Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nash
What the hell is Lucy thinking?
Crutches. Concussion. A bar full of drunk tourists and slick tile floors.
I’d like to chalk it up to youth, but twenty-six isn’t that young.
It’s young enough, a quiet voice offers.
And the outfit—fitted shorts, soft top clinging to her like a second skin. She looked like summer and stubbornness, sitting at that high-top like she didn’t feel a single eye on her.
Except mine.
I glance back, not meaning to. She’s still watching me.
Her gaze slips away a second too late, her mouth tugging into the barest smile. The kind that hits deeper than it should. The kind that lingers. I rake a hand through my hair and turn back to the bar.
Tonight was supposed to be easy. A way to get my mind off Lucy Calder. A chance to prove that I do go out and have fun. That I’m not frozen like Bennett said.
Instead, she’s here. Laughing with her friends. Her bad foot propped carefully on a stool. Doing everything right even when she’s doing everything wrong.
And somehow, I’m the one off-balance.
Our eyes meet again.
Once.
Twice.
Her smile is free and easy. When it lands on me it feels like sunrise breaking over the bay.
“She’s cute. You should talk to her.” The bartender, a tiny woman with lots of hair and a tattoo snaking down one arm, scoops ice into a glass, then grabs a bottle.
“What?” I tear my gaze off Lucy to glare at the woman across from me.
“I’m just sayin.’ I watch people try to connect in here all the time. So many crash and burn, but when they look at each other like that?” She indicates Lucy with a jerk of the bottle then fills the glass. “Nothin’ but good can come of it.”
“I’m not in the market.”
The bartender pulls a face. “Suit yourself.”
“Believe me, it’s better this way.”
“If you say so.”
And this is what I get for trying to change up my routine. Next time I’ll just go to the Brass Lantern like I normally do.
I toss a couple twenties on the bar and nod to the bartender. The air outside is cooler than I expected. I breathe it in like medicine and head for the truck. Door slams harder than necessary. Hand on the wheel. Knuckles white.
If today taught me anything, it’s that I need to be careful around Lucy, the patient I never thought I’d see again, the twenty-something who really isn’t my gig.
Mom’s house smells like roast and rosemary. Warm. Familiar.
Same floral curtains she’s had since I was twelve.
Same rustic wooden plaque with that bible verse that takes on more meaning with each year— “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy burdened… for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” Same creaky floorboard in the hallway that everyone knows to step over, except Beau, the golden retriever Mom adopted after Dad passed.
He dashes in from the back room, tail wagging, nosing me like I’ve been gone a year.
I scratch his ears, then glance back at that plaque.
That verse. It makes something hollow ache behind my ribs.
Instead of paying it much attention, I look to Bennett, who’s elbows-deep in a bowl of chips like he hasn’t eaten since Tuesday.
“I saw your girl last night.”
“Lucy?” he asks, mouth half-full.
“Stella,” I clarify.
I don’t mention Lucy, concussed, on crutches, at a bar. I definitely don’t mention the almost but not quite flirting.
Bennett looks disgusted. “Stella is not my girl.”
Mom walks in with a fresh bag of chips, clearly catching that last part. “Stella Beauford? I’ve never seen anyone get under your skin like that girl.”
“If you’d met her, you’d understand.” My brother pops another chip in his mouth, shaking his head like he’s contemplating all the evils of the world. “Ninth grade, student council posters, she drew devil horns and buck teeth on mine.”
“The horror,” I deadpan.
“Mock all you want. That election mattered to me.”
“Clearly.”
“So I retaliated,” he continues, totally unbothered. “Told everyone she made out with Peyton Lancaster under the bleachers. Not her scene—high all the time, total rage case.”
He grins, and I sigh. “Yep. That explains the vendetta ten years later.”
A chip sails past my ear. Beau lifts his head, considers chasing it, then flops back down with a huff like even he thinks we’re both idiots.
Mom’s dinner table would look strange to the uninitiated.
Three places set—one for her, one for Bennett, one for me—plus a laptop perched on three hardcover cookbooks at the head of the table.
The screen waits for one or both of the twins to call in.
Something we started during the pandemic, a virtual dinner to keep us tethered when the world frayed.
Mom still puts one together every week and sometimes Aunt Violet, Uncle Simon, and any number of the cousins show.
Supposedly, in-person attendance is “optional,” but Bennett and I haven’t had the guts to test that theory.
Besides, the food alone is worth showing up for, if not avoiding the guilt trip.
Grayson’s face fills the laptop screen a few minutes after the three of us sit down. His hair’s a mess, stubble thicker than usual, and the camera’s angled so we’re looking up at him like he’s trying to sell us miracle supplements.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, voice a little hoarse. “Just got out of a session, plus, if I’m being honest, I’m four hours behind you guys and lost track of time.”
He flips the camera around and gives us a brief tour of the hallway he’s posted up in—industrial carpet, fluorescent lights, a sandwich half-wrapped in tin foil on his lap.
Mom clucks her tongue but smiles anyway. “I’m just glad you made it, honey. Any word from Gideon?”
