Page 18 of Doing Life

And the alarm he’d set finally went off.

Okay. Okay, he could do this.

U round?

I am.

He took a deep breath and told his phone to call Sloan.

“Hey, Lance.”

He was glad Sloan didn’t call him babe or honey. That would make this all so much harder.

“I wanted to apologize. I—I’ve been awful to you. I never asked if you were okay. That sucks. I’m sorry.”

Sloan was silent for a minute. “You mean from the bombing? Or from everything else?”

“All of the above.”

“I have a few burn scars. Took a little shrapnel in my right leg. Physically that’s it. Mostly from pulling guys out of the wreckage. But I have my share of bad dreams.”

That was a polite way of saying that no, Sloan was not okay, and that he had PTSD like so many soldiers coming back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shit, Lance. I know I’m damn lucky compared to a lot of the guys we served with. And it kills me that you got hurt and that I wasn’t there to help.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t know what to say to that, so he let it go. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about, you know, not asking.”

“I appreciate it. Is this easier? Not being right there with me, physically? Can we talk a little?”

“Um, sure. I mean, I guess.”

Sloan’s chuckle sent a little shiver up his spine. It was low, intimate, so familiar. “A resounding agreement. I just wantsomeone to talk to while I heat up a frozen dinner and open my beer, honey.”

There it was. Thathoney. Christ. It made him feel stupid. All flushed and— He didn’t need to be feeling that way.

Not for anyone, let alone Sloan.

“I can do that.” He had no idea what to talk to people about anymore if it wasn’t his dog or his recovery. No one just chatted with him, not even Brick.

“So, do you do audiobooks? What are you reading right now?” They had always talked books, because that was something they could always get their hands on.

“Something by Stephen King. One of the hard-case mystery things, I think. What are you reading?”

“Manuals. Lots of them.”

“Manuals. That sounds very fun. What are you trying to learn to do?” That sounded like hell on earth, if he was honest.

“Oh, it’s mostly work shit. Differences between New Mexico and Texas, you know?”

“Is that where you ended up going back to? New Mexico?” He had fond memories of visiting Sloan’s home state. Sloan had been so excited he’d agreed to come to the Land of Enchantment with him. It had been fun—green chile and huge sky and art everywhere. The thing he remembered most was making love in Sloan’s childhood bed in his mother’s house, which was creepy, but delicious nonetheless. Oh, and the Plaza Cafe downtown.

He had to wonder if Sloan remembered how they fed each other at the Plaza Cafe fondly.

“I did. I even bought a house.”

Oh damn. “Really?”

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