“But you smell of Casteel.” I jolted at the sound of his name. His real name. “I am wearing his shirt.” “That’s not the kind of smell I’m talking about.”
Naomyidézettelőző év
Because Hawke wasn’t his name. And we hadn’t made love. He’d fucked me.
Naomyidézettelőző év
“Was any of it true?”
Naomyidézettelőző év
“Poppy. Stop—” “I hate you!”
Naomyidézettelőző év
my head doesn’t…go quiet. It replays things over and over,”
Naomyidézettelőző év
The pain and anger were still there. But Hawke was so warm, and his embrace was…gods, it felt like hope, like a promise that I wouldn’t always feel this way
Naomyidézettelőző év
Sometimes remembering those who died means facing your own mortality,