He sat heavily where Cassandra had first left him with the Gatorade. The bottle wasn’t even warm.
* * * *
“Hurting again?” Cassandra murmured over the rim of her disposable coffee cup.
Aiden snatched his hand away from his chest and shook his head. He hated how he kept doing that without being aware of it. “It’s fine.” He didn’t mention he could feel a thin ridge there now, like a badly healed scar. He sipped his coffee, too, as much to keep his hand occupied as because he wanted any.
Greg was resting his head on his crossed arms, staring at the far wall. Cassandra was rubbing his back. He’d insisted on paying for everyone, but hadn’t touched his tea.