“Oh.”
John caught a flicker of what he hoped was interest cross the doctor’s face. Hell, maybe it was horror. John swallowed again. His nerves a concrete lump in his throat.
“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Turner. But I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Like a building without a foundation, John’s hopes crumbled. Doctor Davros rubbed at the back of his neck. A quick flush of color tinting his cheeks.
“My schedule makes having a personal life way too difficult.”
“Sure, Doc. I get it.” John forced his wooden face into something that might pass as a smile. “No problem.” 8
Nick sprawled on his lumpy, secondhand futon and stared at the television without a clue what was on. He yawned and stretched his arms overhead, wincing at the loud crack from his spine.
So much for remembering to try those yoga stretches in the morning. Yet another week gone by with nothing but work behind him and more work ahead of him.