in the way.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
Rye came over that night.
He found me sitting on my porch steps, phone in my hand, trying to write something that didn’t sound like a sermon.
Rye looked like what happens when life roughens a man up but doesn’t break him. Broad shoulders, beard, eyes that had seen both kindness and cruelty and decided to keep showing continue reading …