Page 185 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“Can you finish this?” I held out a little cardboard box. The naked McNuggets filled it, white without the breading.
He wore a scowl, but he ate them all, since neither of us believed in wasting food. A question filled my mouth the entire drive.
Do you think it’s lust?
He’d told me to ask when I was sober, but every time it crawled toward my lips, I dug my nails into the leather.
This poor car. So abused by me.
At the hospital, Nash parked in a slot reserved for staff and guided me to a private entrance. We weaved through plain halls, stained by the stale scent of chemicals and death.
The intake room buzzed. Two teens clutched onto burned arms from a Fourth of July pyrotechnic display. An elderly woman rocked in her seat, rubbing at her arms. Patients filled every chair in the waiting room, and more stood to the side in various states of disheveled and broken.
“We’ll be here all day.” I groaned, brows dipping together when I noticed Nash walking to a door.
He arched a brow as if to say, Well? You coming or what?
A nurse approached him. “Sir, you can’t go in there.”
“My last name is on this building.” He flashed her a wolf’s smile. “I’ll go where I want.”
“Oh, Mr. Prescott.” The heels of her sensible sneakers squeaked with her retreat. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t catch your face. I’ll page a G.P.” She fled, not once turning back.
I groaned and followed Nash through a hallway he seemed to know well. “Don’t tell me you’ve turned into that douche.”
“That douche?”
“The one who pulls the money card every chance he gets.”
“Not usually.”
I stumbled after a sneeze and allowed Nash to steady me. “You donated this building and named it after yourself?”
“I named it after Dad.” He held a door open for me. “It’s the Hank Prescott Medical Center.”
“Oh.” I racked my brain for a polite way to say, horrible idea, but came up short. “He would have liked that.”
Nash snorted. “No, he wouldn’t have.”
“Yeah, he would have hated it.” I hopped onto the exam table. “He would have called it useless fanfare. Why'd you do it?”
“For starters, I wanted him immortalized by someone who isn’t you, me, Ma, or Reed.”
“If someone else remembers him, it makes his existence real.”
“Yeah.”
No wonder Nash’s chest was so broad. It housed such a big heart.
I wanted to apologize again for his loss, but it seemed inadequate. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but that seemed inadequate, too. I settled for studying him.
Nash tugged at the otoscope covers. Three coasted to the floor. He kicked them near the door. “The doctor that forced Dad off the trial is on the board of this hospital. It’s why I chose to rename it. I want that motherfucker to see it every time he at
tends a meeting.”
More words fringed his mouth. They laid dormant there, unspoken. I would have pressed, but an older doctor stepped into the room.
“Nash.”
