I said brightly, walking into Yoss’s room with my laptop bag and a smile on my face. “And you’re full of shit,” he chuckled, struggling to sit up. “Let me help you,” I said quickly, hurrying to his side. “I’m fine. You don’t need to do anything,” Yoss snapped, freezing me with his cold, cold voice. My hands, which had been poised ready to readjust his pillows, dropped back to my sides and I took a step back. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Why are you here?” he asked gruffly and I wanted to scowl at him. Just last night he had asked me to stay. I held his hand until he had fallen asleep. It was the happiest I could remember being in a long time. Last night he had let down his walls long enough for me to see him. The Yoss Frazier I remembered. And I had missed him—missed us—so much. Apparently a good night’s sleep resurrected his need to keep me at arm’s length. He was about to become reacquainted with my stubborn side. “I’m your caseworker, remember?” I reminded him, sitting down, hands on top of my bag.
