They sat in the recliners, asleep like every other night, except tonight neither slept. Hanks’ eyes met his, but Hanks’ outstretched hands failed short of reaching his thanks to the lifelessness shining back at him from those once sexy, baby blue round eyes that normally carried love and joy at all times.
What was he to do without the man who saved his life some forty years ago? He had not taken a breath or made a decision without Hank since that day. What would become of him? How would he survive this world? Not that he would begrudge Hank for his decision to leave the pain filled life that had plagued him since the cancer caught hold of him. Nope. He grasped the concept of what a life full of pure pain, even when full of love and happiness was life. He’d seen it with his mother when she suffered through breast cancer when he was fourteen. Watching it with his lover was a thousand times worse in his opinion. That might be cruel to think, but . . .
How else was he supposed to feel in that moment? His heart had been ripped from his chest, leaving behind a gaping hole that could not be stitched back together by the best of surgeons.
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