POV: Millie
I woke up the next morning feeling like absolute death and swore I'd never drink Coyote's homebrew again. My head pounded with every heartbeat. A mug of tea sat on the nightstand, and I chugged the whole thing, hoping it would help with the regret sitting heavy in my gut.
I'd never stayed at a bar until closing before last night. The memory made me cringe. Maybe I was so desperate for company that I begged Han to stay late, hanging onto our conversation like my life depended on it. I squinted at the sunlight coming through the window and saw my car in the driveway. At least I hadn't tried to drive home drunk.
Last night was fuzzy in that specific way that happens when you drink way too much. Coyote kept pouring shots, and I kept drinking them like an i***t. I'll go kill him
