The knock on the door was an announcement rather than a request, which let Wyatt know exactly who was walking in when the screen slammed shut behind his best friend.

"Hey Mike, I'm in the kitchen," he called out.

Mike walked in and set a six pack of Pabst on the island, perspiration dripping down the cans in the anomalous August weather. Washington state wasn't known for harsh summers, but this one seemed to creep up from the south, suffocating the entire west coast in a heat wave. Wyatt guessed that was the reason for his buddy's constipated expression and current silence.

"Couldn't wait to see me, huh?" he teased.

"Wyatt, man, we need to talk."

"Well shit," he grunted, giving him another look before pushing up from the floor. There was always a repair to be made to this old house, and today, it was a leaky pipe under the sink. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I'm good. Nothing like that. We just, well I need to tell you something, and it'd be easier if we could sit and talk over a beer or two."

"Couldn't wait until we were out on the water tomorrow?"

"Honestly, I didn't feel right about fishing until I got this off my chest. Better we not be out in the middle of nowhere."

"Alright, man. You got me kind of worried," Wyatt scowled, taking a seat at the table.

Mike pulled two beers off the pack and handed one over, popping his open and taking a long swallow before looking back at Wyatt.

"You remember when I went out to Seattle about five months ago?"

"Yeah, quietest three weeks of my life," Wyatt chuckled. "Don't tell me they've asked you to go back. Oh shit, you're not moving, are you?"

"No," he said quietly. "I ran into Lisa when I was out there."

The silence was thick, and Wyatt had no idea where this was going. Lisa had been his childhood sweetheart and later his wife, but she surprised him with a divorce a little over a year ago. That's how he ended up in a two-story, fixer-upper all on his own. Was she getting married? Was she sick? He was still mad as hell, but he also had unresolved feelings there. Part of him hoped she was miserable and regretted ever leaving him. A smaller part, buried deep down, hoped she would come back.

"And?" Wyatt prodded.

"It was always the three of us in high school. Girls came and went in my life, but we were all thick as thieves. She was always my friend."

"For fuck's sake. Is she okay? Spit it out," he growled anxiously.

"We um, we're getting married, Wyatt."

Blood rushed in his ears, a rising drumbeat clanging in his chest, until he did the only thing that made any sense. Wyatt burst out laughing.

"Man, that is the most fucked up joke ever," he hooted, clinking his can against Mike's. "How about you not give me a freaking heart attack over here."

Mike just sat, quietly observing his best friend, his eyes filled with concern and guilt. It was the latter that stopped Wyatt's laughter. He could see the shame alongside the resolve.

"It's not a joke, Wyatt. I'm so sorry, man. It wasn't ever supposed to happen. We grabbed dinner for old time's sake. Then one thing led to another, and we've been doing the long-distance thing for the last five months. I love her."

"I...five months...but," Wyatt stuttered, quickly doing the math in his head. The divorce was finalized fourteen months and eight days ago. In his mind, the ink was barely dry. "You can't do this."

"You don't own her, Wyatt."

"It's not about her. You're my best friend. You know how badly she hurt me."

Worse, Mike knew his unspoken admission, that Wyatt wasn't over her. Mike also knew that Lisa was never going to return to him, no matter how much Wyatt did to this old house.

"You two had your time, and it didn't work," he said, trying to show his friend the truth, no matter how ugly it was.

"Didn't work?" Wyatt's voice dropped as the anger built. "I did everything she asked of me. That scholarship I tossed, the last fifteen years working a job I never wanted, buying this house because she wanted a family, everything."

"I know. But Lisa was always one for the finer things. Things I can give her."

"Shucking oysters!" Wyatt roared.

"You know as well as I do that Dad is leaving the entire company to me. The new oyster bar in Seattle is a huge hit. We've now got six throughout the Sound, and we've expanded our boats. We've even got a shrimper on the water, along with the commercial clamming and oyster farming."

"I don't give a shit about your inheritance. She was my wife."

"I know. But she was always my friend."

"So you're moving to Seattle," Wyatt said, his voice going cold and sharp.

"Uh, no. She's coming back."

"What?" he yelled, pushing up so fast his chair toppled behind him. "That was why she left me. To live in the fucking city."

"Man, she left you for a lot of reasons. Money, the city, lifestyle. She got a taste of it and misses home."

