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his father had built so many things in his life that he never bothered to take care of. Houses, marriages, sons.
Shay held all his father’s wishes, and none of his regret.
Shay loved best when he said, Show me your worst thing. I promise I won’t look away.
Marley went to her husband, did as she’d always done, and made his stains, his pain, her own.
Baylor had the kind of muscle that intimidated; Way’s was the kind that sheltered.
They were going to get caught, but they were young, and it was winter, and one body will want another when it snows.
Everyone felt lonely in the great house, even when they were together.
Her exhaustion was a palpable thing in the room, something with its own fingernails and teeth.
This was how Baylor loved, she learned that day. It was the only way he knew how. Like it hurt.
Their relationship settled into itself the way sand sinks into a jar before it calcifies. Sturdy like a rock, and unable to move.
Who could know what to search for in a mother? Children were trained to look at her and see their own needs instead.
He couldn’t forgive himself for being young and sparrow-hearted, for still not understanding what it took to feel whole.
He was obsessed with the notion of starting over, of wiping his own slate clean with his fist, and therefore saw no need to sustain even one thing that he’d built.
Baylor knew Mick’s life hadn’t been easy, yet he’d had plenty of luck. His was the body pulled from the wreckage every single time.
