Mitch scrubbed the teak deck of Ryker's boat, putting every fiber of every muscle he possessed into it, and instead of ignoring the burn, he welcomed it.

Anything was better than the searing pressure in his chest every time his mind flashed back to Claire’s stricken expression when she found out he was leaving for Portland.

It hadn't been an easy decision. Leaving her was like holding his breath, a desperate and urgent sensation with no chance to survive.

But she was terrified of anything serious, any connection.

Any pain.

At the very least, he could give her peace.

He could do that for her, needed to. He dipped the brush into the soapy water, spreading it out a foot around him, and then settled in to scrub again. The ocean breeze was cool, and the seagulls called to one another overhead. Any other day he would be in paradise.

A sharp jab at his shoulder had him looking up, and he found Ryker standing above him, holding out a beer. “A little cold to be scrubbing my deck, isn't it? Besides, what bet did you lose? Did you try and arm wrestle Martha again? You know no one can beat that beast.”

Martha, or Sebastian Marth, the mayor of Cape Van Buren, was a huge man with an even bigger heart. He hated small talk and never lost an arm-wrestling match.

Mitch sat back on his ass and took the beer. With gratitude, he tipped his head back, letting it flow down his throat in hopes it would numb him from the inside out.

“I need to keep busy. You take us out so often, I figured it was the least I could do.”

Ryker sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. “No, that's not what you're doing. I've been right where you are, or have you forgotten? You’re hiding.”

Mitch said a few choice words, finished off his beer, then pushed back on his hands and knees to scrub. “The fuck I am. I'm leaving for Portland tomorrow, and I'm just trying to stay busy today and avoid my mom and Maxine.”

Ryker chuckled, tipping back his beer. “Yeah, grandmother has a way with words, doesn't she?”

Mitch grunted as he scrubbed.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing going to Portland?”

“I'm going to finally be a bigger part of a community. Cape Van Buren doesn't want me. I’ll face the music of my past mistakes, but it's time I start doing something more.”

“And you have to go all the way to Portland for that? If you want to make a change, if you want this town to see you as something more than the party-going womanizer they think you are, then stay and show them what you’re truly made of.”

“That’s all I’ve been trying to do.”

“How so?”

Mitch blew out a breath. “You know the old housing north of town? The new policy changes, the renovations?”

“Of course. It was big news. It’s something that needed to happen a long time ago.”

Mitch’s shoulders burned while he scrubbed, waiting for his buddy to catch on.

Ryker slapped a thigh. “That was you? Motherfucker, why haven’t you said anything?”

Mitch dipped the brush, swirling it around in the soapy water, then found another few feet to scrub. There was great satisfaction in hard work. Forcing away the dinge and revealing the clean teak beneath.

“The board knows.” He snorted. “And that's not all. I’ve been working for the rights of tenants and low-income housing for years. I jumped at the chance to work with you in the conservation center because of what it would do for this town. I went for the city attorney seat because I want to do more. But it’s not enough. So, I’m off to Portland.”

Every word he said was true, but his heart wasn't in Portland, the people he loved weren't in Portland, the view that he wanted to wake up to every day wasn't in Portland.

He had too much to give to let it go to waste. It was time to take control.

And run away from Claire and everything you're afraid of.

No, protecting her.

But he recognized the lie. He was protecting himself.

“Fuck.” He swore and scrubbed harder.

“You've done all of that, you've worked that hard, and you're just going to run?” Ryker shoved his shoulder. “Sounds like a coward's way out to me. Selfish even.”

Mitch rose up from his knees, ready to fight.

“You're just proving to them that you are exactly who they think you are.”

They met each other nose-to-nose and stared, chests heaving, shoulders locked in a ready position.

“What?” Ryker said. “What's this about? Really?”

“Fuck.” Mitch scrubbed a hand through his hair. “You're such a pain in the ass.”

Ryker swung an arm around his shoulders for a tight squeeze, then shoved him away. “Of course, I am. That’s how we work. How else were we going to survive?”

They filled a bucket with sea water and splashed it along the deck, revealing the clean teak.

“You do good work. Obviously more work than the rest of us even realized.”

Mitch dropped to one of the benches. “Remember when we got caught in the attic by your dad?”

Ryker’s eyes grew dark. “Unfortunately. He hurt a lot of people.”

