“I’ll need to see your insurance
card, please,” the nurse says. She glances at the clipboard and
adds, “Mr. Fordham?”
Mr. Fordham stops. “Right.”
Awkwardly he digs into his back pocket and extracts a wallet as
battered and worn as his lined cheeks. Without letting go of
Wesley’s hand, he tries to extract a thin card from the folds of
leather. “I’ve got it here—”
Wesley takes the
wallet, which Mr. Fordham surrenders. “In the front part, hon,” he
says, watching the kid root through plastic and cash for the
elusive insurance card. Jason is sure he hears him sayhon, though the man
speaks softly and he’s half a room away.
Hon, worlds more intimate
thanson. If
Jason’s right and theyarelovers…the thought makes him want to swoon, it’s
too precious. He’s picked up boys at clubs and parties—one of the
reasons he’s here now, to be honest, because he can’t keep his
pants on around a pretty face or a hard dick—but he doesn’t move in