Watching Wash get up, Tucker took the chance to fall completely back down onto the cot, causing the frame to protest. He needed to take the rest of this armor off, and he would the second the Freelancer was gone, if it wasn’t too much effort. It probably was. Everything felt like it was right now.

Well, everything other than drinking.

He watched that wince, a little smile crossing his lips. “You’re getting old, Wash,” he teased. “Can’t keep up with young, hot guys like me, but feel free to keep trying.”

For once, he didn’t barge in on the need to do something, to be alone with a woman, or to just avoid a situation altogether; he was just letting it lie as it was. This wasn’t something he wanted to do to start with, and while it sucked that Wash was taking it onto himself, he had his own feelings to process, his own grief. And, maybe processing them was going to happen at the bottom of this bottle.

No. It was definitely going to happen at the bottom of this bottle.

“If you feel like coming back after, I’ll still be up.” He laid his head back on the pillow, lips pulling into a small, twisted little frown. “Nope. Not going to say it. Too easy. …and so was that one. Just, like, you can come back if you want. I can’t guarantee you your whiskey will still be here, though.”

He rolled to his side to take another drink. “Good luck, Wash. Wouldn’t want to be you right now. I don’t even want to be me.”