He was a shitheel. No matter what Malcolm said. No matter what trauma they were carrying. But the praise, however sharp, came with it's own truthful digs. The 'I wish I was his everything but I know I'm not'. The way Malcolm hesitates before forcing every bit if comfort that… that there is for them.

Raylan didn't think he'd be taking any more of that comfort. From anyone. He wasn't sure he could do it. But this wasn't about him. It didn't matter what he did or how he felt, he was still in the wrong. No room to complain.

He sipped his tea and wished like hell that it was moonshine.

It wasn't about if they could live with out him. They could. They could live without any of the others. That didn't mean they wanted to. Or that they wouldn't fight to keep what they had.