"Let me get this perfectly clear. You, my best friend since we were in diapers, are going to marry my ex-wife, the love of my life, the woman who broke my heart, and you're going to do it right here in front of me all because your daddy has more money than mine. Does that about sum it up?"

"Wyatt, it's not like that. We..."

"It's exactly like that," he bellowed, cutting him off. "Get. The fuck. Out. Of my house. Don't let me see your face again until these plans change."

"They're not changing, Wyatt," Mike said in a resigned tone.

"Then I suggest you stay far the fuck away from me, or I'll put my fist through your face the next time I see it."

"Wyatt," Mike pleaded.

"You have three seconds. One..."

Mike stood from his seat at the table and tried one last time. "I don't want to lose my friend."

"Two."

"Fuck, man. Don't be like this. You two are over."

Wyatt didn't give him the third count, and the sound of bone splitting flesh cut through the thick summer air. He knew another hit was already building, and while killing his best friend had crossed his mind, that punch was about as violent as Wyatt ever got.

He stomped through the house, grabbing his keys and cell on the way out the door. Hopping in the nicest Chevy pick-up he could afford when pandering to the whims of his beloved ex, he peeled out of the dirt drive, kicking up dust and rock all the way to the highway headed into town. On the way, he texted his brother Taylor to meet him at Dockside, a cheap bar they often frequented down by the water.

"Damn, what the hell happened to you?" Taylor asked, passing over his own whiskey when Wyatt dropped down onto the stool beside him.

"I need a distraction. Anything, just say fucking anything."

"Well, I was going to call you up for drinks later on. I've got myself in another bind."

"Fuck, anything but that," Wyatt groaned, throwing back the whiskey in one go and gesturing to Jessie, the bartender, for two more.

"Listen, I know you said that last loan was the end of your help, but it's bad. They're going to take my BMW and my business."

"Fucking hell, Tay. How much are you in for?" Wyatt asked, his brows drawing together.

"A hundred and eighty-three thousand," Taylor admitted quietly.

Wyatt's eyes went wide. His brother's gambling had been a problem for the last decade, but it usually stayed on the lower side of five digits. Bailing him out had been one of the biggest fights he and Lisa had, repetitively, but Taylor always paid him back. He hit fifteen grand six months ago, and the boys had to pawn some expensive equipment along with their mother's wedding ring. That's when Wyatt drew a line and said the next time Taylor was on his own.

"Shit, Tay. I can't help you. Even if I wanted to, I don't have that kind of cash."

"I know, but you do have that kind of equity. If we remortgage your house and dip into your 401K, or we could sell your boat. Better yet, sell the fucking house. You only bought it for her anyway. I could pay it all back in a year or two, maybe three depending on my luck," Taylor said with the same grin he had been giving Wyatt since he was five. Taylor was three years younger and had been able to get whatever he wanted out of his older brother from the time he could walk.

"Have you lost your fucking mind? You're a damn financial advisor. Would you tell any of your clients to do that?"

"Exactly. My very job is making money. You know I can give it all back. Come on man, you can't let them take my car and my business."

"I'm sorry. This may be the very worst day you could have possibly asked, but even if it weren't..." Wyatt trailed off, not wanting another argument while he was still reeling.

"What the hell happened?" Taylor asked, calling out for another round. Jessie popped over and topped their glasses, regardless of the dregs in the bottom. Dockside was classy like that.

"Lisa is coming back," Wyatt blurted like the words could no longer be contained.

"Man, that's a good thing! Maybe you can get a second chance," Taylor beamed, clinking his new drink against his brother's.

"She's coming back to marry Mike," he choked, emotions threatening to spill out.

"What the fuck? Mike, as in Mike Landers, your best friend?" Taylor all but shouted.

"Not anymore," Wyatt grunted, downing his third drink.

"Fuck. Wyatt, I'm so fucking sorry. I don't even know what to say."

"That makes two of us," he sighed, dropping his head to the bar. Taylor squeezed his brother's shoulder and asked Jessie for a whole bottle. This called for some serious day drinking. He poured them each another glass before finding a new way to see the situation. That's what Taylor did, always monetizing life's disasters.

"Silver lining, the sooner they marry, the sooner you stop paying alimony."

"Man, he knew about that too. Mike was so fucking angry about it. I paid for every single thing we had together. I still don't believe that was Lisa's idea. It had to be her attorney's doing."

