“I’m Mark. Chris, right? Kyle talks about you all the time.” Mark introduces himself with a charming smile. He sits next to me, while Chris pulls out the stool opposite us.
“Christopher,” Chris corrects. “And Kyle has never mentioned you.” He sits in his seat, leaning back slightly. “Kyle and I have a lot to catch up on. So…” he stares at Mark.
I stiffen, embarrassed by the coldness in Chris’s demeanour. I open my mouth to scold him, but Mark’s charming smile turns bladed. The look in his eyes shifting to match Chris’s coldness. “I’m sure you do. I’ll make tea for us then, shall I? Or do you prefer coffee, Chris?” Mark pronounces Chris slowly, rolling it around over his tongue.
My brain stalls out. I’ve seen Chris pull the cold act before. I’ve seen him step in, be the one in charge, and put everyone in their place. I have never, not once, seen someone challengehim when he gets like this. Not our siblings. Not our parents. Even the crazy dogs our parents adopted who never listened to anyone would submit to him.
Mark’s hand is suddenly on my thigh, gently squeezing. He casts me a sidelong look. “You want me to leave, Kyle?”
“No,” I answer immediately. Reflexively.
Victory shines in Mark’s eyes. He winks at Chris as he stands, looking smug as fuck as if he’s just won something. “I’ll make the tea, then.”
Chris’s expression is blank and his eyes follow Mark’s back as he walks to the kettle, and he’s—Mark’s humming. I don’t know why, but my face is just on fire. I’m not even sure who I’m embarrassed for. Chris for acting like this and losing? Or Mark for being smug? I don’t know.
“Chris,” I murmur. “Stop.”
Chris looks back at me. The coldness sinks away, and I hope it stays gone. “How are you feeling?” Chris asks.
“I’m doing good,” I answer.
Chris casts a final glance at Mark’s back before he sighs.
“What happened, exactly?” he asks. “I couldn’t get any of the details about the insurance claim. They wanted photos of my passport to verify my identity before sending on copies, which, of course, I didn’t haveon the mountain.”
I lean back in my seat, withdrawing into myself in discomfort. I lick my lips and rub the top of my leg. I can feel the liner and sleeve through the fabric.
“It was actually a while back, now,” I say. For some reason, I can’t meet Chris’s eyes, so I swap my focus to Mark pouring out tea. “Two days after classes ended for the summer, I was heading to the bus stop to go home for a few weeks. A car jumped the curb and drove into a shop.”
Mark’s hand twitches. The hot water spills onto the counter, missing the cup entirely. His face jerks toward me, the colour draining from it.
“Supermacs?” Mark questions, his eyes wide.
“Yeah. You might have heard about it on the radio.”
“I heard about it. Everyonedid. Ten people died.” Mark turns white as a ghost as he puts down the kettle.
“Puts my situation into perspective, doesn’t it?” I say, lightly. Chris goes rigid. “People inside the shop died. They got stuck when the grease from the fryers spilled everywhere, and the car lit it all on fire.” I vaguely recall the smoke; breathing in thick air that smelled of burning tar. Sometimes I dream that I saw the fire, too, as a flash of orange in the corner of my vision. But I had been in too much pain to pay anything much heed. I screamed when a group of older men hauled me away from the building. My memories of the ambulance ride are scattered at best; delusional at worst. “I was outside. I got hit by the car on its way in.”
It’s silent for tense seconds as they both absorb that. I just breathe and keep my calm. Mark abandons the tea and comes over to clasp his hand over mine. He rubs his mouth and I notice that the bruising around his eye really stands out now that he’s gone pale.
“Your injuries?” Chris prompts after a long silence.
I open my mouth. And. Yeah, I worried that this would happen. No sound comes out. I lick my lips, but it just doesn’t happen.
I lean forward on the counter, drumming my fingers against the marble countertop. Chris waits patiently for me, but his patience isn’t a virtue in this moment. Mark wrung the truth out of me when he thought I broke my ankle, and with Tommy I accidentally let it slip rather than intentionally telling him. I struggle to get my mouth moving.
I think about all the climbs I’ve planned out with Chris, the weeks of depression and pain I went through alone. I breathe in a shaky breath and release a trembling one.
Mark’s hands enfold my shoulders. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my ear. “You got this, Kyle. It wasn’t bad with me, remember? Or with Tommy.” Chris watches Mark’s actions, but he doesn’t object to them. Nor does the coldness return to his expression. He waits patiently.
“So,” I begin, leaning into Mark’s hands. “My ankle was run over by the car. The bones—they were crushed beyond repair. The doctors did a below the knee amputation.” I gesture to my left leg. “I’m wearing a prosthetic. I’ve got a shoe on, and trousers pulled over it, so it looks like a real leg.”
Chris stares at me, stunned.
Mark squeezes my shoulders hard once and releases me. “You take sugar, Chris?” he breaks the silence.
“No,” Chris answers, distracted.
