Page 42 of Doing Life

“I’m trying. I’m not planning my suicide. I’m not—” Lance clasped his hands, rubbing his thumbs together, and Abby immediately came to him, pressing his leg hard. “I can’t tell you that I’ve got anything figured out. I don’t. Iliterally have nothing figured out. I don’t know what I’m going to do in a month or in a year. But I know what I’m going to do tomorrow, and I know what I’m going to do next week. That’s better than I had. I mean, I called, didn’t I? Instead of just sitting in my room and hiding out, I called you and we’re here on the golf course.”

Sloan covered Lance’s hands with his own. “You did, and when I panicked, you dealt and you found us a bench and we sat.”

“Yeah, I so did.” Lance’s smile was the sun breaking through the cloud. “And once we’re done sitting here, we’re going to go have Mexican food together. My treat.”

Sloan had never been more in love. “I like a man with a plan.”

Lance nodded and turned his hand, twining their fingers together and holding on. “Me too.”

Chapter Twelve

Whoever invented yoga was a sadist.

There was no other explanation for it.

Not only was the jackass who invented yoga a sadist, but whoever it was who invented Will, his physical therapist, was also a sadist. And undoubtedly evil, because they’d given birth to the Antichrist.

“I hate you, and I hate downward dogs.”

“It’s not really a downward dog,” Will explained. “It’s modified, because your leg isn’t quite where it needs to be, and?—”

“Shut up. Did I fucking ask you? No, I did not fucking ask you.” His shoulders were loving the stretch, even as his thighs screamed.

“If you can cuss that loud, you’re not breathing near deep enough. Slow it down a little bit.”

“You know, as soon as I stand up, you’re going to die.” It only seemed fair to warn the bastard.

“You guys keep making those promises, and, you know, somehow I’m still here. Breathe.” Will’s hand shifted his hips, and the immense pressure in his legs increased. “You’reholding the poses way longer than you could even a month ago.”

“So how come they don’t hurt any less than they hurt a month ago?” Because he didn’t feel as if he was getting better at this.

“I don’t know, man; maybe you’re just a giant pussy.”

“Oh, you’re so you’re going to wish you’d never said that. I’m pretty sure that you’re not allowed to do yoga and call somebody that in the same room.”

“Who made that rule?” Will shifted him again, and the stretch in his legs eased, leaving him gasping.

“No doubt some hippie from Austin.”

That got him a soft chuckle. “All right, that’s probably not only reasonable, but fair. I have to be honest with you though, I never thought you would be able to get as far as you did right now. When you got here, I thought that body is never going to bend, and look at you, you’re bending.”

Will helped him to stand, and he panted, his whole world swinging wildly. No fair.

“I’m going to show you bending,” Lance wheezed. He was going to eat the son of a bitch and spit him out in little chunks, which was really a gross thought.

And the last thing he wanted to do was get off his feet because Sloan was cooking tonight. In fact, Sloan was picking him up. He had a new audiobook for them to listen to, and Sloan was going to make pasta. Spaghetti and meatballs.

He was so ready. It wasn’t something he was going to be able to eat in public. To be honest, that didn’t have a whole lot to do with the fact that he was blind. He’d been kind of crappy at eating spaghetti and meatballs in public when he could see. But blind?

Man, he was going to need a bib.

But at Sloan’s, he could take his shirt off and eat without a single concern. In fact, that thought made him smile.

“What are you grinning for?” Will asked, easing him back to standing. “Arms up, inhale. Down, exhale.”

He did as instructed, knowing he would do four or five rounds. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Is that some weird euphemism?”

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