Jamie said it almost absently before the weight of his words seemed to catch up with him. He stared at Marc, his face an odd mix of horror and apathy, and Marc fought the urge to blink and look away. The implication that Jamie had sold himselfdidturn his stomach, but not for the reasons Jamie was likely imagining, and suddenly all Marc wanted to do was take Jamie in his arms and hold him until the cloud of self-loathing faded from Jamie’s beautiful face.
But Marc didn’t move from his spot leaning against the counter, and it was Jamie who broke the silence. “Where are your crutches?”
“I don’t need them all the time. Only when I’ve had surgery, or some mad physio.”
“Physio?”
“Yeah. My body sometimes forgets it’s not whole anymore and needs a bit of help remembering how to handle the prosthesis.”
“The what?”
Ah.Not for the first time, Marc had forgotten that his disability wasn’t as obvious as it often felt. But itwasthe first time he’d ever felt nervous about revealing it. For an unknown and nonsensical reason, he couldn’t find the words.
So he bent down and pulled up the left leg of the sweatpants he’d worn home from the hospital and exposed his metal ankle, and then his shin, with the curve of plastic behind it that masqueraded as his missing calf muscle, all the way until he came to the bandaged stump.
For a long moment he didn’t dare look up, and Jamie’s gasp hit him in waves, each ripple bringing a new emotion as baffling as the last. Marc had shown hundreds of people his leg—he’d used himself as an example in the lectures on amputation he’d given at UCL last year. So why did the sympathy he saw in Jamie’s face when he finally looked up hurt so much?Nothing about this kid makes sense.But Marc couldn’t pin the ache in his chest on Jamie. This was all him, and he knew why, even as the three-week-old tingle returned to his lips.
He let his trouser leg drop and straightened up. “I lost most of it in a blast in Basra. They cut the rest off later.”
“What sort of bomb?”
“What?”
Jamie ghosted forward. “What kind of explosion was it? I read about the coalition dropping cluster bombs on their own men. Was it one of them?”
Of all the things Jamie could’ve said, it was a million miles from what Marc had expected. “It was an IED, actually.”
“A roadside bomb?”
“Yes. Did you read about those too?”
“A bit. I like newspapers. I used to pinch them from the bins in the city centre. They pass the time when you’ve got no life, and I read them now instead of watching TV. I don’t like TV; it gets in my head too much.”
“You don’t like films either?”
“I’d rather read a book.” Jamie’s gaze drifted to Marc’s leg and back again, his curiosity clear.
Fuck that.Marc pushed himself off the counter. “Come with me.”
Jamie followed him to the steep staircase in the hall and glanced up at the dark landing. “Is this where you reveal yourself as an axe murderer? Lure me upstairs and kill me with a hosepipe? ’Cause, no offense, mate, but I can get that shit on Grindr.”
Marc chuckled. “Really? I didn’t see anything that interesting last time I was on Grindr. Just a bunch of weirdos who sent me ball-bag photos in place of a hello.”
Jamie sniggered too. “I haven’t been on it over here. I only used it in Cali to kid myself that I could get a shag if I wanted one. Never met anyone, though.”
“Probably for the best if you were trying to live a different life. I don’t use it anymore. Random hookups are a lot harder to live with when you go home to the same bed every night. When I was working away, I could meet someone, then get on a plane a few hours later, forget it ever happened. It stays with me these days, everything does.” Marc rubbed his face tiredly. “Sorry, I’m waffling.”
“Nah, it’s all right. I like listening.”
“And reading,” Marc said. “Which is why I want you to go upstairs. Down the hall, third door on the left. Light switch is on the landing. Right there, see?”
Jamie nodded. “You’re not coming?”
“I’ll be behind you... just a bit slower. These stairs do my hip in.”
“What’s wrong with your hip?”
“Bullet chipped a bone. Nothing major.”