“Just focusing on the road, Clyde. I’ve got precious cargo in the back seat,” I deadpan, drawing a snort from Gwen and an eye roll from the older man. “That’s rich,” he grumbles. “We all know I’m only here because you’re a big, broody, dutiful motherfucker.” I sigh. He’s not wrong. I am those things. In fact, I pride myself on being dutiful—reliable. But with Clyde, it’s more than that. I care about him. I mean, I haven’t told him that. But I gave him my fucking kidney. What more does he want? A tattoo across my forehead? “Clyde, if I didn’t want you to live with me while you recover, I
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