Page 9 of Discover Me
"No idea. Haven't checked."
That had stung more than I wanted to admit.
Haven't checked.
Hadn't even bothered to find out if I lived or died after he left me with the paramedics.
Why would he? I was just another person who needed help, another stranger in a long line of people he'd probably saved or helped over the years. Nothing special. Nothing worth remembering.
A sharp knock on my front door jolts me out of my thoughts. Before I can even call out, the door swings open and Jamie waltzes in with a covered pan in his hands. The smell of eggs and cheese and bacon hits me immediately, making my stomach growl.
"Just walk in, why don't you?" I say, but there's no real heat to it.
Jamie grins, that stupid crooked smile that means he's pleased with himself, spreading across his face. "You gave me a key for emergencies. This is an emergency. You need food."
He sets the pan on my kitchen counter and immediately starts going through my cabinets like he owns the place, pulling out plates and forks. Then he grabs himself a mug and pours coffee from the pot I made this morning, taking a long sip before making an appreciative noise.
"I know you wouldn't eat," Jamie says, carrying the plates and forks to the counter. "Or you'd warm up something nasty like a piece of ham and cheese for breakfast. I'm doing my part as your friend to make sure you don't starve or develop scurvy or whatever happens when you eat like a bachelor."
I laugh, then immediately regret it as pain lances through my ribs. I clutch my side with my good hand, breathing carefully until the worst of it passes. "We all know your mom made that breakfast casserole and you're here for my coffee because the stuff your mother makes tastes like water."
"Guilty!" Jamie doesn't even try to deny it. He serves up generous portions of the casserole onto both plates, the cheese still melted and stretching between the pan and the porcelain. Steam rises from the food, making my mouth water despite the persistent nausea that's been my constant companion since the fall. "But I'm still a good friend for bringing it, so you have to give me credit."
He brings the plates over to the table, sliding one across to me with a fork. The casserole looks amazing, layers of eggs and potatoes and cheese and bacon all baked together into something that's probably terrible for my cholesterol but smells like heaven. I pick up my fork awkwardly with my left hand, still not used to being right-hand dominant and suddenly having to relearn how to do everything.
"How are you doing with everything?" Jamie asks around a mouthful of food. He's never been one for manners, especially not when it's just the two of us.
I shrug with my good shoulder, poking at the casserole. "Good as I can be, I guess. I have to figure out how to pay all this shit off before they start trying to come for my house or something."
Jamie's eyes flick to the stack of bills, his expression sobering. "You know all the people you've helped here wouldn't let that happen. This town takes care of its own, Micah. Your dad helpedhalf the people in this county with their construction projects, did half of it for free or cheap. That goodwill doesn't just disappear."
"Maybe." I take a bite of the casserole, chewing slowly. It's delicious, perfectly seasoned, and I make a mental note to thank Jamie's mom next time I see her. "But goodwill doesn't pay medical bills."
Jamie just sighs, redirecting the conversation. "What's going on with the investigation?" Jamie leans back in his chair as he picks up his coffee mug and cradles it in both hands.
"No fucking clue." Frustration bleeds into my voice. "Every time I call, they're still putting everything together. Gathering evidence, interviewing witnesses, building a case. And since I don't have money for a lawyer, I can't exactly sue them for damages. The county prosecutor will handle the criminal charges, but civil court is a different beast entirely."
"We can pool those funds together, Micah." Jamie sets his mug down, leaning forward earnestly. "Seriously. Pass the hat around at Henderson, talk to people at Riley's. Everyone knows what happened. Everyone wants to help."
"But where does it end?" I stare down at my plate, what little appetite I had fading. "I'm out of work for at least another five to seven weeks, maybe longer if my ribs don't heal right. Then even after I'm cleared to go back, I can't do heavy construction for at least another month or two after that according to the doctor. That's three to four months without income. How much charity can I accept before it becomes pathetic?"
Jamie opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again. He takes a large bite of casserole instead, chewing thoughtfully. His eyes wander around my small kitchen, taking in the peeling linoleum and the outdated appliances and the general lived-in shabbiness of the place. Then his gaze lands on something on the table and he snorts, nearly choking on his food.
"You still have that bouquet from Kellan?" He points at the dried petals sitting in a small dish near the bills. "You realize he didn't actually buy it, right? That was his manager or his PA or some assistant whose job is to send flowers and make him look good."
I make a noncommittal noise, taking another bite of casserole and not meeting Jamie's eyes.
Jamie's eyes widen. "Wait.Didhe buy it? Has he been talking to you or whatever? Please tell me Kellan Hayes has been secretly visiting you because that would make this whole disaster worth it."
I shake my head. "No. Nothing like that."
"Then why do you still have dead flowers on your kitchen table like some kind of shrine?" Jamie's tone is teasing but there's a real curiosity beneath it.
"I just can't get his scent out of my head," I admit quietly. "And I know that's stupid, I know it doesn't mean anything, but it's the one thing I have to look forward to, I guess. When everything hurts and I can't work and these bills are crushing me, I can smell those petals and remember that moment when someone gave a shit about whether I lived or died."
Jamie stares at me, his expression cycling through surprise and confusion before landing on something that looks almost like pity. Fuck, I hate that.
Jamie leans forward, lowering his voice like we're not alone in my house. "Are you one of those secret super fans or some shit? Do you have posters in your closet? A shrine in your bedroom?"
