For Better or Hearse

Chapter Fourteen

H is room’s quiet. Too quiet.

He and his family checked into their hotel on the Big Island earlier this afternoon. Royal Grace Resort is one of his grandfather’s triumphs. Floral, lush, and jewel toned. Tropical chic meets modern city.

After a day at the beach and then a winery tour, they’re all ready to call it an early night.

At ten o’clock, Nathaniel’s out on his balcony. Like the last hotel, he’s got a spectacular view of the ocean. Salty sea air. Above, the stars sparkle extra-bright against the inky sky. A lush tree canopy frames the sky. A slice of a silver moon. Despite the million-dollar view, annoyance beats through him. He doesn’t share this balcony with Ash and his grandfather. They’re on the floor below him.

It shouldn’t matter.

But he’s used to her sounds. Soft muttered curses. Banging. Talking to herself.

It’s sociopathic of him to be so attuned to her. But she’s a body on this trip. And an interesting one at that. Making that little kid cry today…

Nathaniel chuckles and stares into the dark.

She looks like your type.

Why the hell did he reply the way he did? The idea that Ash thinks he only wants blondes in high heels annoys him. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

In fact, he can’t help but be drawn to Ash.

She’s excessively goofy and earnest and maybe a little off-putting with her positive attitude and mean sense of humor .

She’s a mix tape blasted to the max, and even then, he wants to crank the dial until it snaps.

The woman is entirely too beautiful. The husky sound of her voice. Those blood-red lips. Her feral black hair. That impossible-to-ignore yellow bikini that breaks every synapse in his brain.

He’s hated her since the moment she objected to his wedding. Now, she’s the only one he wants to talk to on this trip.

He’s teetering on the verge of an emotion, a discovery, he can’t describe. It’s dangerous. Not to mention confusing as fuck.

After Camellia, Nathaniel doesn’t do confusing. As an emergency physician, he was an expert in triage. Only he was constantly triaging and re-triaging their relationship. What he thought it was is not what it was. There were times that he felt like he was a window dressing. Along for a ride. Camellia’s ride. He won’t be miserable like his parents. He can’t make that mistake again.

A frantic, hammering knock— rap, rap, rap —jerks Nathaniel out of his feverish state.

“Nathaniel? Are you in there?”

Ash.

Flames rising in his chest, he crosses the room in less than a second. He lunges for the knob. Throws open the door.

Ash stands on the threshold, hugging herself. In the bright light of the hallway, her eyes are a kind of earthen moss. She’s in a robe that’s too big for her. Tied carelessly around the waist, one shoulder slipping low. Long bare legs. Her hair a wild, careless tangle.

“Nathaniel,” she gasps, her voice low, gravelly.

“What’s wrong?” he says, alarmed.

“It’s Augustus. He has a fever.”

Cold sears his stomach.

“I think he’s sick. I didn’t have your number. I didn’t know what to do, so I— ”

His hands land on her shoulders, cutting off her wild ramble. “Slow down.”

She sucks in a breath. “Can you—can you get your fancy doctor bag and come help?”

The corner of Nathaniel’s lips tug. “You assume I have one?”

She props her hands on her hips and stares at him. Waits.

“Fine,” he grumps, crossing the room to pull out the small satchel he brings with him in case of emergencies.

She brightens, a smile of vindication on her face. “I fucking knew it.”

“Pain in my ass,” he snaps, before softening his voice for her. “Come on, let’s go.”

Ash gives him a grateful look. Together, they head for the elevator. He tries not to notice, tries not to feel the absolute lock of his body as her small hand slips around his as they rush down the hall.

“Well?” Ash makes a sound of distress when Nathaniel exits Augustus’s room. She sits on the living room couch, hands tucked between her knees. “Is he okay? Is it the cancer?”

“Not cancer,” he says. He sets his bag on the bar. “My grandpops has all the classic symptoms of sunstroke.”

“Sunstroke?” A relieved breath puffs out of her. “Oh, thank god.” Then her face clouds. “This is my fault. I should have made sure he was—”

“It’s not your fault.” He doesn’t want her to blame herself. “My grandfather’s stubborn, and he’s also a grown-up. The sun down here gets most people.”

She studies him, her eyes swimming with worry, her full bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

“You did the right thing,” he says, wanting that worried look off her face. “Coming to get me. He’ll be okay. A lot of water, air-conditioning and rest.”

“Good,” she says, voice trembling. “Because it’ll only take me five to seven business days to recover.”

She looks toward the open balcony door where a warm breeze blows, but not before he sees a sheen in her eyes. Fuck.

Go. Walk out the door .

He doesn’t. The expression on her pretty face, so forlorn and lost, keeps him here. His legs won’t physically move. He doesn’t want her to be upset or sad. And he sure as hell doesn’t know what that says about him.

He eyes the bar. “Drink?”

