"Ain't really a place you stay, honey," Gray says. He glances back at the prospect, who shrugs. The prospect doesn't have an opinion, or anything to offer. He's like a board with eyes. Gray shakes himself out, ignoring the painful jabs up his legs and through his torso and along his arms. Everything aches but moving hurts more, like tiny needles held carefully in place until motion drives them upward.
He shakes his head. "I haven't been drinking. You should never drink when your head ain't on straight." It isn't advice he gives lightly, but it isn't advice for everyone, either. Gray knows what PTSD looks like. He knows, and he knows if he drinks now he might not stop. And he doesn't want that.
"They need you plenty back home. You're like a butterfly. You keep everybody happy just by bein' there, baby girl." He smiles at her and it feels like a lie. Not because of his words but the smile feels too tight and he feels like he's showing her a face she doesn't believe. Maizie is smart. Of course she is. She's his baby. And she sees through bullshit clearer than anything.
He loses the smile and sighs, looking down at the ground. "Maizie, I know I wasn't the best daddy when you was little." It's a hard thing to say, but it's a thing he's known for years. He was too young, too wilful, too messy to get his shit together and be her daddy. "And I know that there was a lot of time I wasn't there. And I just... I want you to know you are the best thing that has ever happened to me."
There's a part of him that is screaming at him not to let this be their last conversation, but there's a bigger part that knows there's no guarantee he comes out of this alive. There's a chance. Probably a pretty good one. Gray Wolfe is a survivor. But it's not a guarantee by any stretch. He clears his throat and looks back up at her. "No matter what happens, it's gonna be okay. You know that, right?"