Mitch braced himself. “He hurt you. Sometimes he hurt you because of me.” The shame of his ten-year-old self choked him. “Then my dad left my mom. You know what an amazingly sweet woman she is, and he just walked out as if she were nothing. He saw you and me that day. I know he did. And he did the same to us. He’d thrown out words and accusations about kids that don't listen, too much stress, and a bunch of other bullshit.”

He paused, gripping his hands into fists at his sides. “My mom got hurt, and part of that was my fault. I can't take the risk of hurting someone like Claire. She's a special woman, Ryker. I know I used to joke about her being a pain in the ass, but part of that was because I was trying to resist this weird pull she had on me.”

He waited for his buddy’s usual slap about being too emotional, but instead, he just listened.

“She needs a good man. A really good man. I'm not the right one for her. That woman needs to be cherished.”

Ryker grabbed a bucket and helped Mitch rinse off the deck. “Dude, if I’ve learned anything in this life, it's that we all have successes, we all have failures, we all have our gifts, and we all have our demons. The difference lies in how we handle these things in order to move forward. The simple fact that you question whether or not you’re the right man for Claire means that you are the only man that will treat her right and take care of her and support her the way she truly deserves.”

Could he be right?

Mitch studied his friend, but only saw an intense sincerity in his gaze.

A kernel of hope flared, easing some of the pain in his chest, but it was tangled up with threads of doubt.

“You might hurt Claire going forward, but it won't be for the reasons that my father did, or your father did. Both of us have learned enough never to repeat those kinds of mistakes. You’re not your father. You’re more Janice Brennan than that man any day of the week.”

He clapped him on the shoulder, and they set the buckets upside down to air dry.

“It's too cold out here today for this shit. Let's go over to the Lobster House and grab a bite to eat.”

Mitch fell into step as they made their way down the pier and across the walkway to the South Cove boardwalk. The savory aromas floating on the breeze from the Lobster House pulled them in like a life preserver.

Clint Fenwick was handing out brochures that looked to be advice on improving one's moral compass, and they purposefully went the long way to avoid that conversation.

Even though it was a cool September day, the South Cove was bustling. Picnics, hikers, fisherman, everybody was out and about enjoying the sunshine, bundled in their boots and jackets.

“Excuse me, Mr. Brennan?” Mitch and Ryker spun around to find a young mother standing with her hands on her young son's shoulders. “I tried to talk with you at the town hall meeting, but there was a disturbance.”

Mitch grimaced.

“I just wanted to say, thank you. We have heat for the winter, and if you hadn't stepped in, I don't believe we would have.” There were tears glistening in her eyes, making them appear to be larger than they were. Her little boy scuffed his boot, looking down the pier at the seagulls.

Mitch stooped down to eye level. He couldn’t place the mom, but he knew this kid. “Do you remember me?”

The boy nodded. “Yeah, you're the man that had the argument with Mr. Taylor.”

Mitch remembered that day. He’d gone to serve papers himself and force the landlord to meet housing requirements. The two of them got into a lively conversation. He needed to keep in mind that no matter where he was in town, there were ears, and some of those ears just didn't need the stress of adults making bad decisions.

He ruffled the kid’s hair. “It’s better at night now?”

The little boy smiled, showing a big gap where his two front teeth should be. “Sometimes it's so warm I have to kick my covers off at night.”

Mitch rose back to standing, his heart swelling with compassion, hating that the boy spent even one night trying to stay warm. He turned to the mother. “Let me know if there's anything going on. It's his responsibility to make sure the utilities are working.

“I will. Anyway, I’m so glad we saw you because I really wanted to say thank you.”

Ryker slapped him on the shoulder. ”He’s a regular Mother Teresa.”

She laughed but shot Ryker a look. “It's easy to make fun, but the difference he’s made for me and my boy will not be forgotten.”

Ryker and Mitch watched the boy skip down the boardwalk with his mom following close behind. His buddy slowly turned his head. “You've been working a lot behind our backs, haven't you?”

Mitch pulled in a breath. “Let's go get something to eat.”

The hostess seated them in a booth, and Ryker swore.

“What?”

“This is the booth I met Judge Carter at when my grandmother came in and threw me under the bus. I'll tell you that I love that woman, but sometimes she has a wicked mean streak.”

“I'd call it passionate. I don't know anyone who cares about this town as much as your grandmother does. She knew exactly what she was doing that day.”

