Page 37 of Threadbound

“Are you getting it treated?”

Damn the man for being too perceptive. “I’m… trying,” he answered. “It isn’t easy.”

“Expensive?”

“Not—not in the way you mean.” Bran swallowed around the rock of guilt in his throat. “It’s just… difficult.”

“But you can get better?” There was something that might have been hope in those words, and Bran clung to it.

“I can.” True, even if he didn’t end up following through with it.

“Would—” Jamie hesitated, then bit his lip. “Would food help?”

It probably would, but Bran already owed Jamie so much. More than he was likely to be able to repay anytime soon—or ever, especially if the magic claimed his sanity sooner rather than later.

Jamie stepped away, and Bran immediately missed the feeling of his fingers. He almost reached out, then kept his hand to himself. Jamie didn’t need Bran demanding anything more of him. And Bran didn’t need to owe anything else—in addition to his life and tenuous health—to the half-breed.

Jamie went to retrieve a cloth bag he’d dropped near the door when he’d rushed to Bran’s side, and now he brought it over, pulling his chair close to the hospital bed again. He pulled a foil-wrapped packet out of the bag.

“Do you—like ham? Or tuna? I—I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I made both. And I have some granola bars.” He took a wrapped snack bar out of the bag.

Bran felt his throat tighten, and he swallowed, annoyed at the surge of emotion. “You brought me food?”

“I mean, nothing’s open at like one a.m., so it’s just what I had in the kitchen.” Jamie looked down at himself, and Bran noticed that he was no longer wearing the sweat-and-blood-stained t-shirt he’d had on earlier. “I—didn’t have money or anything on me, so I ran home, and I figured I should change because I—” He swallowed, his features uncomfortable. “I had your blood all over me,” he half-whispered. “And since I was there, I just made us some sandwiches.”

Bran felt his lips twitch, almost against his will. He couldn’t help it. The idea that Jamie had gone home to change out of bloody clothes and just happened to make sandwiches because he was there struck Bran as oddly funny and endearing.Condatis and Lugh, what have you done to me?Actually getting to know Jamie had turned his life upside down, and everything he’d been sure of no longer fit into the pattern that Fate was setting before him. He wasn’t sure if he cared anymore.

“I—” A human would thank him. Bran couldn’t do it. “I like either,” he managed, and Jamie beamed anyway.

“Do you—can I help you sit up?”

Bran nodded.

Jamie stood, setting the food bag on his chair, and came over. “Tell me if I hurt you, okay? I don’t want to do that.”

Bran nodded again, and Jamie gently slid an arm around Bran’s uninjured side, helping him to sit up carefully as he used the funny control to raise the back of the bed. Bran winced, but the pain wasn’t bad, so he simply endured. It was worth the promise of food, however simple.

Settled again with a long, slow breath as Jamie eased him back, Bran managed a small smile, which Jamie seemed to accept in lieu of thanks, because he smiled back, then unwrapped a sandwich before setting the opened wrapping on Bran’s thigh. Now that he could smell the food, Bran’s stomach awakened, and he ate quickly, all but inhaling the sandwich—ham and cheese, with greens and a tomato and some sort of dressing.

Jamie unwrapped a second sandwich and ate, too, which at least made Bran feel less self-conscious, although he finished before Jamie did. He felt another surge of embarrassment as Jamie put down his sandwich to unwrap a granola bar, which he also handed to Bran.

Not only would it have been rude for Bran to refuse the gift, he was also hungry, not having eaten at all that day and barely having managed to scavenge enough to call a meal the day before.

Jamie was just finishing his sandwich—and Bran was halfway through his granola bar—when the woman returned, smiling upon seeing Jamie.

“There he is!” She offered them both a wide smile, although Bran could see lines of fatigue around her mouth and eyes.

“Me?” Jamie asked.

The woman nodded, wheeling the cart over next to Bran’s bed. “When I stopped in earlier, you weren’t here. I thought you might have gone for a cuppa.”

“I didn’t have my wallet on me, so I went home and figured sandwiches might be—better?”

The woman laughed. “I dare say they are,” she replied cheerfully. “No all night takeaway near you?”

Jamie shook his head. “No.”

“Well, let’s get this taken care of, and then we can let you go home to sleep in your own bed.” She smiled at Bran, who had been trying desperately to control his breathing once more.

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