#Chapter50
As the Range Rover pulled to a dead stop in the Evermoore parking lot, wheels hogging two bays and blocking in the Mercedes to his right, Angel cut the engine. Let his head fall back against the seat. Drew in a monstrous breath that plucked up so much force it burnt the inner lining of his airway. Blowing it out wasn't the cure-all he'd been hoping for. But then again, he was hardly surprised.
When it was one of those weeks, it was one of those weeks. And so far, it was really shaping up to be one of those fucking weeks.
As he turned around in his seat, ready to release the trigger on his seatbelt, his eyes flicked up towards the heavens, squeezing shut for the briefest of seconds as he reconstructed his composure. When he reopened them, the blond in the passenger seat was still trying to feed the radio ice cream, using the plastic spoon that had come with it to wean some into the CD slot.
