“Jamie,” Marc said again. “You don’t have to run away every time you’ve had enough of me for one day.”
“It’s not you I’ve had enough of. It’s me. Besides, you’ve been up all night. You might not want to go to bed, but you still need to sleep.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
Jamie shrugged. “I think so. I’m not usually this morbid, I swear. I guess I’m just bored. Maybe I’ll be better when I find a job.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Why?”
It was Marc’s turn to shrug. “Why not? We’re, uh, friends, aren’t we?”
Were they? Jamie had no idea, but he wasn’t going to shoot Marc down if he was offering. “What’s that got to do with me being terminally unemployed?”
“I’ve got something you can help me with if you want to earn some cash while you keep looking.”
“Like what?”
Marc gestured all around them. “This house. It needs clearing out, and I don’t have the time or the legs to do it myself. I’ve been meaning to put an ad in the local rag for weeks now, but if you’re willing you, could save me the trouble.”
“You want me to work for you?”
“Not particularly. I want to spend time with you—get to know you better, but I also want to help you. And I need some help myself. What do you say?”
“Um.” Jamie chewed his lip. The notion of spending his days in Marc’s house, rooting through the contents of all the mystery rooms, was the best offer he’d had in years, but did he want to take Marc’s money when, if they were friends after all, it was something he could do out of the simple desire to help a mate out?
“Don’t answer me now,” Marc said when Jamie didn’t respond with a sensible answer. “Think about it. You know where I am when you decide. And come over anyway, even if you don’t want to do it. If I’m not at the hospital, I’m usually here.”
“You don’t go anywhere else?”
“Not around here. I shoot off to see friends when I get itchy feet, but I’m trying to stop that at the moment. Face my life for what it is so I can make it better.”
“It’s not easy to face yourself?”
“You tell me.”
Jamie grinned a little. “Touché. I’d better go. I’ll see you soon?”
“With any luck. Take care, Jamie.”
“You too.”
Seven
It was a week or so before Jamie reappeared on Marc’s doorstep, and by then, Marc was as back on his feet as he’d ever be. He was also working a week of day shifts, so it was dark when he pulled up outside the house, and Jamie’s slender form caught him off guard when it loomed out of the darkness.
“Sorry.” Jamie’s smirk said he was anything but. “Did I scare you?”
“Not really. I just wasn’t expecting you.”
“I can come back another time—”
“Shut it.” Marc jammed his key in the front door. “I wasn’t expecting you because I figured you’d have stopped by already if you wanted to see me.”
“Oh. Um, yeah. Sorry about that. I’ve been going to meetings in Derby to keep myself busy. It’s a three-hour round trip and talking about junk with other junkies wears me out. I know it’s good for me, but it scares me too.”
After decades with men who’d divulged as few of their real emotions as possible, Marc was slowly growing used to how much Jamie could reveal about himself in just a couple of words. He let them into the house and headed straight for the kitchen, since Jamie had seemed to like it so much last time.