“So am I.” Marc sat up. “I need to piss, which means I have to hop to your bathroom, or ask you to pass me my fake leg. And the hopping is more likely, unless I ask you to help me to the bog, because you were right to take the prosthesis off. What’s left of my leg hurts like a bitch.”
Marc hauled himself to the edge of the bed, clearly analysing the distance to the door and the furniture that lay in between, and perhaps whether his still-shaking arms could hold him.Fuck that.Jamie helped him stand and supported him to the bathroom door so he could use the sink to navigate the rest of the way on his own.
He turned his back while Marc relieved himself, only looking around when he heard the toilet flush. “Do you want a shower?”
“I could go for a bath if you’ll join me?”
How could Jamie refuse? He set the bath to run and fetched coffee while Marc waited, and then they lay together in the steamy water, talking about everything and nothing, until the real world called them back.
* * *
It was early afternoon by the time Marc forced himself to get dressed. They’d spent much of the morning rolling around Jamie’s bed—kissing, fucking, and everything that came in between—but eventually, Marc had to go home and get ready for work.
He didn’t fancy driving, and when Jamie insisted on walking him home, they took a detour to the river on the way. “I wish you didn’t have to work tonight.”
Marc cast a glance Jamie’s way as they ambled lazily along the waterside. “Yeah? Thought I’d worn you out.”
Jamie flushed, still taken aback by how a simple look from Marc could get him so hot under the collar. “You have. I just don’t feel like letting you go yet, and I’m hungry.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Food always tastes better when you’re around.”
Marc chuckled, but his humour didn’t last long before he fixed Jamie with a shrewd stare. “I’m going to talk to some people tonight. See if I can get you referred.”
Reality draped itself over Jamie like a cold, dreary rain cloud. “There’s probably no need. I feel good today.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jamie scowled and jerked away as Marc reached for him. “Don’t baby me. I’m fine.”
“I know you are right now, but you deserve to feel like that all the time. It won’t hurt to talk to someone who can help you get there.”
Put like that, Jamie had no sensible defence. He sighed and slipped his arm through Marc’s, slowing briefly to knock his head on Marc’s shoulder. “Sorry. I’m just scared of it. I read somewhere that the only way to get better from stuff like this is to face all the things that you’re afraid of. What if they make me roll in dust, or something?”
“What if they do? You’ve survived worse.”
“Stop being so logical.”
“Sorry,” Marc said, though he didn’t sound all that contrite. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?”
“Calling the library and arranging for them to come and collect a few boxes of your mum’s books. The antique man is coming to get the boxes in the hall on Tuesday, but I was thinking about the rest of the books...”
“Thinking what?” Marc pressed when Jamie trailed off.
“I was thinking that I could maybe take them to the community kitchen? There’s a lounge area where people hangout while they’re waiting for food parcels. There’s magazines and stuff, but they’re all shit gossip ones. It’d be good to put some real literature in there.”
“Does this mean you got offered the job in the kitchen?”
“Yeah. Sheila sent me an email this morning.”
“Are you going to take it?”
Jamie shrugged. “I might as well. I’m nearly done at your place, and no one else will hire me.”
“Your friend came looking for you, not the other way around. I’d say that was a pretty good indication that you have something they need.”
Stop running yourself down.Marc didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to—Jamie could read him. “Do you want me to give your key back when I’m done with upstairs?”