Later that evening, after a cold shower because Tyler had used all the hot water during his turn in the tiny bathroom, Ange crawled into bed beside his ward. He snuggled into the covers, hugged his pillow close, and still felt the memory of that boy in his arms the night before. In the darkness around them, he heard Tyler’s soft breathing, no sobs this time. Ange almost wanted to say something to make him cry, pick at his wounds a bit, if only to be the one to soothe them over again.
Instead he burrowed down beneath the quilt that covered the both of them and dug into his own wounds—he thought of Stacy, and the huge ass motherfucker his former friend had taken up with. The guy was good for Stacy, no doubt about it, an honest businessman and built like that, the s*x had to be great. Stacy
