The air outside slapped him in the face. Cold, sober, brutal.
Craig didn't stop walking. Not when he heard Adriana's voice behind him. Not when Keith called his name. Not even when his phone buzzed three times in his pocket.
He shoved his hands in his jacket, jaw clenched so tight it ached. He started this fire. Threw the first stone. Pushed until she broke.
Again.
She looked at him like he was worse than Conor. Like she didn't even recognize the person standing in front of her.
And maybe she was right.
Maybe he didn't recognize himself either.
Craig slowed as he reached the edge of the lot, the cool metal of his phone biting into his palm. His reflection stared back at him in the window—flushed, angry, a little too undone for his own liking.
This wasn't part of the plan. He was supposed to keep things cool, stay neutral—cordial, even. Not let it get complicated. Not make everything worse.
But he'd let his emotions get the better of him.
