Page 52 of The Long Game

“Keep showing up, as a start,” Callum said.

“And maybe…” Christian hesitated. “Maybe make sure he knows that no matter what he tells you, you’ll still want him to live with you? I mean, if that’s true.”

“Ofcourseit’s true,” Grady said. “There’s nothing he could say to change my mind.”

“Tell him that, okay?” Christian suggested. “More than once.”

“Okay.” Grady nodded. “Thank you. We will.”

He saw the way Callum studied them and the confusion on Rupert’s face. Worse, he could see the hope on Barnaby’s.

Yeah, he and Jack definitely needed to have a talk.

Eventually.

10

They hung out with the Smythe-Morrison family for as long as they could, leaving just in time for Grady to get to work. Jack felt oddly at loose ends once he’d gotten in his truck to head home, which was stupid.

Nothing taught a person to appreciate living alone more than a stint in prison. Even living with his mother after he’d gotten out, in the relative safety of his childhood home, had driven him crazy. He’d been grateful to have a place to go, but he’d also been relieved when he’d moved into his apartment.

Now his apartment felt empty and he wished for the sound of Grady’s voice or the rattle of ice in Colton’s coffee cup.

He threw himself into catching up on the mountains of laundry and mail that had accumulated over the past few days. He changed his sheets and washed his towels and pretended he wasn’t fighting the urge to call or text Grady every five minutes.

Results were variable, but at least his apartment was ready for company—or to be neglected for a few more days—and Jack had clean underwear.

Donning a pair of said undies, Jack ran errands for his mother, then swung by the Dipsy Doodle Dangle Café beforeheading over to her house. She yanked opened the door, no doubt with the usual passive-aggressive comment poised on her tongue.

He held up a latte. “For you.”

And damned if it didn’t work. She arched her eyebrows, trying for sarcastic shock and ending up on pleasantly surprised by accident.

Or maybe he was just being cynical. Either way, he managed to get the entire grocery order put awayandshe came in to help him change her sheets, even though the whole reason he did this was because it hurt her hip to bend over.

His mother, like her mother before her, had terrible rheumatoid arthritis. Because of medications that had only been available for the last decade or two, his mother was able to move around a lot better than her mother had at the same age, but her joints had suffered sufficient damage that it could still be very painful. Some days were worse than others, and her pain levels were usually discernable by how nasty she was.

Today, though, she winced when she reached to put the fitted sheet over a corner but continued in companionable silence.

Maybe lattes were magic?

Or maybe Grady McDonnough was.

Jack wasn’t going to question it, but he was definitely going to be visiting the Dipsy Doodle more often. Pushing his luck, he left his mother on the couch with her latte and a cigarette—he’d long ago given up trying to get her to quit—and got to work on a couple of projects he hadn’t had the patience to deal with up to this point.

The detente lasted long enough for him to clear out under the sink and block the mouse hole with fresh steel wool, fix a broken screen in his old bedroom, and reglaze the cracked windowpane in the garage. When he decided he was pressing his luck, he hightailed it out of there.

Jack: Just left Mom’s. You’re a genius.

Grady: Not that I’m arguing, but why?

Jack: Latte worked wonders. Cut snide comments by 50% at least.

Grady: I might have to try this at work.

Jack: Suspect giving you trouble?

Grady: I was talking about my coworkers.

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