“But we’re not done,” he says vehemently, stepping into my space. “We’ll never be done. Me and you, we don’t have an ending.” And what do I possibly say to that? When I open my arms, Lucky falls into them. At some point in the past couple years, he grew into a man, but right now, with him tucked against me, his head under my chin, it feels as if we’re boys again.
