Chapter 3Sunlight seared through Ted’s eyelids like a brand, sliding directly into the back of his skull until a headache flared. He opened his eyes to his own bedroom, though he had no idea how he’d gotten there or why he hadn’t pulled the blinds down. He could only assume that Ryan—or more likely, as Ryan had been at least as drunk as him, the bartender—had called him a car. Hopefully Ted hadn’t puked in it. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Seven A.M., and the way his brain was sloshing in his head, he was still drunk. Not a good sign.
He reached for his phone, knocked an empty glass off the table instead, and then finally got his fingers around it. Three missed calls from Aunt Carol. What the f**k?
After a shower and two very greasy fried eggs, Ted finally felt up to calling
