Return of the Broken Heiress
Then, after a few beats, I realized it was my phone.
I picked it up, my stomach twisting in irritation when I saw the name flashing across the screen.
Esther.
My wife.
I didn’t even hesitate.
I switched the phone off and tossed it onto the empty seat.
Not a single damn word was spoken about it.
Instead, we just sat there, in silence, drowning ourselves in the only thing that made sense anymore.
More alcohol.
Swift finally cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “You can’t just go around breaking bottles on people’s heads, man,” he muttered, but his voice lacked any real reprimand.