“I’m flying out to California in the morning,” I blurt out. “To see him?” “Yes.” “He stayed behind?” I scrunch my face up tight. Damn it. Why did I say that? “Yes.” “When you see him, I want you to do something for me.” “What’s that?” “Ask him if he feels like he might die if he doesn’t get to touch you again.” I frown. “Why would I ask him that?” I whisper. “Because there’s another man who does.” The phone clicks as he hangs up.
