90-DAYS WET
"Well, more for Kade then. Honestly, I don't know where he puts it all."
The evening dragged on. Parish eventually went upstairs to shower, leaving Kade and me alone in the living room.
The silence was heavy, charged with the ghost of our earlier violence. Kade sat in his armchair, a book in his hand, looking every bit the respectable man of the house.
I stood up to go to my room, but as I passed his chair, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in an iron grip. He didn't look up from his book.
"Tomorrow. Five a.m.," he whispered. "Don't be late."
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