Page 36 of The Goalie in Room 1

I nodded and cleared my throat. “Well, I can’t make those. I’d likely fuck it up more than it already is, but if you want to bring it by the clinic, Davina can have one of the physical therapists work on it.”

He stared at me, his chin cocked at an odd angle. His tongue ran over his upper teeth before he sucked at them. There was no mistaking the heat in his gaze. I’d pissed him off.

“You’re a resident of Halo House. Davina knows of my work here. She can arrange for the adjustments, and she’s also in charge of ensuring that any services the network of medical professionals provides that aren’t pro bono get paid for.”

“So you pay for all the medical care for the residents?” he asked, his gaze locked on the bowl of food before him. He pushed the food around with his fork.

“Yes,” I answered, then expanded, “If it’s not provided free of charge, then yes, I pay for the resident’s medical care until we can get them approved for insurance.”

He chewed on those words for a moment. “And if they can’t get approved?”

“Then I continue paying until the resident chooses a patron, and the patron pays for medical care until the resident can provide for themselves.”

“Why?”

Confused, I asked, “What do you mean, why?”

A half-laugh, half-scoff preceded what he said next, “Why do you and everyone here do this shit? Is there some kind of do-gooder award or⁠—”

“Stop. No one here is doing anything for an award. There are good people in the world, Cash. I get that you have trouble believing that, but there are people who want to see other people succeed. I give medical care because it’s what I have to give, and because the healthcare system in this country is fucked. I have the means to help, so I do.”

He rolled his eyes. “Again⁠—”

I interrupted him. “No. There is no again, Cash. That’s it. I have no ulterior motives. Neither does Phoenix, nor any of the patrons. Neither did my brother, did he?”

“So some stranger agrees to pay my bills and wants absolutely nothing from me?”

“They’re not necessarily strangers.”

“That’s not the fucking point,” he growled.

“I know.”

“Then explain it to me because that sounds like bullshit.”

I leaned back in the chair. Phoenix had explained the program to hundreds of people over the years. I’d heard him do it dozens of times. Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to me that no one had explained it to Cash. Or more likely, Cash came in so overwrought he didn’t hear it all.

“What do you think a patron is?”

“Rich person who pays for shit?”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. His glare told me he found nothing about this funny.

“Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “That can be part of it, and in your case, the patron you choose, if you choose one, would probably help you through recovery, or if they weren’t able to do so, then that would fall back on my practice, but money isn’t always part of it.”

His brow furrowed. “Then what is?”

I rubbed my hand over my beard. “Think of a patron as someone in your corner. A cheerleader, a mentor, a confidant.”

“So…like a veteran player who takes on a rookie to help the new kid adjust.”

“Yes! Like that. Every resident at Halo House has the option of choosing someone who fits them, if and when they’re ready. The patron agrees to help that person get from where they are now to wherever they’re trying to go.”

“And they do that how?”

“However it makes sense. Sometimes that means money. Sometimes it means helping with school or finding a job. Making introductions. Transportation. Navigating paperwork. Medical care.” I motioned toward his knee. “Sometimes it’s just having someone you can call when you don’t know what the hell you’re supposed to do next.”

His fork scraped slowly through the food in his bowl. “And they get…what?”