Pauly’s POV.

“Pauly.” Eleanor’s soft voice briefly soothed me.

My temper was frail, my nerves were made of glass, and my emotions were too close to the surface. I was too tired to control myself. It was either get angry or punch a speedball.

This kitchen held two of the three females that meant more to me than they knew. More to me than I could frame words around. The reminder of how precious both of them had become clear to me. Even Eleanor in such a short ...