The next morning he has no memory of getting home, and, far more soberingly, an outgoing call to Liam at two in the morning that lasted just over seventeen minutes. He hopes, dimly, that he’d waxed poetic about Liam’s ass rather than telling Liam about his idle searches of how long it would take to drive to Halifax (thirty hours), or whether there was any flight there that didn’t take an absurd, ridiculous route (no).
