“You gotta get her out of your head,” Tweetie says. I down some water. “Does it look like I’m not trying to do exactly that?” He holds up his hands and looks at Henry, as if he’s the one to guide me. Then again, there’s a reason we call him Daddy. “Have you talked to her?” Henry asks. I shake my head. His forehead wrinkles. “Fuck, Rowan, why not?”
