Rosalie

Georgia gripped the coffee mug in her hands, her dark hair disheveled and falling around her face. I had never seen her like this, so tired. So out of sorts. I didn’t even ask if she wanted more coffee as I refilled her mug, returning the carafe to the coffee maker and reaching into an upper cabinet, pushing aside several boxes of tea and grasping the bottle of whiskey Ethan kept tucked away.

I poured a liberal shot of it into her coffee, glancing into her ...