Rhysand
Every once in a while, I am left speechless by my actions. Just like today, I had overslept.
I, Rhysand Warner, had overslept, and no one had woken me up. The first thing I saw was sunlight bleeding past my curtains.
Shit. I reached for my phone, and another expletive escaped my mouth. Past 9 a.m.
I hadn't intended to stay up so late, much less talk to my father for more than five minutes, but last night had been different.
For once, we hadn't argued about work or expectations. We'd sat by the pool, sipping aged scotch and talking about trivial things.
My childhood, his. Old songs, and even a few stories about how he struggled to take care of me. Then he'd switched to Margaret, his love for her and how amazing she was. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen my father so
