ALLY
‘
R
oark:
You were wrong. This is terrible. It smells too much like flowers. I feel like s**t for not feeling like shit.’
Smiling weakly down at my phone, I set my wine glass down on my coffee table to take hold of the device. My heart squeezed for Roark’s predicament, but before I could even unlock my cell, another of his messages came through with a shrill ping.
‘Roark: You were right. Julia said she only invited me to be polite.’
The text sent a small laugh rippling up my lungs and out of my mouth, and I set down my test papers next to me with a sigh. Roark had gotten increasingly more uncomfortable leading up to the funeral, and his texts had become more frequent. Unlocking my phone, I navigated to his chat as I thought of something to reply with.
‘Ally: How long are you-‘
