How much did I drink last night? I rub the side of my head and try to recall what happened. I remember getting to the bar, drinking a shitload of shots, and seeing Beau, the guy who didn’t save Faith. He should’ve done something more. I remember telling him all that, and then I think my brother showed up. My eyes open, and I look around, only vaguely realizing that something’s different. I’m still too hungover to give a fuck, though. I grab my phone to check the time. Holy shit! It’s three in the afternoon, and I have four missed calls. Two from Presley, one from Trent, and one from Mama. I toss the phone back on the couch and cover my eyes with my arm. No way I want to hear from any of them. All three will tell me what a fuck up I’m being—as if I didn’t already know. I can’t seem to stop myself. “Open the damn door, you asshole!” Presley yells from the other side of the front door. Maybe she’ll go away. “Goddamn it, Wyatt Hennington!” she screams. I sit up and drop my head into my hands.
