Thirteen
Once I got home, I didn’t think about nothing or nobody, except those stupid boxes I kept tripping over. I stripped off my jeans, shirt, and socks and got under the covers. That was it.
Until a noise woke me up.
My eyes opened to pitch darkness. I listened. Couldn’t tell if it was inside or out. I quickly sat up. Too quickly. I was still a little bit drunk.
Were those voices? I reached for the drawer on my nightstand and then remembered my gun was still in the car.
Crap.
I quietly pulled on my jeans, and then I stealthily left the room and headed down the short hallway to the living room. I immediately stubbed my toe on a box full of something very hard. I swore under my breath.
Then I heard voices again. Definitely outside. Maybe someone coming home from the bar.
“s**t, M
