“Hey, Moon. Miss me?”
Every time he said it, I heard Bennett.
One night, with the game muted on TV and Mooney snoring between us, Graham spoke quietly.
“At that gas station, I almost drove off,” he admitted. “Figured you didn’t need to look after some broken old man.”
I stared at the screen.
“I almost pretended I didn’t see you,” I said. “Didn’t want to open that door.”
He snorted.
“Good thing your dog’s stubborn.”
I looked down at Mooney.
Three legs. One half-fried brain cell.
Perfect timing.
He had nearly broken my truck window for one man.
Turned out he wasn’t panicking.
He was pointing.
Right at the family I didn’t realize I still had.
