hapter 23: The Morning After
The coffee tasted like ash.
I kept making it anyway. Pour, drink half, forget it, pour another. My hands needed something to do or they’d start shaking again.
Last night was still sitting in my chest. My dad’s voice through the door. His hand on my arm. David pulling us apart like we were kids in a school yard.
The back door creaked and he came in.
He looked bad. Same work shirt, eyes red, like he hadn’t slept either. He stopped when he saw me and just took me in. The bruise. The way I was holding the mug too tight.
“You alive?” he asked.
“Barely.”
“Didn’t think so.” He poured himself coffee. Didn’t drink it. Just held it. “About last night.”
“You don’t owe me an apology.”
“I know.” He sighed. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve hear
