Marc stopped walking. “What?”
“Your key. I won’t need it after—”
Marc pressed his hand over Jamie’s mouth. “Jesus Christ, do you not listen to a word I say to you? I told you I fucking loved you last night, and I meant it. Why on earth would I want the key back?”
Jamie squirmed until Marc let him go. “Okay, okay. I’ll keep it. You don’t need to manhandle me.”
“No? I thought you liked that shit.”
“Not the point.” Jamie ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to fix it. “But I’ll keep the key. Maybe I’ll sneak up on you one night, eh?”
“I’m sorta hoping that you’ll already be there. You know you can stay at mine whenever you like, don’t you? Don’t ever be alone and scared in that flat if being at my house will help you feel better.”
That Marc knew how fucking terrified Jamie had been in a place he was meant to call home broke his heart. And he couldn’t deny that being in Marc’s house was a balm to his soul, even if his OCD had eventually followed him there. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m going to miss you tonight.”
Marc sighed. “I’ll miss you too, but I’ll be home before you know it, and you can always call if you need me. If I don’t answer, I’ll ring back as soon as I can.”
It had never occurred to Jamie to contact Marc at work. He pictured him elbow-deep in blood and guts, his phone blaring obnoxiously in his back pocket, and knew he’d never do it.
“Thank you,” he said again. “But I think I’ll be okay. There’s a meeting I can go to later, and I might go and see Sheila after. I can meet you for breakfast in the morning, though?”
Marc trailed to a stop and pulled Jamie close, hugging him tightly before kissing him like they were still all alone in Jamie’s bed. “It’s a date.”
Sixteen
Marc tapped his fingers on the desk, pretending to be busy for the benefit of anyone who might want to talk to him. It was dawn, and he was nearing the end of his shift, but that meant nothing in an A & E department. Despite it being a quiet night so far, there was still time for someone’s misfortune to ruin his day.
“Dr. Ramsey?”
“Yep.” Marc glanced up from his notes to see a junior doctor hovering. “What is it?”
“Could you check a finger laceration for me? I think it’s okay to tape, but there’s some numbness in the tip.”
Marc sighed and logged out of the doctor’s area on the department computer. Another case would mean more paperwork, which meant it would take longer to get his shit done before he could take Jamie home from the 8 a.m. appointment he’d managed to secure him.
With Jamie on his mind—like he had been most of the night—Marc followed the junior doctor to the cubicle and forced himself to focus. The young woman had her hand splayed out on the treatment table, her finger wrapped in a thick bandage. Doctor mode kicked in, and Marc peeled back the dressing, and examined the wound. “This needs stitching,” he said. “And you’ll need to see a nerve specialist if the numbness doesn’t improve.”
The young woman blanched. “Will I get full feeling back?”
“Hard to say. We’ll stitch you up and refer you on, but while some nerve injuries can heal on their own, it will probably never be quite the same.”
“Is there a specialist who can look at it before I have stiches?”
Marc shook his head. “You have movement in the joint, so we know it’s not a major nerve. All we can do in A & E is repair the wound and refer you back to your GP to treat any residual numbness.”
The woman seemed perplexed that there were no finger specialists available to treat her at sunrise, but Marc wasn’t in the mood to commiserate. In the field, he’d have glued her up, handed her weapon back, and sent her on her way. At home, the twenty minutes he spent demonstrating wound repair to the junior doctor was a luxury.
At the end of his shift, he was finishing up his paperwork when the triage nurse came to tell him that someone was asking for him at the front desk.Jamie.Work forgotten, Marc instructed the junior doctor on his last patient’s aftercare plan and hurried through the department to the reception area.
Jamie was waiting by a vending machine, hands in his pockets, bottom lip firmly trapped between his teeth.
Marc came up behind him and took his arm, then led him to a quiet corner. “How did it go?”
“Exactly how you said it would. The shrink said I have OCD and gave me a prescription. He also made me an appointment to come back and start a course of CBT, which he said might help with my addiction management too.”
Jamie’s face gave nothing away. Marc spied the green prescription note poking out of his pocket and gestured to it. “Can I see?”
“If you like.”