DAMIAN’S POV
The drive back home didn’t feel like driving.
It felt like falling through a tunnel of headlights and horns and my own heartbeat.
I swerved into the wrong lane twice.
Once, a truck blasted past so close the Royce rocked, the driver leaning on the horn, screaming something I couldn’t hear over the music I had cranked to maximum.
I flipped him off with both hands and almost hit the median.
My head was a war drum. Every heartbeat slammed against my temples so hard I could feel it in my teeth.
My tongue felt three sizes too big, my mouth tasting like metal and the fuckin’ vodka.
My hands were on ten and two, but they kept slipping off the leather because my palms wouldn’t stop sweating.
I laughed at nothing, cried at nothing, screamed Cindy’s name into the empty car more