Grayson’s face softens. “He’s on a private detail. Some socialite with too much money and not enough common sense. He’s good. Grumpy, but good.”
Mom’s smile falters for half a second, then she nods and turns back to her plate, tucking a napkin into her lap.
She doesn’t say it, but I know she misses him.
She clings to these dinners like they’re the only thing holding us all in orbit and Gideon’s not the most communicative guy out there.
I know she wishes he’d show up more. Or call more, at the very least.
Bennett dives into the roast with the enthusiasm of a man who didn’t just finish off a whole bag of chips. We’re halfway through dinner, Mom recounting a story about a neighbor’s overgrown bougainvillea, when he sets his fork down and smirks at me across the table.
“So… if you saw Stella last night, did you also see Lucy?”
I frown. “Why?”
Grayson perks up, his face filling the laptop screen. “Wait, Gabby’s Lucy and Stella?”
Bennett doesn’t even glance at him. His eyes stay fixed on me, that cocky grin sharpening. “I just wondered if you got a chance to see your girl.”
“Lucy is my patient,” I correct, slow and deliberate. “Not my girl. Lucy’s gotten herself into a bit of a pickle and I’m helping.”
Mom’s face glows like someone lit a candle under her. “Wait, Lucy Calder? Oh, she’s such a sweet girl. Is that who we’re talking about?”
“Helping,” Bennett echoes, dragging out the word like it’s got four syllables and at least one eyebrow wag. “That what we’re calling it now?”
Grayson leans toward his screen. “Okay, wait. What’s going on with Lucy and Stella? Is Gabby okay? Did I miss something?”
“Gabby’s fine,” Bennett says, waving him off. “Lucy sprained her ankle, bad. I knocked her over at the gym, crutches and all, so I took her to Nash to make sure I didn’t make things worse, and somehow, next thing I know, Nash is offering her free physical therapy.”
Grayson blinks. “At the ER?”
“At his house,” Bennett says with a grin so smug I want to throw my dinner roll at him.
Mom gasps, delighted. “Oh, honey.”
“You guys are reading too much into this,” I mutter, stabbing a bite of roast like it personally betrayed me.
“I think it’s very kind of you,” Mom says, her voice lilting. “You’re always so serious, but you have such a good heart underneath all that armor you put on after Jadelyn.”
“Lucy’s sweet,” Grayson says out of the blue, quieter now, his eyes distant.
There’s a flicker of something in his expression—nostalgia, maybe.
Regret, definitely. For a minute, I feel bad about how things played out between him and Gabby, but still, I stand by the advice I gave him.
Gray had a good thing going and giving it up for a girl who might grow up and fall out of love like Jadelyn did with me? Bad juju.
“Lucy is sweet,” I admit, before I can stop myself. “And life’s really stacking up against her right now.”
Bennett barks out a laugh and slaps the table. “And there it is. Nash is smitten.”
“I’m not smitten,” I snap, too fast.
Bennett turns to the laptop. “She’s the perfect blend of stubborn and damsel in distress.”
Grayson’s eyes light up as he shoves a bite of sandwich into his mouth. “You never could resist someone in need, Nash.”
“That’s not true.” I sit back, arms crossed, glaring, not enjoying the direction this conversation is headed. At all. If either of them brings up my ex-wife, I might just have to leave.
“So what was Jadelyn then?” Bennett asks, smirking. “She had nothing, you gave her everything.”
“And what about your whole job being built around saving people?” Grayson adds and I turn to Mom like I’m ten again.
“Enough, you two,” she says, brows raised, pointing at her younger sons with her fork.
Bennett leans back in his chair, looking way too pleased with himself. “So, what happens now? You start dating my childhood friend? Am I supposed to be offended? Do I get to punch you in the face and protect her honor, or are we too grown up for that now?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“Pleading the fifth.” Bennett smirks. “Classic. Definitely not an admission of guilt.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Mom cuts in.
“Now, come on,” she says, trying not to laugh. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“I’m not jumping to anything.” Bennett pops a bite of roast into his mouth. “I’m just curious. Nash doesn’t do things outside of work. He has us. He has his job. And now he has Lucy. That seems kind of like a big change, doesn’t it?”
Sure, my life got small after I became single, but the hospital? It takes up a lot of time. I just don’t have space for much else. You’d think that would be obvious, but the three faces staring in my direction suggest they feel otherwise.
“Lucy needed help,” I say quietly. “And I had means. That’s all it is.”
Bennett arches a brow. “Uh-huh.”
“You like her,” Grayson singsongs like he’s eight again.
I stare at my plate.
What is there to say?
I like the way she fights through pain without complaining. I like the way she pushes back against me. I like the way she looked at me in the pool—like I wasn’t just fixing her, but seeing her.
And that’s the damn problem.
I don't want to see her. I don't want to know her. I want to help her get back on her feet so she can get her life back and mine can return to normal.
“She’s a patient,” I say again, but the words feel thinner now.
Like even I don’t believe them.