Chapter 12
When Corey left to get his bag, Ian considered locking the door behind him. He would hide beneath the covers, the half-empty bottle of whiskey snuggled to his chest like a stuffed animal, and he wouldn’t listen when Corey knocked on the door. He wouldn’t answer it. He would ignore Corey’s pleas and cries and the way his lips had burned against his skin, the memory of his touch that still lingered on his flesh.
But when the others returned, they’d want to know why he wouldn’t let Corey in. They’d want answers. And Ian wasn’t ready for that.
So he stayed where he was and left the door unlocked, and when Corey returned, he was still by the window, staring at the small imperfections he saw in the glass, the city a blur beyond his focus. “I hope you changed,” Ian said without turn
