CHAPTER 63: THE MISTAKES WE MAKE

DAMIAN The morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, lightening my bedroom. I groaned, shifting under the covers, trying to ignore the persistent pull of consciousness. But there was no escaping it. Sleep had been elusive lately, the comfort of rest replaced by the memories I couldn't shake. Memories of her. I finally dragged myself out of bed. The bedroom was a mess, which was evidence of a man spiraling. My clothes were strewn across the floor; an empty whiskey glass sat precariously on the nightstand. A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I made my way to the bathroom. The sight of my reflection in the mirror startled me. Dark circles rimmed my eyes; I ran a hand through my tousled brown hair, then down my stubbled jaw. I looked every bit the part of a man on the edge, and I hated it. Turning the faucet, I splashed cold water on my face. The shower was next, a quick. But as the hot water poured over me, all I could see was Marie. Her deep black eyes were the way they use