Playing His Game

Mo never considered himself the nurturing type. Where would he have learned it?

But at some point, he must’ve picked up something from someone, or else the skills he cultivated putting cars back together translated into fussing over humans, because he found himself at Adam’s whenever Jorts wasn’t there to play guard dog.

Mads didn’t text him. Mo couldn’t tell if that made everything better or worse.

Adam had good days and bad days, or more accurately, he had good hours and bad hours.