He pushed it open. Angie Polaski was on the floor, her back against the wall, a half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black between her thighs. She wasn't crying. Angie never cried where anyone could see. But her left eye was swollen shut, a split lip had dried to a mosaic of purple and black, and her knuckles were raw, skinned clean.
"Don't," Angie said, reading him like the dyslexic mess of a file she'd known since they were both twelve. "Don't you dare go noble for me, Will. I don't need saving. I need you to sit down." will trent angie
He did. He lowered himself onto the gritty linoleum across from her, his long legs folding awkwardly. They were a yard apart. The gulf of a lifetime. He pushed it open
"I've got you."
"Okay," she said, so quietly he almost missed it. "Okay." Angie never cried where anyone could see