Hadlee came down for breakfast and noted her parents and Eric quietly sitting in the dining room. She ignored them, moving to the coffee pot and poured herself a mug full of the nectar she needed before taking a long sip. She was singing lowly, the song Wicked Game by Chris Isaak sadly on repeat in her brain and she couldn’t stop singing it. Everything about the night she last danced was haunting her.
“You look tired, Hadlee,” her mom spoke softly as if approaching a wounded animal. “Did you not sleep well?”
“Apparently kittens are nocturnal, and they do their best work between the hours of midnight and six.”
Her father’s snort and “I told you so” was, in her opinion, quite rude.
“It’s fine. Alvin and Simon are sleeping now and it’s not like I have anywhere I need to be. I’m going to n
