Brennan crept into the lounge, Shalimar at his elbow, trying not to look as though he'd been the loser of a match between himself and a truck. He concentrated on breathing evenly, reasoning that if he were doing that he would be less likely to fall over onto his face. He almost made it to the divan when a shadow loomed over him.
"Hey, man, I'm really sorry about what happened. I didn't mean to bust you up."
It was an odd sensation, looking up at someone. Brennan was far more accustomed to being the person being looked up to. But Benji was taller than he was by a good six inches, and out-weighed him by more than fifty pounds of muscle. Bigger they are, the harder they fall, Brennan tried to console himself, failing utterly when he landed on the divan with a graceless flop.
"No sweat," he muttered, wincing at the sore muscles. Benji had seemed smaller before, hunching his shoulders and listening to his mommy.
"No, really," Ben insisted. "Listen, I owe you guys my life. Thanks to you and my mother, I can lead a normal life. I'm now beyond the thumb-sucking stage. Maybe it's twenty years late, but better late than never. I owe you."
Brennan stared at Ben. The man sounded normal. Well, not normal for him, but normal for the rest of the world.
Damn. Adam and Dr. Sutter's miracle came through, with a little help from the Kilmartin genes.