“Better,” the other boy grinned, and his cobalt blue eyes were rich and deep like the Atlantic ocean. They were eyes he knew, eyes that sparked with mischief and trust and the utterly complete devotion found only in friendships forged by young children.Fenn blinked. The flash of that image—the sound of bees buzzing, the aroma of fresh-cut grass, and the glowing surge of hope—was slow to fade.
Hope; that fickle emotion he’d lost faith in so long ago.
“I—” He shook his head. He was imagining things, fanciful things. This was all because he’d drunk too much last night after Hayden had shown him those pictures on her phone: a life that wasn’t his, a life he couldn’t remember.
“You really don’t remember?” Hurt deepened the blue of Wes’s eyes even more before he glanced away. Something tighte
