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Chapter 13

And why did that thought depress him to the point of drawing pricks of tears into his eyes? Age? Futility? The slow dawning of realization that he’d let so much time get past him.

Malcolm shook his head. No. He was being stupid. He was being unreasonable. This was exactly why he didn’t need some careless, life-is-a-party kind of guy coming in and disturbing decisions and pathways that had been forged with blood, sweat and grit. So he spent a lot of time at work. So what? So he didn’t have much of a social life. Big deal. So what if his frustration and his exhaustion manifested as aggression and disillusionment? So what if something in the back of his mind kept telling him that he was getting older far faster than he was getting ahead? So what if every second of his life kept ticking closer to that pinnacle of existence where the chance of him finding steady, dependable love and companionship became a fantasy?

Just go, his need kept nudging.