Nash Reirdan, the attending nurse that night, had been patient, calm and funny, a striking opposite to the serious female doctor assigned to stitch me up. He and I had exchanged phone numbers in the hall. Easily. With no awkwardness. And Nash had called me the next day. Now, here we were, six years later, best friends in a city that could be pretty brutal and unforgiving. I’d seen Nash through his roller coaster of a romance life, and he’d nursed me through two bad breakups.
Inside my apartment, I grabbed my phone and sat on the couch, staring at my cup of decaf coffee. I had a text message from Mom.
Sunday dinner? It’s been two weeks, Micah. You must be running out of clean clothes. Oh, and Justin will be there. We miss you. Xxx