CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NASH
NASH
“Oh my God, are you fucking serious? Get up.”
Archer’s annoyed voice startled me out of my sleep. I jerked to sitting, looking around my office with bleary eyes. Archer stomped along the far wall, opening the blinds.
“You slept here, again.” He stated it like a fact, because it was one.
“You have eyes. Congratulations.” My voice came out raspy and deep. I rubbed my face, all the aches and pains from sleeping on the couch making themselves known. I bought high quality couches, but apparently not high quality enough for a thirty-something spine.
“And you have a penthouse, last time I checked.” He walked over to me, watching me with a cocktail of expressions: frustration, annoyance, maybe some pity. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to see it. I cleared my throat, pushing to standing.
“I don’t want to be there,” I said simply, staggering past him. “Why do you care where I sleep?”
“Because you’re clearly spiraling and acting fucking weird.” He said it like it was so obvious. But I knew he was wrong.
“I don’t need your shit right now,” I said with a sigh, pinching one eye shut against the bright light streaming through the blinds he’d opened. “I have work to do.”
He laughed hollowly. “Okay, Nash. Why don’t you go brush your teeth in the employee lounge? Because that’s what healthy, stable, adult humans do, right?”
“Fuck off,” I muttered. “You think you’re so healthy and stable?”
“I’m at least an adult human,” he shot back, following me into the hallway, “which is more than you can say.”
I stopped, looking at him through my slitted eyes. “I’m an adult human. What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You’re acting like a child,” he hissed.
“But we can agree I’m human,” I said, pressing onward.
“I don’t agree to that,” he said, veering into his own office. I flipped him off as I walked away, but didn’t turn around to see if he’d noticed. It didn’t matter.
Not much mattered anymore.
Why would it? The light had gone out of my life.
The ground had been stripped from beneath me.
I’d pushed Clara away, and worse yet, she hadn’t fought for me.
For us. Even though I’d told her there was no us.
I ruminated on this as I brushed my teeth in the employee lounge.
It was the only thing I thought about anymore, the loss of her.
But life had to go on, didn’t it? When I returned to my office, I tried to focus on work. But the spreadsheets blurred together. The emails might as well have been written in another language.
All I could think about was Clara.
It had been three weeks since I'd walked out. Three weeks of uninspiring mornings, bland days, a complete lack of warmth and family and simple pleasures. I slept on the couch in my office on the nights my thoughts were the loudest, when I couldn’t bear to return to the penthouse and face the empty spaces where her plants used to be or Mia's drawings still on the fridge or the bed we'd shared.
And after so long without a call or text from her, I had to assume she'd moved on. Just like I'd told her to.
I got what I’d wanted. So why did it feel like I was dying?
"You look like shit."
I looked up to find Archer in my doorway again, arms crossed.
"Thanks for the update."
"When's the last time you ate?"
I couldn't remember. "Yesterday. Sometime."
"When's the last time you went home?"
"What's your point, Arch?"
"My point is you're destroying yourself over this woman, and instead of doing something about it, you're sleeping on a couch in your office and pretending this is normal.
" He walked in, closing the door behind him.
"You need to wake up and smell the coffee, Nash. You fucked up. You pushed away the best thing that ever happened to you.”
I blinked, trying to push his words away. “So did you bring coffee…? Because I’m not smelling it.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll rephrase. You're wallowing in shit when you should be fixing shit."
"There's nothing to fix. It's over."
"Because you decided it was over. Because you got scared and ran away."
"Archer—"
"You're literally sleeping in your office to avoid going home!" Archer's voice rose. "Nash, I've watched you ice people out your whole life. But this? This is too far."
"She made her choice."
Archer leaned on my desk. "You know what your problem is?
You're so terrified of being abandoned that you abandon people first. You push them away before they can leave you.
But Clara wasn't leaving, Nash. She did what she had to do for her kid. She never wanted to walk away from you. And she wasn’t going to. "
The words hit like physical blows.
"I know that," I whispered.
"Then why are you here instead of with her?"
Because I was terrified. Because I'd said unforgivable things. Because I'd looked her in the eye and told her there was no us and watched her break. I didn't deserve her forgiveness.
"I don't know how to fix it," I admitted.
