Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Nash
T he twenty-four-hour community hospital in downtown Crossroads was a small clinic with no more than ten exam rooms and twenty in-patient rooms. The larger Colton County General hospital was a twenty-minute drive to the neighboring town of Rivers Bend, but this, according to Bailey, was not a life or death emergency. I agreed, but I never had the best experience with the town hospital, so was reluctant to accept to bring her here instead. Maybe because I was in here more times than not when I was younger, meaning I wasn't eager to be back.
The sterile white walls still haunted me with gruesome memories projecting on the wall like a film reel on repeat.
From broken ribs caused by one-to-many kicks to the ground by Franklin just for living in his house when he didn’t want me, to the broken arm I’d gotten for punching a hole through my wall—instead of my father’s cowardly face—the first night I saw him lay a hand on my mother. Needing stitches on my face from one of the many brawls I’d started with the prissy cowboys back in school—who could talk the talk but couldn’t for the life of them pack a punch. I’d even gotten shot once by Old Man Carraway, who lived down the road from my family’s farm and had the scar on my shoulder to prove it. That one I’ll admit I deserved, for sneaking into his home one night and spending it in his niece's bed.
The hospital lobby looked no different from then, with stark white walls and countertops, a few rows of chairs upholstered with some tacky blue and gray checkered pattern, and a wooden reception counter which extended the entire back wall. Behind the Plexi glass border sat Millie Dawson, the same receptionist who’d worked here for over forty years alongside her husband, Dr. Ray Dawson, the hospital’s leading physician.
There was stack upon stack of medical records kept in the various locker-like cabinets behind the reception desk. The Dawson’s were old school that way, and Ray Dawson trusted technology as much as he trusted men to stay away from his three daughters. I hadn’t seen the triplets since I’d left, but they were almost always in here when I’d come in.
Raven, Rayleigh and Reyna were their names. They were no older than ten when I last saw them, but I could imagine that fact about him hadn’t changed. Millie was a beautiful woman, even at the ripe age of sixty-five. She had dark hair, now more gray than black, and these bright green eyes that looked at you like they deeply understood every ounce of your pain.
I could only imagine their girls grew up to take after their mother’s beauty. Ray adored his daughters—and he wasn’t a bad-looking fucker either. Makes sense since it took him and his wife years to conceive them. They were both over forty when the girls were born and Millie had long accepted the fact she’d never be a mother, which I think was why she enjoyed working here so much. She could mother all of Crossroads for the rest of her life and it would be enough.
I only knew all of this because of the countless times I sat in the very seat across her desk I occupied earlier today as we awaited Bailey’s turn to see the doc. But the love wasn’t one-sided. Crossroads adored the beloved doctor and his wife, and to this day, they were the only two people the townsfolk trusted with their care.
The attentive care which Dr. Dawson gave Bailey tonight was like anything I’d ever witnessed. I forget sometimes how much her family is revered in this town. Even now that she claims to be different, the town and its people continue to treat her like royalty.
While my family is the trash they’ve been waiting years to take out. Lucky for me, the hospital was nearly empty tonight, so I didn't have to spend all night reliving my time here as a kid. There were no more than a handful of residents with bad stomach bugs, the flu, and one younger kid who broke his arm climbing the old willow tree down by the fairgrounds. He reminded me of myself, or at least the lies I used to tell when my mama would bring me in with a broken rib and I’d have to lie about how I got it.
Usually it was the same story. I was a troublesome boy who was always up to no good and climbing to places I had no business being. It was never the truth—that I’d done nothing more than come home from school and look for the food he bought, with his money, he kept in his refrigerator, in his house.
However, tonight wasn’t about me. It was for Bailey, who luckily had nothing more than a sprained ankle, which required a thin bandage and rest. I choked a laugh out at the last part when Dr. Dawson prescribed she stay off her feet completely for a couple of days, and then take it easy for another week. They both stared at me with equally annoyed expressions—Bailey pissed I knew her so well, and the doc surely angry I was mocking his professional care and advice.
