“His laughter bellowed throughout the house, and he patted my hand. “You’ve met my sons, Abby. You should know it’s damn near impossible to offend me.”

“It’s impossible for me to applaud your successes when my hands are too busy patting myself on the back. But if I clap for you, and you pat my back, we can both feel like winners.”

“Back the fuck up or I’ll kill you!” he yelled to those staring at the fallen men. I gripped his arm tighter and he patted my hand. “I got ya, Abby. Just watch the fight.”

“Adrian smiled and clasped my hands, taking a few steps toward me. "And as for who you are, you’re the same beautiful, brave, and ridiculously smart caffeinated fighter you’ve been since the day I met you.” Finally, he put “beautiful” at the top of his list of adjectives. Not that I should have cared.“Sweet talker,” I scoffed. “You didn’t know anything about me the first time we met.”“I knew you were beautiful,” he said. “I just hoped for the rest.”

“Thank you," I say, pounding his back probably too hard. "That was the best damned passenger-seat driving I've ever seen in my life." He pats my uninjured cheek with his greasy hand. "I did it to save myself, not you," he says. "Believe me when I say that you did not once cross my mind. " I laugh. "Nor you mine," I say.”

“Jesus. I had a dream last night too.You had.I dreamt that my Grandma had just died yesterday.Dear God.And she had died long before I was born.He looked at me with astounded eyes, and felt his neck, and then he patted my knee. Aisy son, he said.Why did I dream her?Because you never met her. The dead you never met die a little bit every day in your head.”