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THE VOW “SNEAK PEEK”
BRETT
There’s not enough s**t to do in this apartment to distract me. I stare at the kitchen counter. Definitely not enough s**t.
I’ve flicked through every TV channel twice. I called the pizza place. I even turn on the radio to sappy music—some early, sentimental John Mayer s**t, and in an attempt to drown out my thoughts, I’ve turned the volume up, beating my head up with background sounds to kill the noise in my brain. The insufferable f*****g noise that’s been playing in my mind for seven years. Different variations, of course. But always the same song.
This time? The song is telling me to go into the back of my apartment, storm into that bathroom—grab her. To hold little miss grown Elsie Carpenter in my hands and kiss her. To take her dripping