“Running straight to whiskey as your main life hack?” Her eyes sparkle, clearer now. “Yes, please. I approve.”

He pours two fingers of amber liquid into a glass. Then another. Curling his hands around them both, he crosses the room. Once he’s lowered himself down beside her, he hands her one.

“Thank you,” she says, accepting it. She studies Augustus’s closed bedroom door. Lets out a long rush of breath. “I’m not ready. I’m really not ready for this.”

Surprise has his eyebrows lifting. “Isn’t this your job?” There’s no malice in it. Only a question. Curiosity.

“Yes.” Ash frowns, brows pinched. “But with everyone else, it was quick. Only weeks. But with your grandfather…” She trails off, a small smile tugging at the edges of her lips. Earnest. Honest. There’s no con in her smile. She deeply cares for his grandfather. The thought sears something deep inside him.

“I’m going to stay,” he says.

That’s all it takes for her tense expression to change to relief.

“To monitor him,” he elaborates. “If that’s okay with you.”

She nods. “I would really appreciate it.” With that, she takes a long gulp of her whiskey and shivers. “Tastes like fire.”

He lifts the glass to his lips. “Feels like it too.”

They sit side by side, their hips, outer thighs touching .

“So.” Ash’s attention is heavy on him. “This rig of yours. Is it dangerous?”

“It can be.”

She tilts her chin. “I read about what you do for work.”

He lets out a small chuckle. “Stalking me? Fits the pattern.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I like danger. It’s—”

She gasps. A mischievous smile curls her lips. “It’s your middle name, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes. “You looked it up?” Funny, how his heart beats double-time at the thought.

“I did. I now know more about water circulation and storm tides than I ever needed to.” Her eyes meet his. She arches a dark brow. “I read up on Byford Dolphin.”

A laugh escapes him. “Jesus. You picked the worst of the worst.”

“What can I say? I like my morbid facts.” Ash sips what’s left of her whiskey. Tilts her head, causing her long black hair to curl around her shoulders. “What’s it like?”

“Most times, it’s boring. We play cards. Bullshit. Do standard check-ups. But then there’s work. I thrive on the chaos when it happens.”

Ash asks him, her voice quiet, “Have you ever saved anyone out there?”

“Yeah.” His lungs squeeze tight, making it hard to breathe. “I have.” He should stop talking. But she’s looking at him in a way that he likes. In the eye. With interest. It’s a trance she puts him in. Her closeness, her warmth. He’s not sure how she does it.

He scans her curious expression for a heartbeat, then takes a deep breath and continues. “One time, a crane fell, triggering an explosion on the rig. We were in a rescue craft picking up survivors that had managed to swim out. We did what we could. We triaged there since we couldn’t set up on the helideck.” He swallows. The memory a haunted whisper in his ear. “But we got too close to the debris. The propeller got caught, and our boat was engulfed. It threw our crew and the survivors into the water. We were picked up from sea an hour later. Two of my crew died.”

Beside him, Ash has gone still. Her face pale. “That sounds horrifying, Nathaniel.”

He leans back against the couch. “It can be. But I like the chaos of it. The long hours. The distraction. The schedule.” He rubs his jaw. “Four weeks on. Four weeks off. After Hawaii, I’m going to Peru to hike the Inca Trail.”

Ash cradles her whiskey glass in her palm. “Augustus says you’re running away.”

He fixes her with a look. “Is that what you did all day? Discuss me?”

A pink flush creeps into her cheeks. “Among other things.” She tilts her dark head at Augustus’s door. “Your grandfather wants you to be happy.”

“I will be. One day.” He gives a quick laugh. “But I know he’d like to see it now.”

Ash doesn’t respond right away. Eventually, though, she clears her throat. “So listen. Can I tell you a truth?”

“Truth away.”

“I think you’re unhappy because of me. Because of what I did to you.” She looks down at her lap, her hair falling like a curtain, obscuring her face. A weary growl pops out of her mouth. “It wasn’t nice. And it wasn’t right.”

Nathaniel’s heart suspends itself in his chest. Thumps hard against his ribs.

Looking up, she studies him from beneath her long dark lashes. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Saving marriages before they got wrecked. But only if they needed it. And I thought yours did.” Ash balls a fist. Bulldozes ahead. “I believed the wrong thing about you, Nathaniel.”

He glances at her. “This almost sounds like an apology.”

“It is. I fucked up. I made you pay for—” She catches herself, stops. A sadness, an emptiness, reveals itself in her eyes, an expression he hasn’t seen before.

A hot poker jabs him in the jugular. “For what?”

“Nothing.” A sharp inhale. “I’m sorry. I am truly sorry for what I did to you.”

Nathaniel stares at her like he’s never seen her before.

The words land between them like a shock. Tentative. A peace offering.

Eventually, he organizes his thoughts. Finds his voice. “Thanks,” he says quietly, turning the whiskey glass around in his hand. “I didn’t expect that tonight.” But damn if her apology doesn’t mean everything.

