“Derek wished he had more of the right words to offer. But both he and Sloane knew those words didn't exist. So he gave her the only ones he had. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart.”

“He took her in his arms right away. "I'm so sorry," he murmured in her ear. He rocked her, saying it over and over.But no matter how many times he said it, no matter how much she knew he meant it, the words stirred around in her ear but didn't get into her brain. Sometimes he could comfort her. Sometimes he said what she needed, but today he couldn't reach her. Nothing could.”

“In one letter that he had written to her then he had said: Why is it that words like these seem to me so dull and cold? Is it because there is no word tender enough to be your name?”

“<…>….That's how he made his living. He gave me a pen and ink. This," he lifted his left arm then dropped it back to the bed. "After he died, I had it inked on me. Took what he gave me to a tattoo parlor right after the funeral and got it started." Her voice held a tone of light dawning as she whispered, "So he was your Ella." Her light dawned clear for her and for Walker because she was right. "Yeah, he was my Ella." "So it was Tuku who brought out my Ty." My Ty. My Ty. Christ. Fuck. Christ. Two words. Just two words. Walker had no clue until that moment that two words could mean so fucking much. He'd never belonged to anyone. He'd never belonged anywhere. Never thought he wanted to. Until he heard those two words. He couldn't keep the thick out of his voice when he confirmed, "Yeah, it was him."<…>”

“At last he stood staring at the old Reuben Golding he thought he knew so well, and neither had a word for the other that mattered.”

“I'm sorry," he said again, and this time he took those words and owned them.”