up against the wall.

  “Sit down before I put you in cuffs,” he said, looking stern, if not tired.

  Ford stared at him, his gaze unwavering, silently demanding answers. Deep down, he knew Jack hadn’t been the one to kill him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t bear some of the responsibility for Joel’s death. He was supposed to protect and serve, and that meant keeping kids safe from those who wanted to harm them. Ford could barely think straight, his mind marred by anger.

  Jack heaved a sigh and shook his head slowly. “We had someone watching his room the whole time, Ford. Joel wasn’t murdered. He killed himself.”

  Everything tilted, Ford’s world jerking sideways. It couldn’t be true. The universe could not possibly be that cruel.

  “That’s not possible.” Even to Ford, the protest sounded weak and pathetic.

  “No one other than hospital personnel went in or out of his room. Officer Marsh was here keeping watch all night. When Barrett arrived this morning, he checked his room and found him. Joel was the only one in there, and the manner of death strongly suggests suicide.”

  “Why would he do that? I saw him yesterday. He was doing so much better….” Everything was gray around the edges, disbelief skewing his vision and clouding his thoughts. Any second he was going to wake up and realize it was yet another stress-induced dream, that none of this was real and Joel was safe and secure behind locked doors, guarded by a cop.

  “I don’t know, Ford. We’re investigating.”

  “But you just said it was suicide….”

  Jack seemed exasperated, as though he was hanging on to his temper by a thin thread.

  “Ford, go home. Take some space from here. I’m going to want to talk to you later, but for now let us do our jobs, yeah?”

  Ford felt completely defeated. He nodded as he rose, realizing Nash was beside him, that he’d been there the whole time.

  “Come on,” Nash said, putting his arm around Ford’s shoulders and leading him back down the hallway.

  Ford’s body weighed a thousand pounds, the grief hanging heavy on him. It took every ounce of strength he had to keep from falling over. Nash’s touch grounded him; Nash wouldn’t let him fall. He focused on that simple contact and forced himself to put one foot in front of the other all the way to the elevator.

  Nash pushed the button. The doors slid open right away, and they stepped inside. Ford rested his forehead against Nash’s chest, and Nash held him close. Despite his best efforts, Ford began to cry. Wetness soaked through the fabric of Nash’s shirt, and he murmured soothing words until the elevator shuddered to a stop on the main floor.

  Nash took Ford’s hand and led him out, pulling him left rather than right, down a less busy corridor, through the old nurses’ housing building toward the ambulance station where he had parked his car the night before.

  The closer they got to the exit, the more anxious Ford became. He felt like he was ready to burst out of his skin. Something wasn’t right. Joel wouldn’t have killed himself. He just wouldn’t have.

  Halfway down the hallway, Ford stopped and turned, pulling his hand free of Nash’s, and ducked into the stairwell.

  “Ford!” Nash called after him, his deep voice echoing in the concrete stairwell. “Where are you going?”

  “Give me a minute,” he called behind him as he descended to the lower level.

  Nash followed him down. Ford could hear his heavy footfalls on the steps. He kept up as Ford passed food services and stopped outside the door marked Doctor Samuel McKenna, Forensic Pathology Department. Without bothering to knock, he reached forward and turned the doorknob, then pushed it open. Inside Sam’s office, the chair where Sam normally sat, behind the oversized desk, was empty. Ford looked across the office to the windows that provided a view into the morgue.

  Sam and his assistant, Kali, were there, standing over the stainless-steel table in the center of the room, lights aimed down, illuminating the work space. Although Sam and Kali blocked most of the body on the table from view, Ford could still make out the bare feet, smaller than a grown man’s, and it was enough to know that it was Joel they were working on.

  Ford crossed the office in a rush and pulled open the door on the opposite side that led into the morgue.

  “Sam,” Ford called. He hated how completely shattered he sounded.

  Sam straightened as he turned, his expression of shock transforming into one of concern as he tore his gloves off, followed quickly by his lab coat. He tossed them both to the side as he ran toward Ford. He pulled Ford into his arms, trapping him in a tight hug, keeping him from walking into the morgue at the same time as he turned him away from the windows.

  “Tell me,” Ford begged.

  “Ford….”

  “Did he kill himself?” Ford asked, stepping back to look Sam in the eyes.

  Sam’s tone was gentle. “Yeah, he did.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Forensically, there isn’t much room for interpretation with this one.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. He was better. I didn’t know him that long, but I know he wouldn’t do something like that.”

  He felt his shoulders slump as the energy drained from his body. Nash stepped forward, and without thinking, Ford went to him. The solidness of Nash’s chest meant easy comfort, and he needed it more than he thought possible. Ford melted against him, letting his head fall forward as Nash rubbed soft circles across his back.

  “You should take him home,” Sam said softly. “I need to finish up….”

  “I’ll take care of him,” Nash said.

  Ford went willingly. He couldn’t be there anymore, knowing Joel was lying only a few feet away, naked and lifeless on the cold metal slab. He’d never be warm again. His family might never know what happened to him. Thinking about it was more than Ford could handle.

  He hardly heard Sam say good-bye as Nash walked him out of Sam’s office and up the stairs out of the dungeon. He barely remembered how they got onto the street and into the parking lot next to the station.

  Nash unlocked his SUV with a click of the button and pulled the door open to let Ford climb inside. He sat against the soft leather and let his head fall back as he closed his eyes. He wished he could rewind to the day before and live in a time when there was a little bit less ugliness and sadness in the world.

  He felt the vehicle move as Nash got in, and when he started the engine the radio kicked on. Some upbeat asshole was singing about love, and Ford wanted to put his fist through the speaker.

  Nash signaled, then pulled out onto Thurlow.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” Ford said.

  “No, I’m not. My apartment is in English Bay.”

  “I thought you were taking me home.”

  “I am. I’m taking you to my home. I’m not
leaving you on your own right now, and my fridge has more than batteries and beer in it.”

  Ford thought about arguing for a second, but he was too tired, and truthfully, he didn’t want to be alone, so he shut his mouth and stared out the window instead. Nash tightened his hands on the wheel and steered them through the heavy downtown traffic to Nash’s building off the beach in English Bay.

  It was a high-rise built over offices on the bottom floor, with at least twenty stories above them, the windows along the front façade gleaming even against the overcast sky. The building was set back from the street, with english ivy manicured to symmetrical perfection as the border of greenery around the property.

  Nash pulled to the end and clicked a button in the center panel of the roof. A large gate at the bottom of a steep driveway slid open, and he drove in, then parked in a spot off to the right.

  “We’re here,” Nash said.

  It took a second for Ford to get his body moving. He felt like he was wading through molasses as he unclicked his seat belt and got out, then walked past the short row of cars to the elevator.

  Ford had his fill of elevators for the day, but it was a quick ride to the seventh floor and an even shorter walk down the hall to Nash’s apartment. Ford only saw four doors in the hallway, and after Nash unlocked the door and pushed it open, he stepped back to let Ford enter first.

  Ford leaned against the wall, his balance gone as he took off his shoes, and then walked straight across the living room to the bay of windows. The view was unbelievable. He could see for miles across the water. He could only imagine what the view from the penthouse was like.

  The sound of the door closing had him turning around and leaning back against the windowsill.

  “You live here,” he said incredulously.

  “Uh, yeah. I have keys and everything,” Nash replied, jingling his keys in the air for effect, but the joke fell flat when Ford couldn’t summon the energy to crack a smile.