Good Until Morning
One wild night, three messages, a game of pool and a truth Christopher can’t outdrink, outrun, or forget. Good Until Morning Thursday. 8:04 PM. Erinvale. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made you hear your thoughts — and feel them. Christopher leaned back in the leather chair in his study, still in his office shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. A glass of sauvignon blanc rested on the windowsill beside him. His phone lay facedown on the desk, but it was buzzing again. Three new messages. Three...