Next Morning, Lidia didn’t knock. She didn’t need to. The door to Hayden’s room creaked open with a low groan, the early light casting pale shadows over the hardwood floor.
He was there. Sitting at the edge of the bed. Shirtless. Wrists resting on his knees. A cigarette between his fingers, long burnt down and dead. He hadn’t smoked it. He just held it. Letting the smoke create uneven lines in the air above.
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