1:00 Monday morning
1:00 Monday morning1:00 Monday morningLike every expensive item he owned, Roderick Malone’s Rolex Submariner wristwatch had been a present to himself. The indulgence set him back nearly ten grand, which seemed about right for the lifestyle he anticipated. The luminous dial reported—1:00 a.m. Roderick was up and dressed, leaning heavily on the walking stick, forcing himself through the pain. No more drugs until he was off the island—roughly six hours until dawn. He could make it; he simply had to focus and tough it out. Like his life depended on it.
Like every expensive item Roderick limped into the kitchen, leaned against the countertop, the polished stone cold beneath his hand. Thinking of Austin, he fumbled with the Keurig coffee maker. It would be simpler if he was
