“[Paul] was an important man in the DA’s office. He did good things.” [Ethan said.]

      “I know, and he paid for it!” Scott snapped.

      “You blame his goodness for why he died?”

      “Yes!”

      “Rage, you also went to help with the cleanup at the Towers. You were on the first bus to the city. Just ‘cause you didn’t get sick, and Paul did, doesn’t mean that he is paying for his goodness. A lot of rescuers were inflicted with some kind of side effect or disease from whatever was floating around in the air after those towers fell.”

      “Maybe I could’ve stopped him,” he dropped in the chair.

      “If I remember correctly, you didn’t meet Paul until the bus ride home.”

      “Not officially,” he sighed. “He was there, and I noticed him, but that was not the time or the place to get to know someone or ask for a date. It was always quiet and solemn, following orders, looking for any signs of life and clearing away what we only hoped was just debris, but we knew better. We just didn’t say it out loud.”

      “It’s not your fault he got sick, and it’s not his fault either,” Ethan said.            “Scott, if you need more time, you can have it.”

      “I can’t afford to take any more time. I donated most of his life insurance to the Wounded Warriors fund. The rest was for living expenses and his death expenses. I’m fine. I saw a therapist for a while and I’m living. Trying to move on.”

      “Does that include screwing Len?”

      “What the hell does that mean?”

      “Just curious. I’ve seen the two of you together. Is there something going on?”

      “He’s a good cocksucker and he’s a friend. Other than that, no. I’m not looking for anything that has to do with my broken ... no... crumbling heart. And since when is my sex life your business?”

      “It’s not, and I’m sorry.”

      “You want me to fuck you?”

      “No, that’s not what I meant. You’re not my type,” he grunted. “And if I ever wanted you, I would’ve told you.”