"Then figure it out. Because this?" He gestured at my office, at the couch I'd been sleeping on, at the mess I'd become. "This isn't living. You're better than this. The CEO of Nightly Developments does not sleep on his fucking couch anymore, do you hear me?"
I grunted, which got Archer to leave. Once he was gone, I took a little more time on the couch, staring at nothing.
He was right. I was spiraling. Avoiding. Running.
But it was the only thing that made sense to me. Somewhere deep inside, it seemed like that would protect me. From what, I wasn’t sure. Because Archer was fucking right, no matter how much it pained me to admit it.
Whatever I’d been doing the last few weeks wasn’t living. It was existing. And even I was sick of it.
After changing into a fresh suit, I forced myself to leave the office that afternoon.
I headed to Queens, straight to the neighborhood I'd promised to protect and then abandoned when things got hard. Just like I’d abandoned Clara.
Archer had been filling in during my absence, telling people I was sick. But nobody knew I was heartsick.
The community center was quiet when I walked in. A few people were there, looking at something on a phone.
"Mr. Nightingale!" An elderly woman—Mrs. O’Brien, I remembered—hurried over. "We weren't expecting you today."
"I'm sorry I haven't been around," I said, and the words felt inadequate. "Things have been...rough."
"We understand. Your wife told us you've been sick."
I froze. "She did?"
"Yes, she's been coming to all the meetings while you’ve been ill." Mrs. O’Brien smiled warmly. "Such a lovely woman. She always asks about everyone, takes notes, and really listens to what we say. Even when Jerry goes on his rampages about the city councilmen."
Clara had been coming to the meetings. Even after I'd pushed her away. Even after I'd told her it was over. My head was spinning, and not just because I’d had another shitty night of sleep.
“She’s incredible, isn’t she?” My throat was tight as I spoke. God, I was a fucking idiot.
Mrs. O’Brien patted my arm. "You're very lucky to have her. She cares so much about our community and what we’re doing here. It’s so refreshing to see a young couple so passionate about preserving neighborhoods, and passionate about each other."
I nodded, unable to speak. That last stubborn, petrified piece of pain that I’d been clinging to was dissolving. Because why the fuck was I doing this anymore? None of this mattered if we didn’t have a community at our side. People we loved. People who looked out for us.
That’s what I’d been doing all along in my work. But rejecting love along the way.
“You’re right—I got lucky,” I croaked.
“I’ll say,” she said with a smile. “Finding a woman who cares as much about community as you, and who you can build a family with? You hit the jackpot.”
I rubbed my cheek, something big and painful swelling inside my chest. I had hit the only jackpot that mattered in life. And now, after Archer’s wake-up call this morning and Mrs. O’Brien’s sweet words, I was drowning in urgency.
Another lady stepped up, offering me a warm smile. “I’ll be forever grateful to you and Archer and Clara for being here with us throughout this. You three truly understand the meaning of the word home.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. O’Brien said, squeezing my hand. "That's what home means, Mr. Nightingale. It's not just a building. It's where your people are. Where your memories live. Where you belong."
By this point, I thought I might cry openly in front of them. It hadn’t been the plan, but these motherly women speaking sweet things to me about the meaning of life. Well, a man could only be so strong.
I cleared my throat, taking a fortifying breath. I wanted Clara here. To nuzzle against me, to give me shit about almost crying because I missed her, to make a quip that would wipe away the worries of the world.
“The lawsuit we launched will buy us time,” I managed to croak out. “If all goes well, we might be able to push him back to his original timeline. That’s our goal at least. More time. No panicked decisions. We’re doing everything we can.”
I listened to the women for a bit longer, hearing their updates from the last couple of weeks. I thanked them for their time and gave them all hugs.
"Excuse me," I said, my voice rough. "I need to make a call. I’ll be in touch soon with more news."
I stepped outside, drawing a deep breath of the warm July air. I looked around at the quiet neighborhood, listening to the tweeting of a bird in a nearby tree, the beeping of a work truck in reverse, laughter drifting from an open window.
I had to see Clara. I needed to talk to her and say….what? Telling her the truth—that I was sorry, and I was a grade-A idiot—seemed woefully inadequate. But even if I didn’t have the words, I needed to try. To rip this band-aid off and start a new chapter of Nash.
I dialed her number, my heart pounding. It rang. And rang. And rang.