Mick Whitehouse brushing her teeth. Mick Whitehouse assuring her that Trent’s shiny, black shoes needed to be thrown out anyway. Mick Whitehouse tucking her into the futon and smoothing her hair from her clammy forehead in a way that was surprisingly soothing, making her feel more safe and relaxed than her mother’s lullabies ever had. When Faith opened her eyes to the first day of the New Year to find Mick asleep in a recliner in the corner, his sock feet sticking out beneath a fleece blanket, she didn’t know quite how to feel about it. On one hand, he’d been an amazing friend to her last night, and she knew the only reason she didn’t currently feel like death was because he had forced a glass of water and two aspirin down her before she fell asleep. On the other hand… Well—there was no other hand. Mick had been amazing. End of story. The realization made her feel off-balance, and unsure how to respond when Mick opened his eyes and greeted her with a sleepy smile. “Good mornin’,”
