Chapter 21
His eyes were thin slits, his mouth set in a grim line, but the surliness and defiance from the day before were missing.
“What are you doing here? Where’s Asher?” he asked as he let himself be helped out of the chair and into the passenger seat.
“He had a situation at the bar, so I offered to drive you.”
Mr. Cross grunted something indecipherable and gave the nurse a tired wave before she left. When he was settled, I drove away.
He didn’t say a word on the entire trip; he didn’t even make the annoyed grunts and demeaning huffs he’d excelled at the day before. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest.
Sitting next to me was a broken man. It was impossible, but he even seemed smaller. Whatever treatment he’d had—chemo? radiation?—must have been rough. I didn’t know how I would be able to leave him at his house like this.