Chapter 42Steve is sprawled across the couch, flipping through channels on the flatscreen when I return.
“You should’ve waited for me to help you out of the bath,” I say, walking into the living room and kneeling beside him.
“I would’ve waited a long time,” he says, scrolling through cooking shows and a reality sports series with hot muscular men climbing a rock wall.
“I wasn’t gone long,” I say, but he ignores me, staring intently at the TV screen. I touch his arm and massage it gently, adding, “Are you upset with me?”
He turns the TV off and sets the remote on the coffee table. His gaze is heavy and tired and bloodshot. “Annoyed. But not at you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“All of it,” he says, generalizing with a deep, exasperated sigh. “My cancer. Doug’s murder.” He leans forward. “I can’t
