Chapter 18Sid walked around in his house. He’d never noticed how it echoed before, but without Cognac, there was too much space—there wasn’t. The house was tiny, and it barely held together.
Right then, he was glad Thorn never had been in the house. He wouldn’t have had the energy to battle memories of Thorn talking, touching him, smiling. He didn’t smile often, but when he did, it took Sid’s breath away.
His hands shook as he opened the refrigerator. There was nothing in it other than a jar of pickled cucumbers he’d gotten from Jeb ages ago. Grabbing it, he twisted the lid and grabbed a fork. It was good Cognac wasn’t here—he’d never eat pickled cucumbers. Pain sliced through him. He had to make more money. He refused to let his dog starve. Guilt ate at him. Thorn was somewhere lost and
