I shouldn’t have called him . . . but I did. Winnie I called him in my darkest hour, the man who crushed my heart, and the man who still holds onto it. I had two choices: call the cops, or call him . . . but there wasn’t much of a choice. He’d be the one to get to the bottom of this, and if I wanted any of what I lost back, he’d be the one to rip it from whoever stole it. Ascher Winnie called me up when her shop got vandalized and her life’s savings was stolen from her. She knew the police wouldn’t have anything to go on, so she called the one man who’d be able to find the people who did this to her. I promised her I’d find whoever did it, that I’d make them pay, but the more time I spend around her the more I want her again. I already screwed shit up between us in the past, but I’m left asking myself this: can we bury the hatchet? I don’t know if we can, but damn I sure as fuck hope we can try. I miss her more than I care to admit.