All Scooter really wanted to do was fall face-first in the sofa for a while, cuddle with his fiancé, and maybe watch something truly mindless on the television.
Except there were these huge stacks of boxes between the sofa and him.
“What the hell?”
Andy, coming in behind him, sagged and groaned. “I almost forgot about that s**t. It’s all the stuff Mom sent. I don’t want to f**k with it tonight. Can we just stick them in the spare rooms and forget about them for a while?”
There was a sudden, intense pressure in Scooter’s chest, a bodiless fist reaching in to grab hold of his lungs and squeeze all the breath out. “I uh…” There was no reason for him to feel like Andy’d just stabbed him. His brain worked feverishly. He couldn’t…hadn’t opened that door. Not for months. More than a year now,
