Chapter 8

Adam was stewing. Stewing and drinking and feeling generally sorry for himself. He knew and he wasn’t proud of it. But sometimes a person needed to sit and wallow for a bit, and then you could go back to your life and move the hell on.

He finished his third beer, sighing. Morose music played in the background of his house; the lights were dimmed. If he’d put on black eyeliner and gotten his lip pierced, he could’ve given one of those emo kids a run for their money. Were kids still doing that these days? Adam stared at his beer can, wondering. Grace had been friends with a self-described emo kid who’d renamed himself Lucifer back in junior high, but Adam had missed that trend. Thank God.

His beer can empty, he debated whether or not four beers in two hours was excessive. Being not in the least bit slight in stature or overall body type, he barely felt buzzed. It would take a lot more than a few beers to get him hammered. And really, he didn’t want to get hammered. He just wanted to ta