Jane’s POV
Finally.
I grabbed my bag from the dresser, yanked it open like I was about to snatch a winning lottery ticket, and fished out my cigarettes. God, I’d been dying for this since last night. I popped one between my lips, lit it with my favorite pink lighter, and took a long, deep drag.
The smoke curled up into the ceiling like a tiny, rebellious storm cloud.
“Mmm, yes,” I sighed, closing my eyes. That felt so damn good. Like pure peace in stick form.
And then — oh then — I did what I’d been wanting to do since yesterday afternoon when I first saw those missed calls.
I laughed.
Not just a cute little giggle. Nope. I laughed like a crazy woman in a bad soap opera. The kind of laugh that makes people scoot their chairs away from you at family dinners. Loud. Sharp. Hysterical.