"Still say you should have split your assets for a one-time payout. She's got you by the balls with this monthly shit, but again, if she remarries, you come out on top."

"Not really how I see it."

"You can't still be hung up on that bitch," Taylor groaned.

Wyatt was too strung out to even think before he fisted Tay's shirt up by the collar and nearly pulled him off of his barstool. "Don't ever call her that," he snarled.

"Wyatt, you need to let me go, right fucking now."

He opened his fist and shoved his brother hard enough to make him wobble on his stool. They had been in countless scraps since childhood, but there was no real intent behind Wyatt's push. It was only a warning.

"She's not worth you losing your shit like this. The situation with Mike, sure, but just her... I'll never understand it. You gave up everything, and it still wasn't enough. That's not the type of woman you need, brother. You're fucking selfless with the people you love, and you need a woman who appreciates that."

"I can make her happy. Just a few more months and the house renovations will be done. If she's moving back here, I can make her happy. I can get her back."

"So you'll spend every extra penny you have trying to impress someone who treats you like shit, but you won't help your brother who is always there for you?"

"No amount of whiskey will have me falling for your guilt trips," Wyatt said, the first hint of a smile tugging at his lips. His baby brother was nothing if not consistent.

Taylor chuckled. "Had to try. I am sorry, Wyatt."

"Yeah, me too."

The brothers sat and drank until Wyatt saw two of everything. Taylor pushed for the loan a few more times, trying different tactics, but there was no amount of booze in the world that would have Wyatt handing over his retirement to bail him out. This was one lesson Tay needed to learn the hard way.

It was only a quarter past six, so he had Jessie call up one of the town's designated drivers, a program started and run by the high school to pick up and drop off without questions until ten during the week and midnight on the weekends. This would be the first time he ever had to use it.

When the two kids showed up, a burly athletic guy helped him into the back of an older Corolla, and a young girl took his keys. Even drunk, he wasn't keen on handing over his truck to a teenager, but at this point, she had to be a better driver than he was.

That's how the program worked. One drove the inebriated passenger, and the other followed in said passenger's vehicle for a flat fee of twenty bucks. It wasn't bad, seeing as your car was in the driveway come morning. Wyatt's house was on the edge of town, so he paid them thirty and trudged inside, passing out on the sofa with a strangled groan.

⚞❖⚟

The alarm went off on her phone for the second time, a warning that it was almost six-thirty. In fifteen minutes, she would take her first step down the aisle. Should that really be considered a warning? The fact that she thought so wouldn't cross her mind, not for a few more years anyway.

"I can't believe you're getting married before me. You lucky bitch," Kimmy said excitedly as she arranged the white netting over Emma's eyes. It was a 1940's inspired birdcage veil attached to a span of white feathers that arched across her honey brown hair. Emma preferred simple and vintage when possible. She had wanted to go to the courthouse, but Todd insisted on the full church wedding.

This single detail took all the blame for her jitters. If there was something Emma disliked more than extravagance, it was attention. She had already vomited twice and felt certain she might again. Her hands shook, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself pushing through throngs of screaming people, a hag shrieking, "Boo, boo. Rubbish. Filth. Slime. Muck. Boo." She really shouldn't have watched The Princess Bride last night. Her imagination did just fine on its own.

Knowing her disposition, Todd handled all the wedding plans, well him and his mother. It was important to get all the details in order, including press coverage. Had she realized one day she might marry the senator's only son, she may have reconsidered accepting that first date. In the end, one fear trumped the other. While people made her nervous, being alone in the world for the rest of her life outright terrified her.

"It's really sweet of Senator Murdock to walk you down the aisle," Kimmy cooed, appearing far happier about this wedding than the bride.

Emma smothered an unladylike snort, though she agreed. "Todd was worried I might run screaming or pass out without an escort."

"I can't believe I handed him over to you," Kimmy teased and not for the first time. "If only I'd known his father would be elected back at that frat party."

"Perhaps you should date his father," Emma stated flatly.

Kimmy was her one and only friend but not particularly because she liked her. It was a matter of time and place, four years ago, the first week of her sophomore year at University of Washington in Seattle. Emma had been walking to her dorm and accidentally bumped into a tall, leggy blonde dressed in an outfit meant to show more than it covered. Kimmy was a freshman, psyching herself up to crash a Greek house party.

"Oh good. I don't have to go in alone. Strange outfit," she giggled, latching onto Emma's arm and dragging her up the walk.

