It’s a humid July morning when Jordan leaves.
Adam tastes whiskey on his lips, the bottle it came from dangling from his fingertips as he jolts
awake. He’s spread-eagled on the bed, sheets tangled around his middle and locking him in a
coffin of warmth and stickiness from sweating in the humidity. It takes him a few seconds to
realize where he is, before he stretches across the mattress and hits air on the other side of the bed.