Evangeline
He was never here, he said. He didn’t do it, it didn’t happen. It was a dream.
No. It was real.
As real as my broken heart.
Leonard
I slept like s**t last night. If I slept at all. I already regret how I handled things—literally and figuratively. Literally in how I handled my c**k, like it was a punishing shaft created in order to spill all my filthy, dark impulses over Evangeline. And figuratively, in the way I said it didn’t even happen.
Carter was right—I was out of order.
Saturday finds me by the pool, audio of the Surf Rats game playing on my phone, one beer in my hand and another waiting in a small cooler at my side. And sitting like a lump on my chest is a pile of regret.
The back door swings open and Evangeline steps outside, carrying a giant basket, an ice chest
