Jaxon

I wake up hard, again. Half-asleep, my hand reaches over, searching for her warmth. I know she’s gone, but some part of me still thinks she’s going to be there, curled up beside me. The bed is cold, empty, and the reminder hits harder than I expected.

My mind drifts to memories I thought I’d moved past, replaying the few times we actually did fall into bed together. They were rare enough that each one is etched into me, sharper and more painful than I care to admit. I used to tell ...