W Y A T T ' S P. O. V ~ 12 hours earlier
As usual, I leave the bottle of scotch on Hardin's makeshift desk. It creaks slightly under my weight, forcing me to hold my breath and pray that it didn't collapse.
The table slanted slightly but stood still. I took a step back and let out a breath of air. Thank f**k for that.
I only ever have one shot in the morning, one shot to get me through what is already preordained as a s**t day. A framed photo of Arabella is the only thing set on the desk, apart from the alcohol, and I smile almost immediately.
No wonder he put that photo there, for some reason it automatically blossoms hope inside my chest. The photos of Ajax and Rory are tucked away safely in one of my jackets I never wear, hidden safely in my wardrobe.
I can't believe I'm a fa
