Twenty-Seven
Austin
The television illuminates the dark living room, and Holly’s breathing is steady and low, her chest rising and falling next to me. Neither of us had the energy to make it up to her bedroom afterward, so we settled into the couch. As I gaze down at her, I wonder if she looks in the mirror and sees the gorgeous woman I do?
I wasn’t in Jack’s more than a couple of minutes before Francie pointed at the door and told me not to come back until I’d fixed it.
I’m still shocked that she’s Clint Edison’s daughter. The undercurrent of worry that spurred my initial reaction is still there, but I refuse to let it have power over me. Savannah’s going to flip. Not that it’s Holly’s fault. If anything, she’s a bigger victim than we are—the bastard abandoned her at birth.
The cutes
