Grayson
Before Ashley even stirs, I slip out of her bed. The sheets are still warm from her. The pillows hold the scent of tequila, perfume and something softer underneath. Dangerous as hell.
I dig through her bathroom cabinet until I find aspirin. The bottle rattles too loud in the quiet, like it's accusing me.
In the kitchen, I fill a glass with cold water and bring both back, setting them on the nightstand—a peace offering that doesn't even scratch the surface of how badly I f****d up.
The room's still dark. I tug the blackout curtains tighter so the sun won't stab through her skull when she wakes. After the way she drank last night, she's gonna have the worst hangover of the century.
This is all my fault.
I pushed her there. Ignored her calls. Let her believe she was nothing but
