Chapter 47

Jason wasn’t as badly injured as Scooter had originally feared, thank God. The grease had jumped him in a line across the forearm when he sprayed the fire suppressant, scalding a second degree burn. Weirdly like someone had burned him with a string, the wound was a twisty sort of jagged mark. Scooter was still guilt-stricken every time he looked at that brutal red line, but Jason had just waved it off. “Chicks dig scars,” he’d said, and then Kat had demanded to know why exactly he wanted to impress “chicks,” and cursed him out in her fake-angry Ukrainian, in which she’d mostly called him an assortment of vegetables.

Scooter had insisted on covering half of the emergency room bill, which had eaten up a good chunk of the insurance check (he’d offered to pay the whole thing, but Kat had given him that Lookof hers). And they were still down the profits from last weekend and the time they’d been closed for cleanup and repair.