You just met the guy. The kid would probably be gone tomorrow; why even torture himself comparing him to Stacy? He wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity or regret—Stacy was beyond his reach now, and Tyler only passing through.
Pushing his thoughts away, he brushed past Tyler and led the way into his tiny apartment. “Kitchen’s over here.” Ange’s voice came out more brusque than he intended. He waved a hand to the back left corner of the garage, where a small fridge sat with a microwave on top. Beside it was a stove with tiny burners, two cabinets, a dingy sink filled with empty plastic cups, and a card table with two folding chairs. Tyler stared with wide eyes, entranced or disgusted, Ange couldn’t decide which.
He kicked the sofa, already open, the mattress strewn with bunched bed sheets. “S
