Lucas
The wind blew a serious chill off the lake, rippling its surface with furrowed waves. I stared out over the water, the whiskey I'd drunk eating a hole in my stomach.
That's what I get for not eating first and putting down some kind of a base. I'm turning into Chase.
I bent over and picked up a flat stone from the multitude jumbled onto the lake shore. My fingers closed over the cold, smooth flatness of a chunk of rock. I straightened up and drew my arm back.
With a grunt, I hurled the stone toward the water. The stone struck the surface and skimmed along once, twice, before sinking on the third splash. It disappeared from sight as the wind-blown waves joined with or obliterated the ring of ripples made by the stone's impact.
I bent over agin, fingers scrabbling about over the ha
