“No. It’s fucking perfect.” He groans again. “But are you okay here? In Iowa?” What the hell kind of question is that? “Why are you here, Lorenzo?” “I told you, my neck.” “Yeah, right.” I stop massaging him. “Tell me why you’re here or you can leave now.” He’s quiet for a few beats. “I had to make sure you were okay, that’s all. I just needed to see you and …”
