46
I woke around nine the next morning to the aroma of fresh coffee drifting up from the kitchen. It took me a few minutes to get my bearings. Log cabin. Middle of f*****g nowhere. I hated waking up in a strange bed.
My mouth was dry as cotton. My head felt achy and hungover. My rib cage burned, but breathing seemed easier. Maybe I hadn’t broken a rib after all. Still, it was another morning without my hormones. God help whoever got in my way. I was out for blood.
I pulled myself into a seated position. My clothes and gear lay in a pile in the corner of the dimly lit loft. I had only the vaguest memory of taking them off. Too much beer, no doubt. I remembered Conor’s confession, and the empty, unsettled feelings returned.
I shuffled down the stairs, wearing only my shirt and underwear,
