Page 125 of Playing By Ear

“Oh, no.” Perry hurried toward him. “Are you all right?”

Jamie hissed through his teeth as Perry found his sprawled form on the grass. “I really don’t think so.”

Chapter 23

“I never should’ve put that eye cover on you,” Perry said once they were settled into the back of the taxi on their way to the closest minor injuries unit. “You’re not accustomed to operating without sight. God knows I’ve tumbled over that ball dozens of times.”

“I could’ve fallen less awkwardly if I’d not been zooming about like an eejit.” Jamie winced audibly. “Anyway, you heard what the NHS 24 nurse said on the phone. It’s probably not broken, just a sprain or a tendon tear.”

“Tendons take ages to heal.” Perry wished he could take those words back as well. He was full of blunt-force gloom today.

“Brilliant.” Jamie slumped lower in the seat. “That’s my season done and dusted. Charlotte’s gonnae have my head when she learns I hurt my ankle mucking about like that.”

“Tell her you injured it rescuing a puppy from a burning building.”

Jamie snorted but said nothing. Perry yearned to read his expression, but veering in close to examine his face would be weird.

“I’m sorry I distracted you,” Perry said. “That news about your agent could have waited.” Why had he been so driven to blurt it out?

“Yeah.” After a long pause, Jamie reached forward and clicked on the taxi’s privacy switch. “As soon as we’re alone, it’s my turn to give you bad news.”

A zap of fear darted over Perry’s nape. “Bad news about…”

“It’s nothing to do with you, not directly.” He gave Perry’s hand a firm squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere, unless you give me the boot.”

Perry squeezed back, relieved. “I would never give you the boot for telling me the truth.”

“You say that cos you don’t know that truth.”

“Why not tell me now?”

“I need time to explain, and we’ll be at the MIU in a minute.” Jamie leaned in close. “Also, I don’t know who runs the taxis round here,” he said in a near whisper. “Even with the privacy switch, I cannae take any chances.”

Perry glanced at the driver, whose face he couldn’t see. “Why tell me you have to tell me something instead of just saying it? Why worry me with a vague preview?”

Jamie’s laugh was soft but bitter. “So I don’t change my mind.”

Now was the time. Jamie was sure of it. The revelation about Fagan Creative—which still had him reeling—had made it clear. He owed Perry the most honest version of himself.

His thoughts raced over the words he would use, raced so fast and loud that the radiographer had to keep reminding him how to hold his foot. If he wasn’t careful, she’d send him for a brain scan.

“Right,” she said after the final X-ray. “Let’s get you back to the exam room while the doctor has a wee look at these images.”

Jamie eased himself into the wheelchair. “How long?”

“Hard to say.” She rolled him into the corridor. “You chose a good day to be injured, as the place is fairly quiet.”

Jamie appreciated her polite phrasing, be injured, when injured yourself was more accurate.

As they entered the tiny exam room, Perry looked up from the phone he was holding three inches from his face. “All right?” he asked, removing his extra-strong glasses.

“Your mate will likely survive,” the radiographer said, supporting Jamie as he transferred himself onto the exam table. “If you can keep him away from your toys.”

Perry offered a guilty smile. “I’ll try.”

Jamie thanked her as she departed, closing the door behind her. Then he eased back on the table so he could elevate his hurt foot. It still ached but no longer throbbed.

Now they were alone, possibly for an hour or more. This was Jamie’s first injury beyond bruises and muscle strains—at twenty-six, he was probably overdue—but he’d heard tales of long waits in A&Es and MIUs alike.