My phone has the address pulled up on screen, but I remember the drive towards Devil’s Peak like it was yesterday. I also remember the last time I was here as if it were yesterday, too. Colton Wilder. Over the course of the past five months, I’ve replayed our conversation at the gas station a hundred times. In quiet moments, especially while lying in bed, always oh-so-fucking-alone, my mind can’t help but keep returning to that day and raking over every detail with a fine-tooth comb. Did I completely misread his signals? Maybe. Possibly. Ugh.
