Wes
Sawyer shifts in her sleep, rolling so that her head is tucked against my chest. It’s something she does just before she wakes up, although I’m pretty sure she’s not conscious of it. Not like she is about coming into my room.
I bought the bed I promised her, but for the past three nights, around midnight, she makes her way to me, craving contact. Not s****l contact, just the sensation of being held, which I’m beginning to realize was one of the biggest voids she had in her life. It was a void for me too in the sense that I didn’t share beds with anyone, but I had teammates and family, who shared everything from high-fives, to slaps on the back, and hugs on a regular basis. I don’t think Sawyer had any physical contact with anyone, save for a few trips home over the years when our par