She’s lucky it was nothing too serious, and the swelling had already gone down significantly, but I knew the woman wouldn’t sit still for more than the five hours she slept at night.
It’s nearly ten o’clock at night when we’re driving back to the apartment, the full moon illuminating the entire sky in a bright gleam, which falls over Crossroads like a blanket of tranquility. It’s a clear night, bright stars flickering in the sky. The roads are empty, just me and the beautiful angel fast asleep beside me.
I look to my right as we pull into the parking spot back at the bar and find her breathing soundly, as she rests her head against the window of her brother’s truck. Bailey looks incredibly peaceful and delicate under the bright neon lights of the bar sign coming in through the window. This is the girl I remember, the innocent, kind-hearted, and shy girl I couldn’t help but be drawn to. I’d stayed away from her, not only because of our ages, but because I knew she was too darn good for me, though that didn’t stop the way being near her nearly took my breath away.
Something inside me twinges as the reminder of why she changed invades my thoughts.
Shutting off the engine, I exit the brand new Ford F250 Super Duty in the perfect shade of midnight blue, thinking I may end up keeping the thing for myself, and walk over to the passenger side door, opening it and leaning over to unbuckle her. Bailey lets out a soft groan as I shove my hands under her thighs and scoop her up into my arms.
“Nash,” she moans, snuggling deeper into the crook of my neck, her arms wrapping around me and making my dick dangerously hard. Just a small touch and the woman has me nearly coming in my jeans like a fucking amateur. Though you can’t really blame me. Bailey smells incredible, the silk of her dress so smooth in between my fingertips as I grip her tight, careful not to let my fingers roam to the places they ache to touch. To the places that will surely ruin me if I do.
I don’t say a word the whole walk through the parking lot, or as we enter the bar and head up the stairs to the apartment, afraid of waking her and ruining this moment of peace between us. Since the day I arrived, there’s been nothing but an angst-riddled tension when Bailey and I are in the same room. The hatred she feels toward me is nearly palpable, though today, I felt a crack in the hard exterior she’s grown into since the day I walked away.
If only for a moment, she didn’t look at me like I ruined all the good in her, as if I didn’t hurt her in the worst way.
Monty’s words come back to me as I unlock the door with my key and step inside, heading directly into the bedroom. I set her down on her bed, only after removing the eight pillows leaned up against the headboard and tossing them on the ground. Of course, the woman has all these pillows. It’s no wonder she can never sleep.
Careful not to wake her, I cautiously slip her jacket off and toss it to the floor beside the pillows. I should wake her, walk out of the room and let her figure out how she’s planning on getting out of this dress, but I’m too selfish to walk away again. I want to see the flush color of her skin as I slide the straps off her shoulders and watch the delicate silk slither down her curves until it’s pooled in a blanket of red at her feet.
Walking over toward a dresser to my right, I open the first drawer looking for a t-shirt to slip over her, but that’s definitely not what I find. Reaching inside, I pull out a sexy as fuck black lace thong with matching bra that makes my mouth fucking water just picturing the luxurious lace against her smooth, alabaster skin. My fingers tighten into a grip and they ache to feel the lace on her body, gripping on tight to those thick thighs and that plump ass she loves to flaunt my way. I want to bite into her skin, mark it the way I should have ten years ago, so she’d never forget me the way she claims she has. But I can’t do any of that without a colossal domino effect of epic proportions.
I hear her shuffle behind me and curse as I’m nearly caught digging in her underwear drawer like some pervy freak. Tucking the set into my back pocket, careful not to think too deeply about why I do it, I try the second drawer and find an oversized gray t-shirt with holes in it and figure it will do the trick.
As I let the fabric unfold, I recognize the old thing because it used to be mine. The Colton County Country Music Festival was one of the few things I liked about living in this town. Every summer, I looked forward to it and would make the trip down to Rivers Bend with Jase and my brothers.
