Ashton
I woke up late. Again.
If I didn’t crash for at least a couple of hours, I wouldn’t have the strength to keep looking for her. Not that sleep helped. Not that I wanted it. The second I closed my eyes, Amanda was there. Her voice, her laugh, her face. Gone.
Every damn night since she was taken, I’ve been stuck in this cycle. Barely asleep. Barely functioning. Just angry enough to stay moving.
Dragging a towel over my hair, I stepped into the kitchen, the stench of beer and burnt toast hitting me like a punch to the gut. The others were already there—Colt, Blaze, and Luther—heads down, gripping bottles like lifelines.
Morning beers. Of course. Funny how "poor" doesn’t stop them from cracking open a can at nine a.m.
I grabbed a mug, clenching my jaw as the silence pressed agains
