YOU’RE IN, the message read.
How fucking long had it been since he’d been part of anything? Since his life had looked like something other than just a repeat of his father’s days, without the warm numbness of alcohol to ease it along? Since he’d had a chance to feel optimistic—hell, to feel anything other than a sense of perpetual duty?
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything just for himself. Maybe back before J. R. died. Certainly long before his father had died. Maybe not even then.
He slid his phone back into his jacket. Funny how those two words made it feel just a little bit lighter.
By authors you’ll always remember
eOriginal Romance from Random House
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