This year in particular, the summer before our senior year of high school as is printed on the back of the shirt, Jase and I snuck out to go after his parents grounded him and forbid him to join me. It was one of the best nights of my life, and not only because it was one of the best lineups, but because that night as I was leaving the King’s property after dropping off Jase's drunk ass, I ran into her. Bailey had snuck out to see me and she’d gone home wearing my shirt. I knew Jase had one similar to it, but in my heart, I knew this one was mine.
Shaking my head to erase the memory I don’t have the time or energy to decode the meaning of, I make it back to her bed and find she’s not moved an inch and remains fast asleep. Debating what to do, I reach for her, only stopping when I hear the soft buzz of her phone vibrating.
Looking around the room for it, I hear the vibration once more, coming from the jacket currently on the floor. Bending down to pick it out of her pocket, I see a flash of incoming messages from the girls. I’m sure they're just trying to see if she’s made it home safe, and I didn’t run off with her or leave her to fend for herself in some ditch like the monster they think I am.
Bringing the phone to her face, I use the facial recognition feature to unlock it and open up the recent text thread she has with her sister, my sister, and Billie. The first message makes me nearly regret my snooping. But I never was good at remembering things, so I’m not sure what they say about curiosity, the cat and all that.
Billie: So, did ya kiss him yet? Cause golly! Nash Bishop looked like he wanted to kiss the smart ass out of you.
Billie’s correct insinuation about me makes me smile. I don’t give the girl enough credit. She’s quite perceptive and bold enough to say what she’s thinking.
Monroe: Quit it Billie, Bailey knows better than to go there again.
And that quickly reverses it. I can almost feel the anger in Monroe’s message.
Brynn: No, I agree with Bills on this one. Please sister, tell us more.
Brynn: Wait again?
I shake my head at the exchange, scowling down at the screen as I reread my sister’s text.
Bailey knows better than to go there again.
I don’t know why what she says bothers me so much. I’d been correct to assume Billie and Monroe had some sort of idea what happened between Bailey and I. Girls talked about that shit. They honestly must know every detail, but there's something that feels different hearing Monroe acknowledge it.
Could this also be why she hates me so much and is so reluctant to even look my way?
Ignoring the way the messages make me feel, again too tired to decode shit, I type out a quick reply before they send in the national guard for a search and rescue of their best friend.
Bailey: She’s all good. Safe and sound at home, nicely tucked in her bed. No need to worry, my lips remain lipstick free.
Bailey: As for her ankle, by the way, just a sprain. Doctor’s orders are to be off it completely for two days so she won’t be going anywhere. Make whatever arrangements are necessary.
Three dots appear and fade away before coming back with consecutive message replies from all three girls.
Billie: Yes, Nurse Nash.
She replies, adding a winking emoji and another with its tongue out.
Brynn: Ooo, are you going to wear one of those sexy little uniforms? I’d kill to see that.
Monroe: I need proof of life.
The three of them are so different. Billie and Brynn’s playful responses tell me Bailey might not hate me as much as she’s trying to make me believe. Or as much as she’s trying to convince herself, she does.
However, it’s Monroe's reluctance to trust me that has me on edge. How can I prove to the two girls who matter most that I’m not the same guy they hated for leaving them? But most importantly, do I want to?
Deciding to help Bailey out of the dress and into the more comfortable t-shirt before I send this proof of life Monroe asks for, I set the phone down beside her sleeping body, and reach under her shoulders to bring her to a sitting position.
Her head falls lazily to the side, giving me perfect access to her long, and sleek neck. A neck I want nothing more than to kiss and trace circles along her pulse point with my tongue.
Figuring it’s easier to slip the dress down her arms rather than pull it up over her head, I let the thin straps slide down her shoulder, pushing the silk fabric lower down until my breath gets stuck in my throat when I realize she is in fact not wearing a bra.
“Fuck,” I groan, staring at the plump and full breasts my hands ache to grab, my tongue begging me to let it have just a small taste.
“Nash,” she moans, and fuck me. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from groaning from the sound that leaves her lips.
