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Nash

Today

Wide-eyed I jolt up, making my hungover-as-hell head throb, and visibly scour every inch of the room, searching for the source of what woke me. The cool morning air brushes against my sweat-damp skin, goose bumps flare down my arms and up the back of my neck.

Fuck. What time is it?

I shield my burning eyes with my right hand from the few bright rays of morning sun pouring through the east-facing window.

Coming up empty on any visible threats, I whisper a quick prayer that it wasn't my own scream that pulled me from the reoccurring nightmare. Wouldn't be the first time.

Or the last, I suppose, if recent history is any indication.

The mattress molds against my back and shoulders as I collapse back and hold my head between my hands.

Shit, how much did I drink last night?

My cell phone, which I must have discarded sometime in my drunken stupor, vibrates insistently against the dark hardwood floor. Peeling a hand from my eyes, I squint into the brightness, testing to see how debilitating this hangover really is. When the light doesn't singe my eyeballs, I lean across the bed and stretch for the still vibrating phone. But I’m stopped when a big, black, wet nose presses against my cheek and a soft tongue licks up my neck.

"Good morning to you too. Fair warning, you might get drunk just by licking me," I say to the dog with as much of a smile as I can muster these days while scratching behind both floppy ears.

The pang of jealousy at the happy and content look on his face reminds me of how utterly pathetic I am nowadays. Pushing him aside, I lean against the edge of the bed to reach the still- vibrating phone when my stomach rolls, readying to extract all last night’s cheap beer. Aborting the cell phone mission, I slowly maneuver back into a prone position and drag a blanket over my head.

But the darkness, confined space, and warm humid air from my stale breath send me right back to the place I’m trying to forget. Three seconds, maybe five, under the damn blanket and I rip it off, allowing it to fall to the floor. Damn. This new, not improved version of Nash Bartley is fucking pathetic.

Not that it matters.

These days nothing matters, because I survived and she didn’t.

The dog's nails click against the floor as he paces the room, stopping every once in a while to stare in my direction, almost looking worried. That ridiculous thought makes me laugh. Not a real laugh, but a harsh, incredulous huff. I haven't had a real laugh since Africa, which has to be ass-backward considering the conditions we were in.

Soft, curly fur brushes against my bare chest, and big chocolate brown eyes stare up with unconditional love swirling within. Maybe he does understand what’s going on; animals do have a sixth sense about stuff like this. And the way he’s staring up with worry in his eyes, I have to believe he knows I need help.

So it's come to this. Even a dog knows I need help.

Great.

The vibrating resumes from the floor, pulling my attention from the soul-searching eyes of the gray goldendoodle who's now attempting to inch his eighty-pound body onto the bed. With a loving pat, I push him off and grunt as I lean over, trying not to bend at the waist too much in case the hangover nausea makes a comeback, and snatch the phone off the floor. After a quick glance at the screen, I flop back on the bed and use a spare pillow to cover my face, leaving the rest of my naked body to feel the gentle breeze from the overhead fan.

"Hello," I mumble under the pillow.

"You sound like shit," Drake says on the other end of the line. "Get your ass out of bed. You have work to do."

Work?

Fuck him. He damn well knows I'm still out on medical leave. The fucker does own the company, after all.

"Can't. Still recovering, boss." Letting the pillow fall to the side, I toss my legs over the side of the bed and grip my pounding head with my free hand. "Hell, it feels like I took a bullet to the brain yesterday. That counts for something, right?"

"You have fifteen minutes. Raider and Tex are on their way. They’ll fill you in on the details." Silence from his end stretches, creating uncertain tension. "Nash." Shit. If he's using my name, this can't be good. Then he says it. The three words I've dreaded and hoped for since failing her that final day. Our last day together.

"We found her."

I squeeze my eyes shut to focus solely on those words. ‘We found her.’ My chest heaves with each deep breath in an attempt to keep the room from spinning around me.

The phone slips from my tight grip as I grate out, "It's been months. What does that even mean?" A gut-wrenching pain that makes you cry out to any deity to make it stop mixes with deep relief, ebbing and flowing until I can’t decipher which is which.

"You'll get the details from Raider. Now get your sorry, lazy ass out of bed, Snowflake. Take a shower. Drink a fucking cup of coffee. Do whatever you need to do, but be ready in fourteen minutes."