“Thank you,” he murmurs. “You’re welcome.” I bite my lip. “I can leave if you want, or I’m happy to stay—” “Stay.” His eyes close again, and his next words are a sleep-filled murmur, but they stop my heart for a second anyway. “Need you,” he says, his voice low and exhausted. Need you. Andrew Mulroney needs me. And go ahead, call me a sissy, but my eyes water, just a little. It’s sort of nice to be needed. Especially by him.