My hands are shaking as they fight the urge to caress the warm skin beneath them and roam around until they can bring her to the precipice of pleasure. Her shoulders and arms are beautifully decorated with patches of thin, delicate ink that perfectly contrast the palette of soft neutrals of her complexion.
I want to trace the patterns of her tattoos and uncover what made her choose each intricate design, but that’s not what tonight is about. I’ve just gotten her to trust me enough to not leave her hurt and alone. I can’t cross that line. Not tonight.
Goosebumps scatter over her skin in a soft pattern. “Shh, pretty girl,” I whisper into her hair as I tug the shirt down over her head and shoulders, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.
She sleepily helps me get her arms through the sleeves, her eyes remaining closed, but I can see them flutter beneath her eyelids. The doctor shot her up with something great for the pain, so I know that’s what’s keeping her so compliant. My Bailey girl is the least bit cooperative when she's wide awake. Not like she used to be.
Once the shirt is covering her torso, and shielding my view of those perfect, pink and hard peaks, I lift her slightly, enough to pull the dress all the way down her legs as I lay her back. I catch sight of a strip of red lace as I tug her shirt the rest of the way down and I swear to god my mouth fucking salivates.
Looking around the room, I search for something, anything, to throw over her body and cover it before my restraint snaps and I can no longer hold back from touching her. The need coursing through me is too powerful, too electric to ignore, but I must. My cock’s straining in my jeans, and I need another cold shower to kill the blazing urge that’s building within me.
I find a small, light pink throw in a storage ottoman bench at the edge of her bed, and slowly cover her with it. She immediately snuggles into her pillow, noticeably wincing as she moves her ankle.
“Why’d you come back, Nash?” she murmurs into the darkness of the room.
I know she’s not aware of what she’s saying, but I answer her regardless. “B, I already told you.”
There’s a slow, barely noticeable shake of her head. The blanket of her delicate gold hair glistens against the dark gray silk of her pillowcase. I watch her in awe, entranced by her beauty even now as she sleeps, her makeup smeared in gray circles around her eyes from the tears that escaped earlier from the pain of her injury.
Her soft voice, thick and hoarse from the painkillers, continues to circulate in the air around us as she speaks.
“I was finally getting over you. I was trying, but now…” She pauses, slowly tilting her head and fluttering her eyes open to gaze at me. Dark blue eyes meticulously watch me through hooded lids as she tries her best to stay awake, but the medicine coursing through her veins fights to drag her into slumber. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
The pain in her tone is unmatched, and my chest aches to know I caused it. That I’m continuing to cause it. “I won’t be here for long, B. You’ll be rid of me soon.”
Her eyes open wider, her body shifting until she’s nearly sitting up, leaning back on her elbows. “But what if I don’t want you to go?” The silence in the room is deafening. Nothing but the sound of our unsteady breaths in perfect rhythm. “Stay, Nash.”
She extends an arm out to me, and I want to take it. I so badly want to take her hand in mine and let her convince me to stay, but that won’t do us any good.
“You don’t want me to stay, Angel. You never did. You wanted the idea of me to be burned into your memory, branded on your skin. But not the real me. No, if you knew him, you wouldn’t be asking him to stay…” I pause, unsure if she’s even comprehending what I’m saying but her gaze remains focused on me, glued to mine like I’m the only thing in the room she sees. “You’d be begging him to go if you knew what was good for you.”
Desire flares in her eyes as she watches me, hoping I’ll make some move to appease her, but when I don’t, she lifts her foot up, showing me the bandage wrapped around it.
“I’ve never known what’s good for me. Come, Nash, just for tonight. Stay with me tonight and tomorrow…” Her voice dies on her lips and my feet move of their own accord, forcing me to the side of her bed without my permission. It’s like I’m floating in the air, my body being dragged to her by some enchantment. “Tomorrow you can choose to go. You made the choice on your own last time. Let me have this one chance to make mine. Even if it’s a mistake, I’ll regret.”