After the third shot, I start to feel that blissful haze that softens the rough edges of reality. It numbs away some of that pain that is slowly creeping in. The pain that reminds me that I’m even more alone than I was before—which was still pretty fucking alone.

I should say something to the little pair of eyes watching me from the kitchen, but I don’t. What the fuck would I even have to say to a kid right now? Like I’d have some sage advice for her.

There’s a clink of glasses next to me. Savannah fills her glass even higher than I do, but she drinks bourbon, Hazel’s favorite. She must have taught her well.

Unlike me, Savannah stops at two. And she follows it up with a glass of water.

Her gaze on my face feels like fire on my skin. Then her hand touches my arm, and I flinch.

I don’t want comforting right now. Not companionship or support. I don’t need someone to help me feel better. What I need is an escape or a distraction, and so far, this whiskey is not cutting it.

Chapter 11

I can’t watch them take her body. It’s all too real for me, so I leave Ruby and Ryder to handle that while I keep Murph company on the patio.

He’s a live wire about to explode.

He can’t sit still, won’t talk in complete sentences, and snaps at every question I ask.

The worst part is that I feel even more drawn to him than before. Even after that little outburst last night—or was that two days ago—I have to fight the urge to climb up onto his lap and kiss his anxiety away.

He won’t look me in the eye. In fact, he hasn’t looked anyone in the eye since she passed. Granted it’s only been an hour, but I feel like if he struggles alone in his head, he’ll only get worse.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, keeping my voice calm and flat.

“No.”

“Maybe I should order something for everyone else? How long before people start bringing over casseroles?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

He doesn’t move, only keeps his eyes trained on the ocean waves lit only by the full moon.

“Murph,” I say, reaching for his arm, letting my fingers rest against the dark tattoos that stretch across his forearm.

“I need another drink.” He jumps up just as my skin makes contact.

“No, you don’t.” His words are starting to slur, and it takes a lot to get a guy his size drunk, so I know he’s had way too much. I don’t need him getting ridiculous tonight, not with Ryder’s daughter here. A death is enough for one day.