“I haven’t seen your mom in a long while,” I comment, unlocking the front door.

“Well, you wouldn’t,” she says. “She’s never home.”

I help Willow into the hallway and shut the door behind us. As I walk her into the living room, she swigs her bottle of wine and I snatch it off her, placing it on a high shelf where she can’t reach it.

Unfocused fiery, blue eyes find mine. “What the hell, Grayson?!”

“You’ve had enough!” I grab her arm and drag her over to the couch. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I guide her to sit.

“Why did you drink so much?”

“You, out of everyone, should know.”

I lower myself down across from her on the coffee table. “You’re not dealing well with Chloe’s disappearance.”

Her bitter, drunken laughter fills the room as she falls back against the cushions. She pins me with her eyes. “Is grief linear? Is it okay to almost drink yourself to death for a few months, provided you get your shit together after,” she makes quotation marks, “‘an agreeable amount of time’ has passed?”

“I never said that.”

“I didn’t let myself feel at first. You had too much of your own grief to handle. I wanted to make you smile again, but now… I can’t be strong for-fucking-ever.”

“You want more alcohol? Is that it? You think it’ll numb the fucking pain?” I growl. I should discourage her instead of supplying a minor with alcohol but fuck that. If she wants to hurt for one day, I’ll let her.

At least she’s safe.

I clap my thighs and stand up to retrieve her wine. There’s a twinge of guilt when she drinks it all, but she’s weeks away from being a legal adult. She’s not a child.

“You feel better?” I ask.

She blinks at me with her glassy eyes. “No…”

I knew she wouldn’t. Alcohol doesn’t take the problems away. It dulls the pain, sure, but you can’t outrun grief. Once it’s touched you, it’s a companion for life.

“Who was that woman?”

My brows pull down low. Willow sees my confusion and adds, “The woman with amber hair.”

Realization dawns. “She was no one.”

Instead of being reassured, a mask falls over her face. “Are you seeing her again?”

It was a random fuck. I talked to her online for a few days, and we agreed to meet. I needed to release some of this pent-up energy that seems to gain momentum when I spend time with Willow.

“No, I’m not seeing her again.”

“Why?” she asks, spreading her legs slightly. My eyes fall to her smooth thighs. Her skirt has ridden up, revealing a glimpse of white lace.

“I haven’t spoken to her since then.”

“Why?”

I swallow thickly when she spreads her thighs wider. There’s no doubt about it—she’s trying to seduce me. “She hasn’t messaged me.”

She slowly trails her fingers up her thighs, closer to her center. “But if she did, would you meet up with her?”