Creases appeared between Walter’s eyebrows. “Lucky, have you checked if your father’s insurance covers a living donor?”
“It does, but my sister says Dad’s nearly maxed out his benefits.” Maybe Bo wouldn’t have to spend his weekends dropping trou for tips, though, if Lucky’s insurance kicked in.
“Have you discussed financial arrangements with anyone?”
“I can’t exactly talk to people who believe I’m dead. My sister is the only one I’ve talked to. I’ll ask H.R. They’re probably my best bet.” They didn’t like him much, but did their job.
“You do that. And Lucky?”
“Yeah?”
“Good luck.”
Luck. A man called “Lucky” should have plenty of the stuff.
But the world never gave a shit what Lucky wanted.
***
Lucky sat in his car in the SNB parking lot, staring at a bunch of legalize from his insurance provider, printed out on five pages.Not included.Maximum allowed: $50. Not included. Not covered. Eighty percent after deductible met. Up to $100.Dear God! One-hundred dollars didn’t cover jack shit of what his prescription bill might be.
His stomach sank.
But money meant nothing when compared to his father’s life.
Even if Lucky spent the rest of his own life in debt.
Chapter Nine
Lucky settled on the couch with his laptop, propped his feet on the conveniently footstool-shaped Moose, and started answering an online questionnaire. How damned many questions were there?
Chigger disease? He’d never heard of half these ailments. Lifestyle questions. Had he had unprotected sex in the past six months? No, damn it. What he wouldn’t give to be bare inside of Bo.
Was he healthy and feeling well? How much exercise did he get? Getting personal, weren’t they? The front door opened. Lucky’s furry footstool shot across the room.
“Yah! Damn it, Moose! Sit!” Bo collapsed on the floor under a mound of fur, twisting and wriggling to evade Moose’s tongue.
Lucky stroked his hand over Cat Lucky’s head. The cat hopped off the couch and trotted over to Bo. “Traitor.”
Still spitting fur out of his mouth, Bo crawled from the floor and plopped down on the couch. “I owe you a kiss when my lips are less fuzzy.”
“What’s a little dog hair among friends?” Lucky pulled his man in for a proper hello. “How’d your session go?”
“Okay. I’m getting better at keeping my temper. I told the doctor that whenever the pets go running, I know I’m about to lose my shit and need to stop.” He snorted. “Or when my partner starts fussing over me too much.”
“Do not.”
“Do too.” Bo exaggerated a nod.
“Do not.”
“What ‘cha doin’?” Bo craned his neck for a better view of the laptop. “And you do too.”
Lucky let him win round one. Especially if it meant help with the nosy-assed questions. “Filling out a form for the doctor. What’s en… encept… enceptalikus?”
“Encephalitis?
Lucky squinted at the page. “Close enough. What’s that?”
