Ian

I watched Summer's bedroom light from my window, as I did just about every night since we were fifteen. There wasn't anything to see, just a soft glow through the weeping willow branches from across the two acres between us, but it was habit. My gut tightened as I took a swig of beer, the condensation from the long neck bottle soaking my hand.

Pacing my bedroom, I glared at her everywhere I turned. There's been no escape for years now. Stupidly, I'd kept every ...