Emma’s POV:
The house is a mess. Dirty clothes strewn everywhere. Shattered glass shoved carelessly to the side on the floor of the living room.
Alcohol. Everywhere.
Beer cans and gas station vodka and a bottle of tequila that Gianna had gifted to us last Christmas.
Alex sits at the dining table with that bottle in hand, his shoulders hunched, his hair a finger-swept mess. He watches me approach the way sailors on a storm-wrecked, sinking ship would watch the clouds begin to make way for blue sky— despairing with relief and bitterly hoping, despite all evidence to the contrary, that it’s not too late to be saved.
I pick up one of the beer cans and hold it up as I stop in front of him. “New hobby?” I ask.
He has the decency to flush, although that could just be the liquor. I reach
