DAXTON

The memory crept in before I could stop it.

Soft hands threading through my hair. The scent of wild jasmine clinging to her skin.

Anessa.

It was a lazy summer afternoon.

We'd been lying under the old willow tree for a while. I had my head in her lap. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep while she hummed above me. Every so often, she would gently run her fingers through the strands of hair on my head.

"You always look less terrifying when you're half-asleep," she teased, ...