Evan
I sat on the edge of Enzo’s couch like I didn’t belong in my own skin.
Two empty bottles sat on the table between us, a third one already half gone. The room smelled like alcohol and cedar and everything I wished I could forget. I stared at the wall, jaw tight, hands clasped together so hard my knuckles hurt.
Enzo leaned back in his chair, watching me like I was a ticking bomb.
“How are you doing?” he asked quietly.
I let out a laugh that held no humor. “You want the truth or the version that makes this less uncomfortable?”
“The truth,” he said. “Always.”
I dragged a hand down my face. “It’s f*****g heart breaking. I see her every day. Every morning. I wake up and she’s there, her scent, her presence. It’s like the house is mocking me. Like it knows exactly what it’s doing.
Ho
