Marshall arrived at the two-room suite he was sharing with Owen and his sons to find all three of them there. The two teens wore basketball shorts and T-shirts, their eyes riveted to the television. The younger of the sons—Zach—held a basketball in his hands, twisting and twirling it unconsciously.
Owen still wore his suit as he leaned forward to peer at something on his laptop. Then he clicked and started sending a text.
“Hey,” he said while he did that. “How was dinner?”
Marshall collapsed in the armchair opposite them, the TV blaring right in his ear. “Great.” And it really was the first meal he’d shared with a female not related to him that hadn’t felt like t*****e.
Owen gave half a smile, all he seemed capable of as absorbed as he was in his work. “Fisher needs me for a few minute