Ryker winced. “Please don't ever admit that to her. And I think you’re just like her.” He leaned across the table, refusing to let Mitch look away. “Fight. Stay. Set up camp. Make Cape Van Buren see you as the asset you want to be. In whatever the fuck way that looks like.”

Mitch eased back in his seat, considering his buddy’s words.

“And one more thing. While you’re at it, tell the woman you feel needs to be cherished so much that you’re just the man to do it.”

But it was easy for the person outside of a fight to yell the command to charge.

Stay, fight, set up camp.

Mitch pulled in the fragrant sea air as he took the steps of the courthouse one at a time. Ryker's words had been echoing in his head all night. His heart was in the Cape, or rather the Cape was in his heart, in more ways than one.

How many times had he preached to anyone who would listen to really live in each moment, to allow luxury and bliss to take part in even the most mundane activities? But here he was asshurt and heartsore, ready to leave the town he loved because they weren't quite ready for him yet?

Well, they’d better damn well get ready.

He entered the front door and made his way through security. He'd walked the halls of this building ever since he was a little boy. There was always something about the grand front pillars, architecture that promised it knew everyone’s secrets. He used to tag along with a family friend who’d been an attorney at the Cape for so long no one was sure who’d come first. As a boy, he’d always in been awe of how much the man knew about the townspeople, about the law. He'd wanted to be that kind of man, too, for this town.

Not someone else's town.

He'd forgotten that fact somehow over the past few weeks.

Down the corridor to the right was a conference room, and as he approached, he gave himself one last pep talk, then shoved through the door. “Judge Carter, members of the council, good morning.”

The Judge’s bushy brows drew together. “Mr. Brennan this is quite inappropriate. We were just in the middle of a meeting.”

“I'm well aware.” Mitch pulled a few papers out of his briefcase, passing them out to each member. “I won't take up much of your time, but it occurred to me that you all have a picture of a teenage Mitch, green and wild, running around with Ryker Van Buren, kissing your daughters and throwing eggs at your mailboxes. I get it. It's hard to see the youth of the town grow up into a position where you now depend on them to take care of it. But it's a position I want to be in.”

He paced slowly in front of them, making eye contact with each and every one. “You may not think I'm the man for the city attorney position, but you're wrong. I am exactly that man. I am not afraid to get my hands dirty, I take part in every event, and being a product of my past I have a better pulse on the needs of the youth in our town than anyone sitting at this table. So just as a reminder, I am giving you all my most updated resume. I want you to look at it and study it.”

Approaching the long table, he placed his hands flat and leaned toward the members. “Because in four years, I'm putting my hat back in the ring for city attorney. I’m here to stay. Setting up camp is what one of my good friends suggested.”

He stopped for a moment and took a breath, all the urgency for the plans he had for the town forcing adrenaline through his veins like too many cups of Death Wish coffee.

The board stared at him as if unsure of what to say.

“I’m setting up a private practice downtown. I’ll have a pro bono segment that will help cover those of this community who are not able to afford it themselves. You may think the city attorney needs to be your traditional view of a family man. But you’re wrong there, too. I may not have a wife...” An image of Claire teased the edges of his mind, but he clamped down on that yearning. “Cape Van Buren is my family. And I’d never walk out on what’s mine.”

As he traced his steps back out of the courthouse, he crossed over Garden Parkway SW, heading to the South Cove Garden pond.

There was something about the tranquil waters, the light rhythm of the small waves kissing the grass and stone of the shore. The grass was still brilliant, and the evergreens bight—it was one of his favorite things about the Northeast.

He followed the brick path through the garden but slowed when he came along the bench where he and Claire had enjoyed the—if you asked Claire—sinful bliss of pastries and hot cocoa.

He rubbed the back of his neck. There was nothing more in the world that he wanted than to see that look of surprise and pleasure from the smallest things shine brightly from her eyes again. He wanted to show her that the pain of loss was worth the risk when the reward was love.

He dropped to the iron bench, reliving the moments of that evening in his mind, solidifying the idea that formed there. She’d accused him of running. Well, they'd always loved the little fights between them, so he wouldn't run. He’d stay and fight...and love and enjoy and cherish the woman who stole his heart.

It might not be in the next month or six months or even a year, but with friendship came comfort and trust, and eventually, she would realize he was the one for her.

As long as she realized she couldn't love anyone else.

Because if that look in her eye at the town hall meeting had told him anything, it was that she was already in love with him.