His Silent Little Treasure

Summary

The sharp, medicinal stench of bourbon hit me the second I pushed open the front door.

Daniel was slumped over the kitchen island, his forehead pressed against the cold quartz, a flush burning high on his cheekbones. Scattered across the counter were two empty bottles and an overturned tumbler.

Daniel was normally the kind of man who lined up his coffee mugs by height and couldn't stand a single speck of dust on the hardwood. In all the years I had known him, I had never once seen him lose control like this.