“Thanks for coming, Ben,” Zack said so softly I nearly missed it over the creaking of the door as it swung open.
A pleased feeling warmed the pit of my stomach. “You’re welcome.”2
Zack didn’t have a guest room exactly—he’d converted it into an office, and there was no bed at any rate—and I’d spent the night on the couch. I cracked one eyelid open. The time on the DVR read seven fourteen. To my body, it felt like it was a quarter after four. But there was no way I could keep sleeping with the sunlight trying to stab through my eyelids.
I groaned as I stood. I was in fairly good shape and I exercised regularly, but a night on the couch made me feel older than my years. I gave a long stretch, the vertebrae popping back into place, and held it long enough to get a little light-headed. Feeling more like myself once again, I folded the blankets and left them on one end of the couch before scooping up my bag and heading to the bathroom.