ELIJAH'S POV
The headache hit me before I even opened my eyes. Whiskey had a way of announcing itself the morning after, like a brass band playing in my skull. I rolled over and checked my phone. Seven thirty. Late for me, but considering the wreckage of yesterday, I was lucky to be conscious at all.
I needed water. Coffee. Something to wash the taste of failure out of my mouth.
The house was quiet when I made my way downstairs. Too quiet. I expected to find broken glass and overturned furniture from last night's rage, but the living room looked spotless. Someone had cleaned up the wine stains from the marble floor. The furniture was back in place. Even the air freshener couldn't quite mask the smell of cleaning products.
Deborah. Of course she had cleaned up my mess. She always did.
