After I’d stitched up Nate’s hand at Harborview, I hadn’t expected to ever see him again. But then he was there at a Christmas party my roommate made me go to. I’d invited Gabe to the party that morning as he was dashing out of my apartment. But about an hour after arriving I knew he wasn’t coming. My high heels were pinching my feet, and I was feeling rejected and alone and, by that time, a little tipsy.

I’d run into Nate—literally—as I headed outside. He was looking down at his phone and we collided, red liquid from his cup spilling down the front of my dress.

“Oh, shit!” he’d exclaimed, eyes wide with horror. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t watching—I mean, I was texting my mom.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Or something less dorky.” He smiled, the left corner of his mouth pulling up in a way that was completely disarming. “It’s you.”

And there it was. Il colpo di fulmine. The thunderbolt hit me. Again.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I remember the physical sensation of relief I’d felt seeing him again. His touch felt like oxygen.

Nate held his hand up to show me his scar, a neat seam. “You’d barely know it was there. Thank you.”

I flushed. “It was nothing.”

“Hey, do you want me to take you home to get changed?”

“Excuse me?”

Nate laughed at my expression. “I mean, your dress. It’s covered in cranberry juice.”

“Oh!” I brushed at the damp patches. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you trust me?” He smiled.

The funny thing was, I did trust him. Without even knowing him, I felt a closeness that I’d never felt before.

We went back to my apartment and stayed up talking all night. We never returned to the party. And when Gabe finally called a few weeks later, I didn’t answer the phone. I never looked back.

Nate had told me his dad had suffered a stroke a few years back. He told me about his high school sweetheart who’d abruptly dumped him the day before he left for the police academy. He told me about his friend Robbie, who’d killed himself right before graduation, and the guilt he carried because he’d allowed Robbie to be bullied.

I’d realized then that there was so much more to Nate than met the eye. He seemed so happy-go-lucky, sweet, with a little bit of swagger. But there was something a little broken, hidden like a bruise before it purpled the skin. I could see it in his eyes. It drew me to him as much as our initial chemistry had.

Maybe I wanted to fix him a little bit.