“I never should have been doing it anyway,” Ash admits on a sigh.

“Why were you?”

Her mouth twists to the side. Sharp and savage. “Let’s just say young, dumb love.”

His jaw clenches. “Tell me. How’d you come to that conclusion? That you were wrong?”

At first, it looks like she’ll evade his question. Then she shakes her head. Says, “Before you say anything stern and scolding, I swear I never took on a job without evidence. Proof. I didn’t just break up couples willy-nilly.” Chewing her bottom lip, she searches his face, mossy irises misty. “There was a photo of you with another woman. It looked bad. But yesterday, when we were at the pool…” She inhales a breath, then bursts out, “It was Delaney in that photo. She was on the set of her movie. Blue hair. Strip club.”

A murky memory surfaces, of Delaney hopping over him to sit beside him in the booth right before hoovering the salad he had brought her for lunch. It makes sense. It also explains why Ash reacted the way she did at the pool.

“I didn’t know it was your sister,” Ash insists. “I thought it was some…some trollop. My whole criteria got thrown off. My ra dar.” Her brow furrows. “I’m usually really good with things like that.”

Warmth spreads in his chest. It’s stupid, but he’s relieved. That she knows the truth. And why? Why does Ash Keller’s opinion of him matter? He’ll forget all about her after this vacation.

“Will you tell me?” he asks. “Who hired you to object?”

She drops her gaze, taps her whiskey glass with those long black nails. “I can’t. I’m sorry. Client confidentiality.”

He sits with that. Understands. Despite the thread of disappointment that weaves through him.

Smearing a hand through his hair, he leans back against the couch. Ash does the same.

The truth about Camellia is like a lock box. Only he holds the key. Moments like the one at their rehearsal dinner when he held his breath as Camellia downed a shot of tequila when no one was looking and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

Everyone thought Ash ruined his life. Including him. But she didn’t.

He ruined his life.

Agreeing to take over his father’s practice when it was the last thing he wanted to do.

Putting that ring on Camellia’s finger.

It was all him. And he’s been so angry for so long. Blaming it on Ash. But deep down, it wasn’t her he was angry at.

The thought has him looking up at the woman in question. Their eyes meet, a quiet sort of calm there.

“You did me a favor,” he says.

Ash’s sharp intake of breath is audible.

“With Camellia. But I’ll never admit that again.” He clears his throat. “Does that ease your conscience?”

“Somewhat.” She spears him with a grateful look. A timid smile. “If it makes you feel any better…I stopped after that.”

“Gee, thanks,” he says dryly .

“Again,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

He sets his glass down. Folds his arms across his chest. “You should go to bed.”

She’s apologized enough. No more.

“No way. If you’re in it, I’m in it.” She gives him a half smile, her eyes dark and sleepy.

With a sigh, she curls up on the couch, her body, still swaddled in the robe, brushing against his thigh.

His blood heating, Nathaniel surveys her lean frame. Unlike his body. Rigid, stiff, robotic.

The last thing he needs to do is touch her. It’s bad enough he’s attracted to her. The bulge in his fucking pants mocks him.

Talk about something else. Anything else.

Attention drawn to her boots, sitting in the corner of the room, sand caked on the soles, he says, “Boots won’t last.”

“Ugh, you’re so right.” Her low, husky laugh ripples over his body. “I have to empty a pile of sand from them every time I take them off. I could fill an hourglass.”

His gaze darts to her mouth, curved and feline. He forces the hard knot down his throat. “My number,” he says abruptly. “You should have it. Just in case.”

“Mmm,” she hums, handing over her phone. Nathaniel plugs in the numbers, giving himself the name Tall Asshole .

When he gives it back, Ash laughs. “What does this mean?” she teases. “We hate each other significantly less now? Only 97 percent of the time?”

Nathaniel rolls his eyes. “Ninety-five,” he replies. “My grandfather likes you. And you’re good for him. I think there’s a chance we can get through this trip without tossing each other into a volcano.”

“What if I want to be tossed into a volcano?” she replies, without missing a beat.

He fights the smile tugging at his lips. “That can be arranged. ”

“Ten more days,” Ash murmurs, stretching out on the sofa. She rests her head on the armrest.

Vaguely, ridiculously, Nathaniel wishes it was his shoulder.

“Not friends, not enemies,” she says. “Frenemies. A good old-fashioned truce.”

“A truce,” he agrees, scanning the room for a blanket to cover her with. He finds one draped on a chair across the room, but he doesn’t want to move. Can’t move. Isn’t willing to disrupt this tentative peace between them. Their bodies bridged. Connected. Ash’s feet tucked under his legs. Her knees against his thighs. Her tired eyes fluttering shut even as she fights to stay awake.

Ten more days.

He can do ten more days.

What a fucking awful liar he is.