Jayce

Jayce

I lock Namid's fingers tightly between mine as I lead him to my truck and open the passenger door. I don't know what to do with what he's just told me. I've never heard anyone say anything even remotely like that, but he obviously believes it. Mr. Johnson clearly believes it too. He's the one who told the medics that Namid wouldn't be joining him on the way to the hospital.

Namid was so afraid to tell me. My god, he actually told me that if I just stood up and walked away, he wouldn't follow or call or text ever again. After all the months we've spent together, after everything he's done for me while I've been at my lowest. He's the only one in the entire town who's helped me since I lost Jordyn, and he thinks I'd simply walk away.

Has that happened to him before? Has he tried to open up and ask for acceptance and been left because he's different? I meant what I told him. I accept him no matter who he is, even though I don't really understand exactly what he means. It honestly sounded a little crazy, and I hope I have the chance to discuss it a bit more with him in the future, but right now, his best friend - his father - is hurt, and he can't do anything other than sit in another building and wait.

He's silent as we drive the few miles into the center of town. His forehead is resting on the glass, and he's staring at nothing through the window. He startles as I place my hand on his knee. I'm not sure why I do it, other than he seems so sad and so alone, and I know all too well what that feels like. I don't want that for him. I don't want that for anyone, of course, but there is something about Namid that makes me want to protect him, care for him.

He's silent as I lead him up the front steps. He's never been to my house before. I haven't had anyone in my house for months, not since the night Jordyn stormed out and I lost him. He follows me inside but doesn't move once he's through the door.

"Hey."

His eyes snap to mine, and I offer the most comforting smile I can manage.

"It's going to be okay. Okay?"

He only nods. The small muscles in the side of his jaw are twitching, and it's blatantly obvious how upset he is. I reach out carefully. I want to help, but as tightly wound as he is in this moment, I'm afraid that any quick movement might spook him.

"Let's get you settled in, okay?"

I try to mimic the way he'd spoken to Ken as we waited for the ambulance, offering soft, repetitive reassurances as I unzip and remove his coat and guide him to my sofa with my fingertips on his elbow.

"You have your phone?"

He pulls it out of his pocket, clutching it tightly in both hands as he sinks into the cushions.

"Good. Okay. I'm going to go, but I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

His cheeks are wet as he glances up at me, and it's all I can do to nod and walk out the door instead of sinking down next to him and wrapping him up in my arms as if I can protect him from the world.

I rush into the medical center's small emergency department and sigh internally as I speed walk up to the young blonde woman who sits, half hidden behind computer screens, at the small reception desk. While the hospital has a dozen or so nurses, the woman at the desk is Cindy Buchannon, a woman whose heart Jordyn broke sometime in our early twenties. That's her take anyway. When Jordyn talked about their four whole dates, it sounded like they simply weren't a good match. I've run into her in town a few times since I lost Jordyn, and while she has never been my biggest fan, she's at least been civil in the past. Apparently, however, with Jordyn gone, the resentment she still holds has been redirected…to me.

"Cindy, come on. You know me. It's not like I'm some stranger trying to break in to steal narcotics," I beg for what feels like the tenth time. This is getting me nowhere.

"You're not his emergency contact, Jayce. How many times do I have to say it?"

"It's not like I'm trying to get back there so that I can trick Mr. Johnson into changing his will and leaving me the funeral home. Come on, Cindy."

Her smile is fake and icy as she continues. "Look, Jayce, these are federal privacy regulations. I can't just ignore them because I know who you are. Only emergency contacts are allowed in the emergency room."

"As I'm sure it says in Mr. Johnson's chart, Namid is his emergency contact, and he can't be here right now."

I'm sure her derisive snort is loud enough to be heard in the parking lot as she rolls her eyes.

"Of course he can't be. Why Ken would ever put that…"

I cut her off. I don't even want to guess how she plans to finish her sentence.

"Don't, Cindy. He's my friend too."

