Damien’s head snapped up at the voice, remembering only then that Gavin was perched on the couch across from him, a glass of ginger ale in one hand. He’d been lost in his thoughts, replaying his wife walking out on him too many times to count. It was like a dream—a nightmare—and in many ways, Damien still couldn’t believe it. Did she really trust him that little that she’d throw away eight years for something so insignificant? “Yes.” His answer given, Damien took another swill of the potent amber liquid in his glass. Hennessy. It was his second glass. In college, it had been his drink of choice. He’d always been the type of man who committed to one type of alcohol and his choice was the cinnamon and spice blend currently warming his stomach. He drank only occasionally and this was one of the times when the fire and ice liquid was needed. “Where’s your wife?” That question earned his friend a glare.
