Triage.

Ben reminds me this morning that the last time he felt this way he dragged me off to Paris to put a halt to the perpetual tug of war and that when his ego takes a hit he tends to doubt life and everything in it. That leaving the tour due to the threat to his sobriety didn't feel like a milestone of comprehension, it felt like a failure and he came back expecting all the perks to be gone as well. Expecting it to the point where he still wakes up and figures he will see the unfamiliar walls of a cold hotel room and have no comforts whatsoever and he's amazed and humbled that we are here. That we waited and that we're not disappointed in him in the least.

I reminded him to get over himself and stop wingeing and let's get on with life. He laughed so gently I might have mistaken it for a sob but he agreed to find his way back before we all implode. The vultures are hovering, I tell him. 

I'll blow them right out of the sky, he whispers. 

Lochlan kisses the top of Ben's head as he goes by. He's on his way to negotiate a deal. Art for cash. Murals, this time in a big office lobby somewhere plain that should be pretty. Life imitates Cole. 

He gets to the door and then comes back and kisses my cheek for good measure and Ben and I wish him luck simultaneously without taking our eyes off each other. I feel like my gaze is a life raft and if I break it Ben will disappear under the surface again. I've almost got him back. Almost.