His hand was broad, warm, soothing.
Sandy heard his knees creak as he rose to one foot, head down.
Tanner kept his hand in place. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I, uh, didn’t mean to get worked up. I just haven’t talked about it to anybody.”
Tanner moved a hand to Sandy’s right shoulder. Sandy’s scars made the shirt rustle as Tanner stroked him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
It was too much. Sandy stood abruptly, not looking at the other man.
Tanner stepped back to the sofa.
“I’m fine,” Sandy said. “You want some more tea?” An escape to the kitchen suddenly seemed like a great idea.
“Sure.” Tanner’s voice was subdued.
Sandy felt the other man’s gaze on him as he walked away. His right arm twitched a little; it did that sometimes when he was tense, like the nerves just got overwhel
