The private room was dim, filled with raucous laughter, but Brandon sat in the corner, his mind consumed by Hannah. The way her ears flushed when he held her close, the focused glint in her eyes when she watched his matches, the tight press of her lips when he pissed her off...
"Brandon?" Tyler waved a hand in front of his face. "You zoning out? Another drink?"
Brandon snapped back, taking the glass, then blurted, "How's... Hannah doing lately?"
"Hannah?" Tyler blinked, then waved it off. "She's fine, man. Always buried in work, barely has time for me. Sometimes I swear she's a total workaholic."
Brandon's gaze dropped, a soft "hm" escaping him as a strange relief settled in his chest. Good. She didn't seem... too torn up.
But the thought barely landed before a sharp pang stabbed his
