In his kitchen, Alex set down the bag of coffee beans and grabbed the phone. “Hey,” he answered.
“Hey.” Damian’s greeting arrived through a sigh.
“So what’s happening?”
“They want to cart her back to the farm. Of course. And they need me there to help. Starting this weekend and every free moment I have.”
Heartfelt sympathy collided with the selfish desire to dominate Damian’s remaining weekends. Though Sheryl was entering the kitchen for a bowl of cereal, Alex allowed the emotion into his voice. Bowing his head, he said, “f**k. I’m sorry, hon.” s**t, I called him “hon.” Can’t take it back now. He moved on. “Is that the best idea, trying to do the rehab thing themselves?”
“No, of course not. But it’s ‘God’s will,’ and they’re stubborn and clueless, so here we are.”
“Is there anything
