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Chapter 19 The Drawer

  • “He’s still not answering,” I said, pacing the length of Damon’s driveway, phone pressed to my ear for the fourth time in twenty minutes.
  • Voicemail again.
  • Damon had been inside with his father for almost two hours now, longer than any conversation should reasonably take, and every unanswered call sent my stomach twisting tighter.
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