Knox
The hallway is dark and quiet as I finally make myself turn away from her door.
I keep my eyes forward. If I look back now, if I actually look at that closed slab of wood, I’ll knock again. I will say something unforgivable.
I fear that I might shove that door open and hold her tight to my chest.
The study door closes behind me.
I don’t flick on the ceiling light. Just the desk lamp.
I grab the bottle of whiskey from the table. Which is cold in my palm.
I pour a sizable portion into the glass and take a gulp.
The burn rears down my throat sharply. Then for a few seconds, it’s the only thing I feel beyond the constant pounding below my ribs.
I pull my phone out of my pocket. And my thumb seeks out the security app on my phone. Twenty-three minutes and seventeen seconds ago.
