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“He prefers wine,” I heard Nash say, even though his eyes were still on me.
“But sometimes he’ll have a beer right before dinner. Though not this early.”
“Good to know,” my father said knowingly before he hurried down the steps and made his way to Everett and Charlie. Everett quickly turned over a bucket they’d been using to collect the weeds in so that my father would have someplace to set the tray. I returned to sit next to Nash and wasn’t in the least bit surprised when Everett declined the beer and pointed at the lemonade instead.
I held my bottle in Nash’s direction and waited. Without me needing to say anything, he clinked his bottle against mine. I was glad when he sipped at his beer. It was a baby step, but it was still progress.
And I could sure use a win.
“So, Mister Fix-It,” Nash began.
“That’s going to be a thing, isn’t it?” I interrupted.
“You bet your ass it is.”
I chuckled and nodded.
“So, why did you do it? Really,” Nash asked.
I didn’t need to ask what he meant. “I saw the way you looked at him. I saw it that first day in the hospital. I thought you guys were a thing, actually. But once you got here, it became clear that Everett didn’t have a clue.”
“Why would he?” Nash asked. “He’s the goddamn president. Guys like us… we’ve got no chance with a guy like him.”
It was odd to have someone give voice to my own insecurities.
I smiled and said, “You’re as blind as he is if you think that’s true, Nash. You’re so busy trying to keep him from figuring you out that you don’t even see what’s right in front of you.”
Nash was quiet for a long time before he said, “You saw the records. You’re still wearing the evidence on your face. Even if what you’re saying is true, a guy like him shouldn’t want a guy like me.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I mean, you’re gorgeous, smart, a proven survivor, and you might as well worship the ground he walks on – he can do so much better,” I drawled before taking a sip of my beer.
Nash began drumming his fingers again. “Why are you doing this?”
“What am I doing?” I asked.
“Pushing this. I know you want him. And it was pretty damn hard not to notice the feeling is mutual. Not after that night…”
Nash’s voice dropped off.
“So you did see us,” I ventured. I’d guessed that Nash had seen me and Everett kissing, but I hadn’t been one hundred percent sure.
He didn’t respond to the comment.
“He’s not sleeping,” Nash murmured. Despite the whiplash-like nature of the change in conversation, I was grateful for it because I didn’t have an explanation as to why I was pushing him toward Everett.
“Everett?” I asked, though in retrospect, it was a dumb question.
Nash nodded. “He just sits in front of the TV night after night. Not watching, though. He just stares at it. Damn thing has been on the same news channel every night. He fucking hates the news.”
“Has it been like that since Reese got hurt?” I asked.
“No. I mean, he wasn’t sleeping great. Nightmares and stuff, but he was sleeping, at least. But since we got back from D.C., he doesn’t even do that. Just watches TV until his body gives out, usually around four or five in the morning. Sleeps an hour or two, then comes out here,” he explained as he motioned with his chin toward Everett.
So it had started upon Reese’s arrival at the house.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
I hated not having answers, but I wasn’t going to pretend that I did and just start throwing shit out there to see what stuck. “I’ll try talking to Reese again.”
“Everett should start coming to dinner again,” Nash announced. “He liked that.”
I wanted to laugh at that. Not the part about Everett, but the way Nash was announcing what he thought should happen. For someone who didn’t talk much, he sure had a lot of shit to say.
“I agree,” I said. “Let me know how it goes when you tell him that.”
Nash frowned at me, but his eyes were light. He wasn’t angry, just… exasperated.
“Maybe if you joined him,” I suggested. I didn’t even feel an ounce of guilt as I used the opportunity to my advantage. God knew I was insanely attracted to Nash, but this side of him? This relatively calm, thoughtful side? I could really get on board with this Nash.
When he didn’t respond right away, I said, “It’s dinner, Nash. Not a commitment ceremony.” I nudged his shoulder with mine.
“Yeah, okay, fine. But only if Everett is okay with it. What about Reese?”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t join us for dinner. Eats in his room,” I murmured.
“How’s he doing otherwise?” Nash asked. “He must be hurting.”
