Nash smirks, stepping closer, but there’s a line in his brow I don’t miss. “You’re still six days post-concussion, on crutches, and surrounded by drunk people.” His eyes shift to the guy he chased off, leaning on another woman’s table with the same slick smile he used on me. “And assholes.”
“You worried about me, Doc?” I mean it as a joke, but my stomach twists in recognition that yeah, Nash Kincaid seems worried about me. “It’s only amaretto on ice. I’m sipping. Slowly. Just enough to make me feel like a real person for a minute.”
Nash’s gaze lingers on mine, more curious than critical. “You feeling okay?” he asks. “Headaches? Nausea? Any pain or increased swelling after today’s session?”
I shake my head. “I feel surprisingly good. I mean, notgoodgood. Considering. But, after today’s news… after the last week really… I needed a night where I don’t feel like the universe is chewing me up and spitting me out.”
I brace for another lecture. Instead, he nods slowly. “I get that.”
That simple phrase lodges somewhere in my chest. Not a compliment. Not pity. Just truth.
And gratitude washes over me once again.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
“If you start feeling dizzy or disoriented, nauseated, anything out of the ordinary at all, you call me. I’ll be here in a heartbeat.” Nash’s voice lowers. “I know you hate feeling helpless. You’re not. You’ve got help.”
His eyes flick back to the crowd, like he’s looking for something, or maybe trying to figure out if he should stay. Meanwhile I’m wrestling with big thoughts and big feelings.
Here I am, my life teetering out of control, and I feel safe for the first time in a long time.
Who woulda thought it’d feel so good to be taken care of?
“So,” I say, not ready to say goodbye but not sure how to move forward, “what’s got you out tonight? This doesn’t exactly feel like your kinda place.”
Nash shrugs and leans in slightly. “I’m here because… well it doesn’t matter why I’m here. I saw you and I wanted to make sure you’re okay. And also to tell you I’m preparing a little musical education for our next rehab session.”
That gets a real laugh out of me. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” he says, deadpan. “You’ll thank me. You’ll see.”
His gaze lingers on mine for a second too long—steady, unreadable—then shifts to Stella and Gabby, both of whom are watching him carefully.
He straightens. “Ladies,” he says with a nod. “Take care of her.”
“We always do,” Stella replies, cool but not unkind.
Nash backs off, disappearing into the crowd. I follow him with my eyes longer than I should. Something about the way he walks—purposeful, sharp—sticks in my brain.
I take another sip, pulse still misfiring. “I think I see what you were talking about with the smoldering.”
“Kincaids,” Stella mutters. “They walk around like they own the place.”
“I don’t know,” Gabby says, softer. “It’s kind of nice. Being looked after.”
“Looked after?” Stella lifts an eyebrow. “More like managed.”
“Perspective’s a funny thing. Grayson used to do that, before…” Gabby gives a sad shrug to sum up the way her high school sweetheart shattered her heart when he chose his career over her.
I don’t say anything. I just keep sipping my drink, pretending I’m not watching the crowd for a second glimpse of a man I’m absolutely not thinking about.
Not even a little.
Okay…
Maybe just a little.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
