“Do it. I’ll shout if I need you.”
It was all the reassurance Marc required, and he set to work repairing a mangled ankle and calf that looked not unlike the pictures he’d seen of his own while he’d been in Chicago. Three years he’d managed to avoid them, but a dropped file had spoiled the party, and Marc hadn’t forgotten the images of his chewed-up leg.
Never would.
The foot repair kept him busy for a couple of hours, and by then, the phone had rung again, and it kept ringing in an unprecedented wave of blue calls until Marc had long forgotten about being bored.
It was well past dawn by the time he limped to his car. His surgical wounds had healed well, but with the extended shift, he’d been standing far longer than his surgeon would’ve liked. Still, the biker’s foot had been saved. Marc had got word from upstairs as he’d clocked out, and he carried the faint buzz all the way home, clinging to it to keep the smell of the young man’s torn flesh at bay.
A bucket load of exhaustion helped too. Marc was bone-deep tired by the time he parked the Punto in front of the old manor house. He nearly didn’t notice the scrawny, denim-clad figure leaning against the drystone wall. Maybe the image of a slightly damp and dishevelled Jamie was a figment of his overtired imagination.
* * *
Marc scrubbed a hand down his face and blinked a few times as Jamie pushed himself off the wall and loped towards him. He had to be seeing things.I didn’t tell him where I lived, did I?ButMarc had no idea. His recollection of the time they’d spent together seemed to include every word that Jamie had uttered, but few of his own.
Jamie stopped in front of him, chewing on his lip. “You’ve been gone all night.”
“How do you know that?”
“Couldn’t sleep, so I walked around a lot.”
“What kept you awake?”
“Does it matter?”
It mattered to Marc, but given the faint scowl lurking in Jamie’s gaze, it clearly wasn’t something he was prepared to share.He looks cold.And well Jamie should clad only in his skinny jeans and denim jacket.
Marc fished his house keys from his pocket. “Come in. You’ll catch your death in that coat.”
Without waiting for an answer, he unlocked the front door and went inside, trusting that Jamie would follow, and prepared to chalk him up as an apparition after all if he didn’t.
But Jamie did come inside. He trailed Marc to the AGA-warmed kitchen before he let out an oddly childlike sigh. “I hate being cold, but sometimes I don’t mind it if I’m outside. It stops me feeling numb, you know?”
Marc nodded. “I hear you. Wanna brew?”
“Um... okay, if you don’t mind.”
“Wouldn’t have offered if I did, mate.”
Jamie smiled slightly. “Fair enough. Have you got coffee?”
“Buckets of it. Keeps my old arse going.”
“You’re not that old.”
“Feel it this morning. It was a long night.”
“At the hospital?”
Marc filled the stove-top kettle and chucked it on the AGA. “Yeah. I’m on nights until Wednesday.”
“It’s Saturday morning now. That’s a lot of nights.”
“Keeps me out of trouble.”
“Does it?”
Marc hooked a couple of mugs from the cupboard. “Mostly. What have you been up to apart from roaming the streets? Do you work around here?”