"Wait. What are you doing?" Emma balked, trying to pull away, but the determined blonde latched on tighter.

"I can't go in there alone," she shrugged.

"I'm not going!" Emma screeched.

"You have to. Come on. Help a girl out."

"Do I look like someone who goes to parties?" Emma asked, glancing down at her ripped jeans and baggy gray T-shirt.

"Good point. Here." Before Emma even realized what was happening, the blonde pulled the elastic out of her long brown hair and bunched the fabric of her T-shirt at the back, tying it off. "Better. You have a cute body. You should show it off."

Emma was both appalled and mesmerized. No one had ever paid her a compliment, certainly not about her looks. The blonde whipped out a tube of shiny pink goo and quickly used her finger to swipe it across Emma's bottom lip.

"There. Much improved. Just roll your lips together. I'm Kimmy by the way."

"Emma."

"Let's go have some fun."

Emma made it a full half hour before searching for Kimmy in the crowded frat house to say goodbye. The girl was pressed against the kitchen wall, jutting out her ample chest while she talked to the most beautiful boy Emma had ever seen. He was refined, almost angelic with golden hair, soft blue eyes, and bronze skin that hugged his lithe frame with just the right amount of muscle. Emma wondered if he was a swimmer or perhaps ran track.

Barely clearing five-two and weighing one-twenty soaking wet, guys typically made her nervous. Emma was the exact opposite of Kimmy, looking like a twelve-year-old boy with boobs rather than a cover model. It didn't surprise her to see a guy like that ogling the sexy blonde.

Kimmy saw her slipping back out and used the pretty boy to keep Emma there. Todd.

That's how they all met, a whirlwind of too much that had never stopped. At first, it was clear Todd entertained Emma to stay close to Kimmy, but after a couple of weeks, things changed. Kimmy was more interested in the Huskies' linebacker, then one of the tight ends, and later a wide receiver.

The girl swapped men like she swapped accessories, and that's how Todd finally saw the value in simple and loyal. It helped that his parents adored Emma. Her background made for good press, too. Or so she was told.

A magazine released a write-up last week, telling her story and painting it much more dire than she believed herself to be. Raised by a single mom who passed when she was nineteen, Emma had no other family that she knew of, and the tabloids had coined her the 'Orphan Elect' and her least favorite the 'Senator's Stray.' Mr. Murdock told her that marrying his son meant marrying the family, but it had been much more than she ever expected.

Regardless, she would endure. It was only for a few more weeks until they glommed on to some other sensationalized headline. Everything would be worth it in the end. Emma had found her person. She was no longer alone in the world. A local publishing house had hired her as a rare paid intern with the potential to move up to editor one day. Todd had passed his LSATs and gotten accepted into Seattle University School of Law, and they had put down a deposit on a new apartment only three blocks from campus. It was nearly an hour drive to her new office building, but as Todd pointed out, she only went there and back. He would be going back and forth several times a day.

Seeing everything lined up in her mind so succinct and stable finally brought a smile to Emma's face as she took one final look at the vintage satin gown. Wide straps dipped into a sweetheart neckline with just the right amount of cleavage thanks to shapewear that gave her meager offerings some oomph, and the waistline cut in perfectly before giving a slight poof at the hips and dropping to her ankles.

Kimmy had said it looked like a Disney princess gown, but Mrs. Murdock told her it was perfect. Her new mother-in-law had been quite complimentary about Emma's classic preferences. She believed the wife-to-be was the perfect tether to keep her son out of trouble. Emma was simply happy to find a man that not only loved her for who she was but also didn't mind bearing all the attention. She was relieved to find a shield in life.

"Oh, that's our cue," Kimmy squealed. "See you at the altar."

One night, Emma told herself. Thirty-three steps with Mr. Murdock, twenty-two minutes standing with Todd, and a four-hour reception. Then her new life would start bright and early tomorrow.

⚞❖⚟

Emma survived the wedding, clinging to Todd's arm and saying as little as possible. She didn't know most of the guests, so it wasn't difficult to avoid conversations. They were back in the safety of their apartment by midnight, officially husband and wife. Todd hopped between her legs and got off like he did most nights, and they went to sleep. All in all, rather painless, leaving her almost giddy the next day.

Todd had drunk pretty heavily at the reception, so she had plenty of time to do her morning yoga routine and get ready in her preferred silence. Emma made his favorite pancetta and sundried tomato quiche, popped in the last load of laundry, and finished packing up the living room.

