Blade’s P.O.V.
I stared at my glass, watching the amber liquid swirl before I tipped it back. I couldn’t even remember how many drinks I had had by now, just that each one felt more bitter than the last. It was supposed to be helping me, supposed to drown out the memory of Meghan’s voice saying she didn’t want this—that she didn’t want me. Instead, each sip only brought her closer to the front of my mind.
Stupid, stupid brain!
“Unbelievable,” I muttered to myself, raising the glass for another sip. But a familiar voice cut through my haze.
“You’re kidding me, right? It’s eleven in the afternoon, Blade,”
I squinted through the bar’s dim lights as Skye walked over to me, looking both amused and slightly annoyed, though his eyes had a brotherly warmth underneath it all.
“Skye?” I asked,
