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Summary
"Do the math, Rooster. You've got one hand, pain in your neck whenever you move a little wrong—don't argue, I'm not fucking blind—and three weeks of suffering left."
"Two and half," Bradshaw interjects. Jake ignores him.
"I, on the other, have two perfectly functional hands, no qualms, and a healthy regard for your sexual well being. Because we're friends."
or; it's just a favor. all bradshaw has to do is accept his help and not make it weird after.