They were moving into their new apartment today. It wasn't quite touring the chateaus and caves of Dordogne, France that she had once imagined, but a girl couldn't have everything.

Her new job started Monday, and Todd began classes next week. He didn't want to be worn out from too much traveling beforehand, and Emma was quick to assure him that a wedding, a new home, and a new life was more than enough.

Across the Puget Sound was a very different morning. Wyatt woke a little after ten, faceplanted on his sofa pillows with a blinding hangover. Taking a whiff, his only reprieve was everything had stayed inside his guts last night. With pain-inducing resolve, he pushed himself up, his head spinning from yesterday's conversations.

Lisa was marrying Mike.

That hurt worse than the bottle of whiskey on an empty stomach. He finally had to evaluate his life. The last fourteen months were all dedicated to his absurd delusion that he would fix up this house, and she would come back to him. As she was about to be Mrs. Michael Landers, that irrational fantasy was currently a low blaze of embers in his chest, fueled by the betrayal of his best friend... ex-best friend.

Then there was his fucking brother. He had told Taylor no, under no circumstance or condition, would he liquidate his retirement to bail out a gambling debt. In the light of day, he found himself reconsidering. Tay had always paid him back. He couldn't let his baby brother lose everything, but this time it was going to come with some heavy stipulations like getting help and a damn good therapist.

Monday morning he would contact his financial advisor at the brokerage firm in Seattle and see what his options were. Nothing could be done over the weekend, so he might as well stick with his original plan for the day and go fishing. It had been a lifeline since he was a teenager, the ultimate escape.

One ice cold shower and a large cup of strong black coffee later, death no longer felt inevitable. Now, it was simply a possibility, but one he could beat with a greasy breakfast sandwich from the Grab 'n Go and a day out on the water. Filling up a thermos with the rest of the coffee, Wyatt found his keys and locked up before hitting the road.

"Afternoon, Wyatt," Bert called when he stepped into the small gas station.

"Hey, Bert. I need ten gallons of unleaded, and I am praying you can still whip me up one of those breakfast sandwiches?"

"For my favorite customer, I can manage," Bert said with a near toothless grin.

"Aw shucks, I bet you say that to all the pretty boys."

"Ha! Whoever told you, you were pretty, lied. Pump two is active. Go get your gas, and I'll prep that sandwich."

"Thanks, Bert," Wyatt grinned, heading back out.

Twenty minutes later, he was pulling into the marina. He rented the very last boathouse at the end of the dock and took his first full breath when he stepped inside, seeing his baby. This right here was why he agreed to alimony.

His twenty-seven-foot Scout was the best purchase Lisa had ever pushed for. Wyatt would have been happy with a simple aluminum skiff, but she wanted a party boat, so he bought dual motor luxury for fishing, skiing, or lounging. Even used, it had cost nearly as much as the house, but back then, Wyatt still had his college money he had been saving for nearly five years. He had known that was a dream past its expiration date, so he paid half down and bought the boat for their second wedding anniversary.

Wyatt hopped on and took a seat at the helm, opening the bacon, egg, and cheese concoction. Pulling out his phone, he swiped across the missed calls and texts from his backstabbing buddy, choosing to delete them rather than respond. He then texted Tay to come join him, but his brother had some clients coming in from the city and was working.

Taylor always said, 'money doesn't have weekends.' It was a wonder they had come from the same gene pool. Wyatt just wanted the simple things, a cozy home, a decent job, a happy wife. He was fairly sure his brother would stop at nothing less than global domination.

Glancing at his watch, he chuckled to himself. Noon as always. If he were serious about fishing, he would go out in the morning or at sunset, but this was more about passing the time than actually catching dinner.

He readied the boat, undoing the midship spring line and pulling up the fenders, then jumped back onto the dock to untie the bow line first. Next, he walked to the last cleat that held the rope to steady the stern. Bending down, he made quick work of the knot and pulled the rope to bring the boat close enough to hop back on.

Just as he took the step, pain splintered through the back of his head, a blow that had him careening forward. When his temple slammed into the swim platform on the back of his boat, his body flipped, rendered immobile as he sank into the cold water. Black creeped in at the edges of his sight. Looking up through the murky marina green, the last thing he saw was the outline of a tall man with dark hair staring down at him. Then there was nothing.