Porter felt like a walking wound, every atom saturated with hurt and anger and shame. He wanted nothing more than to stop the raw agony. Fat chance of that. Was this what his dad had felt like? Out of control with grief and betrayal? The temptation to find a bottle and fall into it was a siren song, but he’d never turned to alcohol to dull his pain. He’d made it a lifelong policy not to, even though he didn’t technically share Bobby Ingram’s genes.
So he didn’t go home, where he knew there was a fifth of bourbon. He didn’t go to the tavern. The last thing he needed was crowds. He simply drove on autopilot, with no destination in mind, until he found himself on Mia’s doorstep. The porch light was off, but a dim glow showed she was still up. He pounded on the door, not really knowing what h
