The next afternoon, Carter appeared on my doorstep. When I opened the door, I found him lounging against the opposite wall. Two ugly bruises circled his eyes, and his nose was twice its normal size. He breezed into the apartment and walked directly into the kitchen.

“You look like shit,” I said, closing the door behind him.

“Well, you’re no raving beauty yourself,” he replied. “Got anything to eat in this place?”

“I don’t know.” My appetite had disappeared after the disaster at the Seaforths. I’d spent the night staring at the ceiling, hating myself for upsetting Freya and Bronte. “Why do you come here to steal my food? You’re a freaking millionaire.”

“Don’t be a hater.” He continued to bang through the cabinets. “No potato chips? Hasn’t your sister-wife been to the grocery lately? What’s going on? She’s slacking in her duties.” He rummaged through the cabinets until he found a box of cereal. “Tell her to get Cap’n Crunch next time. You know it’s my favorite.”

“Tell her yourself,” I said and flopped on the sofa. “And don’t call her that. It makes my skin crawl.”

“I call things like I see them. If you want someone to kiss your pretty-boy ass, you’re going to have to look elsewhere.”

“Just stop.”

“Damn, someone’s in a pissy mood today. Was your date a flop?” With the box of cereal in one hand and a beer in the other, he took a seat in the recliner across from me. He flipped up the footrest and stretched back.

“It wasn’t a date.” I surfed through the channels on the television, avoiding his pointed stare.

“Okay, how was your non-date?” He pointed to the TV. “Wait. That show is awesome.”

“My non-date was fine. It had to be better than yours.” To deflect his questions, I turned the conversation in a different direction. “What happened to your face?”

“Ah, well, interesting story.” He shifted to a more comfortable position, settling in to tell his tale. “Got a call last week that a girl missed her court appearance. She’s got a hundred-thousand-dollar bond on her. That’s a lot of money, right? And I sure as hell don’t want to pay it, so I tracked her down. Found her doing yoga at some gym in Indianapolis. She had the nicest ass I’ve ever seen and the best left hook.” Through a mouthful of cereal, he said, “When I went after her, she beat the shit out of me.”

“A girl did that to you?” A little of my funk lifted. I sat up, cocking my head. Carter wasn’t as tall as me, but he was more fit. He spent his spare time at the gym, lifting weights, and kickboxing. I’d seen him drop a man twice his size with one punch.

“Bam.” He jabbed the air with a fist. “Broke my nose. Bled like a motherfucker. Ruined my favorite shirt.”

“Did you take her in, or did she get away?”

“Hell, yes, I took her in.” His chest swelled with pride. “No girl’s ever going to get the best of me.”

“Whatever.” I leaned back in the chair and returned my attention to the TV. “Someday, you’re going to meet a girl and fall head over heels. And I’m going to laugh my ass off.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

We fell silent for a while. A beer commercial came on. The girl pouring the drafts into glass mugs had red hair and blue eyes. She reminded me of Bronte, turning my thoughts back to the previous night. I felt terrible about the way our evening had ended. She hadn’t done anything wrong. My foul mood had had nothing to do with her. If I had any balls at all, I’d get my ass out of the house and go apologize.

The lock on the door rattled. It swung open, and Freya came in, carrying groceries. She went straight to the kitchen and started putting them away. Carter’s eyes widened. His stare burned into me. I shrugged.

“Hey, guys,” she said.

“Hey,” Carter and I replied in tandem.

“Do you need some help?” I asked.

“No. I’m good.” She went about the business of restocking the shelves and fridge.

“Can you get some Cap’n Crunch next time?” Carter asked then smirked.

“Sure,” Freya replied. “I’ll put it on the list.” Doors opened and closed as she walked through the apartment, tidying and straightening things. A few minutes later she came into the living room, blocking our view of the television. “You’re out of shampoo. I’ll pick some up tomorrow. Next time you run out of something, text me, would you?”

“Okay.” I kept my gaze trained on the television.

Carter began twitching on the sofa, brimming with suppressed sarcasm.

“Great.” After a beat, she walked toward the door. “Well, I guess I’ll be going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I nodded. “Sure. Thanks.” The weight of Carter’s stare burned into me. I could tell he was itching to say something. As soon as the door closed behind Freya, I lifted a hand into the air. “Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Dude, that’s too fucking bad, because I’m going to say it anyway.” He leaned across the coffee table and shut off the TV.

“Fine.” With a groan, I shifted to face him.

“She’s got a key?”

“Yeah, it seemed easier.”

“That is some fucked-up shit, my friend.”

“She’s being nice. Give me a break.”

“You’re delusional.” The recliner groaned when he stood up. “I’ve held my tongue, thinking you’d come to your senses, but I can’t keep my mouth shut any longer. It’s weird. You’ve got your wife’s twin sister waiting on you hand and foot, coming over here at all hours of the day and night to serve you.” His eyes narrowed. “Please tell me you’re not hitting that, because that would be sick.”

“I’m not hitting that. Are you happy? Now, turn on the TV.”

“No.” He scratched both hands through his beard. “You need an intervention. I mean, look at this place. Amy’s furniture. Amy’s pictures. Your bedroom is like a goddam mausoleum. The whole place screams of Amy. When I suggested you move here for a clean start, I didn’t mean bring all that baggage with you. You’re never going to get past her with her shit around.”

“It’s perfectly good furniture. You don’t like it because Amy picked it out.”

He groaned. “Come on, Rhett. I don’t get you. You’re the smartest guy I know, but you’re acting like a fucking fool. It’s been two years. Kick your sister-wife to the curb. Move the fuck on.”

My temper snapped. I jumped to my feet. “Enough. I’m sick of people telling me what to do. Freya says I’m moving on too fast, that I’m dishonoring Amy’s memory. And you’re telling me I’m not moving fast enough. I’ll move on when I’m damn good and ready and not a minute sooner.”

Carter stared at me. After an awkward pause, he shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. I’m out of here.” With his hand on the front door, he stopped. “You know, it wasn’t your fault, Rhett. She’s the one who stepped off the curb. She’s the one who didn’t check the traffic first.”