Joss was sprawled out on the sofa watching television when her son got home that night. "Hi, Nicky," she called out, hearing him bustle around in the kitchen: The fridge opening, the clank of bottles, pop, pop, Nick's steady footsteps. Now that he was twenty-one, the house was always stocked with more alcohol than food. The temptation was constant."Hey, Mom," he said, plopping down next to Joss as she sat up, curling her legs up to one side and covering them with a blanket. She took the beer he'd offered and they both took a long draught.Nick reminded her a great deal of his father, no matter how hard Joss tried to deny it. They were both tall with a muscular build, coarse olive skin, thick raven hair, rich brown eyes and striking features. But where Drew had always been hard and tense, his son had an ease that he'd acquired from being raised by Michael. His lips were more accustomed to smiling than scowling, eyes wide to the world instead of narrowed with hate, hand
Last Updated : 2026-10-19 Read more