Nash. Jay Crownover

to know that it was stupid to get involved, to make patients and what they were dealing with a personal matter. There should be no forming personal attachments, no taking one case more seriously than another, no treating any one person affected by a family member’s illness or accident any differently than the next … but none of that logic or professional training mattered against the need to find out why Nash hadn’t stopped by the hospital once since Thanksgiving to see his dad.

      Phil Donovan had been moved almost immediately from the ER to the upper levels of the hospital where the oncology unit was located, so he wasn’t even my patient anymore. That hadn’t stopped me from stopping by at the end of my shift to check on him and see how he was doing. The older man that was the spitting image of his son was taking his prognosis surprisingly well, and I always enjoyed his easy demeanor. It didn’t look good, he didn’t look good. But I had noticed that he was never alone. There was always someone in the room with him when I stuck my head in. He seemed to have an endless parade of tattooed and pierced men and women who pushed aside the discomfort of visiting and spending time with someone so sick in order to keep him company and offer him support. Only it was glaringly obvious that his own flesh and blood hadn’t been among them. It wasn’t my place to question why his own kid hadn’t made an appearance any of those times, and I wouldn’t have been driven to do something so out of character had Phil not sounded so disappointed when he mentioned Nash’s disappearing act.

      It wasn’t like I was overly anxious for another run-in with the brooding, tattooed hottie anyway, but tonight, when I popped my head in, Cora had been arguing with the older man. I knew her to be loud and up front from the time her boyfriend had been shot and nearly died in my ER. She was currently being very vocal in her opinion about Nash’s current behavior. Phil was telling her to leave Nash alone, that he would work through things in his own time and that he didn’t blame his son for not being by once since the holiday. She was all kinds of worked up, shouting that it wasn’t right, that Nash was acting like a big baby and that he was going to regret wasting any of this time they had together considering Phil’s prognosis wasn’t good. She might look a little crazy and sound kind of abrasive, but I had to agree that she had a point.

      I felt bad for eavesdropping and was going to duck out of the room and head home when her next statement sent a rebellious chill down my spine.

      “He won’t even talk to Rule. He won’t answer the phone. He’s missed work all week. Rome went to the apartment and knocked on the door until a neighbor came out and threatened to call the cops. I told him he should’ve just broken it down. I think he was tempted because he never got any kind of response. The idea of Nash sitting alone in that apartment hurting, trying to process this all on his own, is breaking my heart, Phil. I don’t know what else to do.”

      Phil murmured an answer that was too soft for me to hear and I jumped as another nurse came around the corner. I saw her give me an odd look because this was totally not my floor, I rarely went anywhere in the hospital outside of the ER. Before I could talk myself out of it, I went back to my own floor, snuck a quick peek at the file we had on Phil Donovan that listed Nash’s info as his emergency contact after some woman named Ruby Loften, and headed out on a mission to do I don’t know what. I wasn’t sure why I was so worked up, so invested in either of the Donovan men, especially considering the bitter taste my history with Nash left in my mouth.

      I loved my job. I’d wanted to be a nurse since forever. Fixing all my dolls’ “owies” and making my big sister let me cover her in bandages and gauze when I was little had always been my favorite game, and I had worked hard and busted my tail off to be the best nurse and caregiver I could be. At twenty-five I was a certified ER nurse and I was thinking about going back to school and studying to get my master’s in nursing so I could look at being a nurse practitioner. I graduated at the top of my class from California State University in L.A. and I chose emergency nursing for the challenge, the fast pace, and because I knew I wanted to help people when they needed me most. It was a different environment, different set of patients and problems every single day. I was extremely skilled at it, completely invested in giving it my all each and every day. So I knew that whatever weird pull this case and these people involved had on me wasn’t something I had ever experienced with a patient or their loved ones before.

      I should have known the instant those unmistakable purple eyes locked on to me, trying to place where they knew me from on the Fourth of July all those months ago, that Nash Donovan was once again going to set my well-ordered world on its side. Even after all the time that had passed, and even with the ages-old resentment and dislike I harbored for the darkly handsome young man—who, let’s be honest, had only improved with age—there was still something about him that got to me. With just a look he made my blood heat and I had that long-repressed feeling of longing and want whispering at me to remember. It seemed like I was always going to be stuck in a turbulent cycle of lust and hate where Nash was concerned and I didn’t like how extreme and out of control either of those things made me feel. In just a matter of a few short weeks those feelings and the man that inspired them had me doing something totally out of character and against not only my professional rule book, but also against my own sense of self-preservation.

      The traffic cutting across downtown was terrible. There wasn’t any snow on the ground yet, but it was cold out and the hustle and bustle of Denver getting ready for Christmas was causing a nasty gridlock. Not to mention it was a Saturday night, so the rush of all the weekend-warriors to get out and enjoy their freedom made a three-mile drive take almost half an hour.

      Being around someone from my past, someone who remembered the former me, just brought all those insecurities I still struggled with to a lesser degree now right to the forefront of my mind. Especially when that someone was the adult version of the out-of-my-league teenage boy I’d had a painfully intense, supersecret crush on.

      It had never been easy getting made fun of and hearing mean things said about me. It hurt and tore down my already frayed self-esteem. I knew high school was fleeting and that in a few years none of those people would matter to me anymore, that Nash could be chalked up to a phase, but the way he made me feel when he ignored me and the even worse way it hurt me when I heard him saying awful things about me had taught me a valuable lesson, one I still held close today. People could only hurt you and disappoint you if you let them. They only had the power to hurt you if you thought they were special and above that. I didn’t let anyone close enough, didn’t let anyone touch my heart or emotions enough to risk that happening again … ever. I think that made dealing with my cheating boyfriend in college and handling the knowledge that my own father was a philanderer easier. Across the board, men in my life had disappointed me, and Nash was just the first in a long line.

      Which made this need, this urgency to check on him, my nemesis, and my teenage nightmare even harder to process. Still, even though I was full of apprehension and doubt, I wheeled my new Jetta into a spot on the street in front of the Victorian that had obviously been converted into some apartments and got out. I gazed at the building for a second, trying to convince myself to mind my own business and just go home. I was still in scrubs, had my ugly work shoes on and my hair coiled into a tight, fire-colored braid that reached the middle of my back. I only had the barest hint of makeup left after a ten-hour shift and I didn’t know why I thought he would answer the door for me if he was ignoring his friends and the people closest to him.

      I shivered because I hadn’t grabbed a coat and decided I either needed to go home or just go in. My gaze slid over a sweet Charger that was parked in front of the building and I sighed. I dealt with death and horrific injury on a daily basis. I could handle a brief encounter with a ghost from my memories and survive the encounter. I was made of stronger stuff now. Besides, seeing Phil so sick and sad and the traumatic way Nash had responded to the news on Thanksgiving had me concerned for both of them. And despite knowing better, I knew that my concern wasn’t going away.

      I entered the lovely old building and looked around for the numbers on the door. It looked like the bottom floor had two apartments and Nash’s was on the left. I was just getting ready to knock when the opposite door across the hall swung open and a girl stuck her head out. Her gaze skittered over me and then landed on my startled face.

      “You his girlfriend?”

      Her