Jay Crownover - Nash

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 tone was friendly, almost overly so, and she looked like she should be on the cover of a Sports Illustrated magazine. I wasn’t overweight anymore, now I was just normal, healthy, but this girl had abs for days and boobs that deserved an award. Hell, if I was her I would be walking around in yoga pants and a sports bra in the freezing December weather, too.

“Uh … no.”

“I just moved in. There’s been someone pounding on that door every five minutes for the last week. It’s driving me nuts. I saw the guy that lives there. He’s a total babe. I keep waiting for a girl to show up and claim him. I thought it might be you. I’m Royal, by the way.”

I nodded at her and cocked my head to the side. All single men should find themselves so lucky in the new-neighbor department. I bet Nash would just love her … well, once he got out of his funk.

“I’m just a friend. I thought I would check on him. I’m Saint.”

She laughed a little and shook her head, sending her dark auburn hair sliding across her shoulder like only models in shampoo commercials did.

“Our parents were obviously smoking the same thing when they picked our names out.” She inclined her head toward the closed door and her dark brown eyes flashed in amusement while I struggled to try and act like this scene didn’t totally intimidate me. Really pretty girls like her always made it harder for me to act normal and unaffected. “Seems to be the theme of the week checking on the sexy guy next door. That and superhot men. I swear all his friends are gorgeous. I wouldn’t toss a single one of them I’ve seen out of bed. Even the really big guy with all the attitude and the scar. He was scary as hell but dead sexy.”

I was getting uncomfortable. I did great with strangers when they were bleeding and needed my help, but this kind of interaction was out of my wheelhouse even if I did agree with her on the hotness levels of Nash’s crew of friends.

The guy with the scar was Nash’s old roommate, Rome Archer. He was dead sexy in a warrior, take-care-of-business kind of way. I knew firsthand because he had been a patient of mine not too long ago. At the hospital the other night I caught a glimpse of Rule Archer, he was Nash’s best friend and he was still gorgeous and dangerous-looking in his own unique way. Later on in the night Jet Keller had shown up with a blond guy who looked like he had escaped from the 1950s and another guy that was so undeniably handsome that it was necessary to look twice at him just to make sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you. All three, hot and oozing sex appeal and trouble in different ways. I just didn’t know this woman well enough to divulge any of those insights to her, not that I would be comfortable doing that even if she wasn’t a stranger.

I knocked on the door more out of desperation to get away from her and her curious gaze than to see if Nash would answer.

Of course he didn’t and I felt like an idiot. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot and tried to knock again.

“Good luck. He hasn’t opened it for anyone else.” She sounded amused and I flushed bright red. I would never get over feeling like I was always the butt of someone’s joke. It made me feel kind of sick to my stomach, more so because she looked the way she did.

I was lifting my hand to knock one last time when the door suddenly yanked open and I was face to chest with a mostly naked, furiously scowling, obviously inebriated Nash Donovan. Those amazing eyes that were trapped somewhere between purple and blue blinked sluggishly at me and I let out a startled gasp as he grasped the hand I still had lifted up to knock and pulled me toward him.