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“Yes, like bats,” I say, and he gives me a long yawn. I continue on with the story and make it through only a couple more pages before he’s out. Closing the book, I watch the tiny breaths reel out of him and kiss the top of his head. I’m so thankful that I have him. If I didn’t, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. Quietly, I slip out of his room, and as I enter the kitchen, there is a glass of wine sitting on the counter for me. God, Thane is such a good man.
Picking it up, I head into the garage where I find him on a ladder, messing with the motor—that’s what it’s called—to the garage door. I take a sip admiring him for a second. Looking at him up there reminds me of Ben.
“So you gonna be able to fix it?”
“Hell yeah, I will,” he responds confidently. “I see you found your wine.”
“I did. Thank you for pouring me a glass, that was very kind of you.”
“I try,” he smirks down at me, and as he fidgets with the wiring, I find my eyes scanning his body—his perfectly sculpted abs are peeking at me from beneath his shirt that is lifted from his arms being above his head.
“Thanks for coming over.”
“Of course. Did you get Brax down okay?”
“I did. I didn’t even make it through the whole story.”
“What did you read to him?”
“Oranges The Magical Dragon.”
“Oh, Jack loves that one, especially at the end when Oranges saves the forest.”
“Well, I didn’t finish it, thanks for ruining it for me.”
“Damn, sorry.”
“I’m only kidding. So you worked today?”
“I did, I was in five states. On the ground, that is.”
“Wow, busy day.”
“It was.”
“Where’s Jack?”
“With Char, hopefully asleep.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She doesn’t have a lot of structure when she has him. He runs the show if you know what I mean.”
“That’s gotta be hard.”
“Not harder than what you’ve gone through. How are you holding up?” he asks me. And I’m not sure how to answer him. I have my moments. The pain comes and goes, but I don’t always want it to be about me and what I’ve been through.
“I’m okay. I started a new painting today.”
“Yeah, what of?”
“I’ll show you, and you can tell me what you see.”
“Will you push the button?” he asks me, and I try, but nothing happens.
“I hate to say it, but I think your motor is fried.”
“Are you serious?”
