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The dregs of cold coffee stick in my throat as I set my mug down with a thud. Fuck, I’m exhausted. My eyelids feel like sandpaper against my eyes, and I rub at them with the futile hope of easing the discomfort.
Forty-eight hours.
Two damn days since I’ve seen the inside of my eyelids for more than a blink.
I haven’t had a chance to even speak a single word with Ava. Not even a text.
It’s impossible to keep her a secret forever, ...
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