CHAPTER 29
AT ONE O’CLOCK in the morning, I woke up on the floor. I didn’t often have nightmares, but there was no other word for a dream starring Bryce. He’d been on stage, playing Hamlet to Mandi’s Ophelia, when Adam swept past in a tuxedo and challenged him to a duel. I’d been glued to my seat in the audience, quite literally paralysed, and I’d been struggling to free myself and help Adam when I fell out of bed.
As I lay there on the cool floor, watching car headlights flicker across the ceiling, I had time to reflect.
My initial euphoria about the demise of Bryce had given way to numbness. I felt hollow, as if somebody had scooped out my insides and put them on the bonfire with his belongings.
But it wasn’t the loss of Bryce himself that made me feel that way, it was my own stupidi
