Riley could feel Kent’s turmoil throughout the evening, even when she tried to ignore him completely. She tried having dinner with Leo and Wesley, but her splitting headache dampened her appetite. She tried resting in her bed, but Kent’s misery was constant. Finally she gave up, venturing down the hall to knock on his bedroom door. He opened it, his eyes bloodshot as he looked at her, the smell of whiskey strong.
“You’re a mess,” she said, frowning as she pushed past him into his room.
“What do you want?” he asked quietly, shutting the door.
She walked over and sat on his couch. There was a half-full tumbler on the coffee table in front of her. Kent leaned against the closed door, shoving the hand of his good arm into his pocket.
“Should you be drinking while you’re still recovering?”