God. How has Namid survived in this town? I've always known that he's not overly welcome, but before getting to know him, I'd thought everyone to be politely indifferent, maybe even slightly curious or wary. I had no idea they were this rudely passive-aggressive. I still can't get over the way Bob watched him with suspicion while he waited for me to finish his truck the first time he'd seen Namid in Jordyn's office or the side-eyed looks we get just walking down the street or sipping our drinks together in the park. How has he managed to stay the generous, almost innocent man I've come to know?

What if the things he told me about himself are true and he really can feel what others feel? He's just been walking around town his entire life feeling the way others resent and dislike him?

"CINDY!"

Mr. Johnson's voice breaks me out of my momentary introspective trance. His yell is loud and angry enough that he could be Thor or Apollo or the goddess of death herself. I suppose the one saving grace of a small-town emergency room is that Ken knew we'd be able to hear him out at the reception desk.

"You let that boy back here right now, Cindy, or so help me!"

I offer Cindy a sticky sweet smile and take off at a jog through the doorway to the exam room.

It took nearly an hour for Namid to tell me about himself and for me to get him settled at my house, and Mr. Johnson is already hooked up to an IV with his arm strapped into place when I pull back the thin curtain and step next to his bed.

"Namid?" Even with whatever cocktail of drugs is flowing through his veins, Ken sounds concerned.

He's the one lying here with part of his skeleton sticking out through his skin, but his first concern is Namid's well-being, and somehow, I understand that. There is something about Namid that makes me want to shield him from the world.

"He's shaken but okay. I dropped him at my place; it's only about ten minutes away, and I promised him I'd stay here with you."

Mr. Johnson's face softens slightly, but he's cut off before he can reply as the town's surgeon pulls back the curtain and joins us. Normally, a town this size wouldn't have a surgeon. They'd be lucky to have a family practice doctor and a semi-stocked urgent care, but we're fortunate. Dr. Susan Robinson had a glamorous and successful surgical career in LA before she decided she'd had enough of city life at fifty-five and moved here in semiretirement. She doesn't work rounds or even take regular patients. If someone needs to schedule a surgical procedure, they typically need to travel to Anchorage. She is, however, an outstanding surgeon who loves being able to keep one foot in the game on her own terms, and on the few occasions a year we need some type of emergency surgical intervention that doesn't require an entire intensive care team or larger facility, she's happy to step in.

She's carrying several films, so she must have been close enough to the hospital when Mr. Johnson arrived that she was already able to take imaging scans before I got here. She glances my way and offers a brief nod in greeting before addressing Mr. Johnson.

"Well, you did quite a number on yourself. A man your age, I've no idea how you managed to shatter your humerus before one of your joints blew out, but that's what you've done. It's a clean three-piece break, though, and it will be easy enough to set with a few plates and pins. Lucky for you, it's something I can do in town, and I don't have afternoon plans, so what do you say we head back, take care of it now, and you'll be on the mend by dinnertime?"

It's not really a question. She's the kind of person who sets the game plan, not the kind who follows someone else's.

"Sure, Doc, whatever you say." Mr. Johnson nods.

"Great. I'll go get prepped, and they'll come get you in about fifteen." She turns back the way she came with a quick nod.

"Hey, Doc?" Mr. Johnson's voice stops her, but she only turns her head and raises an eyebrow in question.

"Jayce here isn't my emergency contact, but he's going to be the one waiting for me today. Can you keep him informed? Namid isn't…well, he's not available, but he's worried sick, and Jayce will call him for me."

She nods briefly and continues out of the room.

"Thanks, Doc." Mr. Johnson's voice follows her as she closes the curtain on her way out.

We don't have the fifteen minutes that Dr. Robinson says we do, and things move quickly from the moment she leaves the room. I've barely taken two steps closer to Mr. Johnson's bedside to continue our conversation when the two nurses on call join us to wheel him back to the surgical suite. They distractedly state that the repairs will most likely take three to four hours and direct me back out through reception and down the left wing of the small hospital to the surgical center's waiting room before letting me know that someone will be out with an update for me in two or three hours.