When he turned back to Tyrone, he was struck by the careful set of the other man’s shoulders. The drive to Vegas had been a long one, and Ty had refused to let AJ take a shift. It showed. Faint lines creased the corners of his eyes, and his smile when it came was slower, like it hurt too much to drag the muscles into place. He had faked it with the manager; he was a pro at that. But he couldn’t fake it now. He was just too tired.