“You’d better,” I replied.
She closed the door gently—not slamming it, but not lingering, either.
I stayed there a moment after the lock clicked, staring at the faded wood and the thin crack running down the center panel, memorizing it like it might matter.
I had reduced Ryan to something that fit in an urn . . . and I was already planning where I’d stand when she let him go.
EDEN
The bottle was sweating by the time we got it open.
It was cheap champagne that we’d bought with crumpled bills from the gas station down the street because we’d wanted something that felt like a celebration and didn’t care that it wasn’t good. Ryan wrestled with the cork while I sat cross-legged on the hood of our car, the desert night still clinging to our skin, Vegas glowing in the distance like a mirage
