~MEL~
The Victorian groaned as if it had a voice of its own. Wind rattled the half-rotted windowpanes, and for a second I thought the place might actually crash under the force of the wind. My fingertips trailed along the wallpaper that had been stripped halfway down the hallway, edges curling like old scars. Dust clung to the air, catching in the faint light spilling through the front windows.
This was supposed to be my project. My home. But standing here tonight, I couldn’t tell if the house was mine, or if it was Rouger’s: every corner of it carried his mark. The sawdust smell, the varnish, the hammer left by the stairs, a work shirt slung across the banister. Even when he wasn’t here, he was here.
I swallowed hard, pulling my sweater tighter around me.
Leo and Blaine’s laughter ech
