“What did the coffee machine ever do to you?”

Abruptly, I slam the mug I was trying to jam into the automatic brew machine onto the counter and turn to see Hollis, the one coworker I don’t hate with a passion.

“Just having that kind of morning, you know?” I try to smile but it feels so forced on my face that it’s like I’m physically pulling my lips apart with my hands.

He whistles through his teeth, setting his own mug down on a table in the kitchen. “I hear you, man. As if early mornings aren’t bad enough, we have that all-company meeting with Toxell today.”

I curl my hand into a fist and try to bite my tongue. Hollis knows I don’t like it here, but I think they’d call the cops on me if anyone here had the faintest idea of how badly I want to burn this building down.

I’m not usually an angry guy … hell, most people would probably say I’m a laid-back surfer type who hails from that summer land up the ocean tide. But working for Nolan Toxell has made me one hell of a hothead. The guy owns the biggest architecture firm on Cape Cod, yet neither he nor any of the blowhards who shuffle papers around desks all day in his state-of-the-art office have ever picked up a hammer at a job site.

How the hell are you going to build beautiful, creative, quality homes for people if you don’t even know how to install drywall or paint a room?

My father-in-law, that prick, insisted, well, more like forced, me to upgrade my profession once I married his daughter. Of course, I’d had honeymoon glasses on and just wanted to make my new wife happy, so I’d agreed to the move and the new job. It had only taken a month at the Toxell Group for Nolan to tell me that I was an amateur with no college degree, and to remind me that I only had a job here because of who I laid next to in bed at night.

That’s when my fuse shortened, and ever since, I mentally gave almost everyone in this office the middle finger about a hundred times a day.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot about that.” This makes me even more furious.

Hollis eyes me weirdly. “Oh … I thought that’s why you were going all WWE on the Keurig.”

“Just really wanted some coffee.” I laugh, a nervous lilt to it.

I can’t tell him that my wife left me. We aren’t really friends, even if we both equally hate this place. We’re only allies because we have a common enemy, and plus, I can’t let anyone know that I will soon not be married to Imogen Weston. Her family is the only reason I have this job … what will happen when she permanently rids her life of me?

But the real truth is … I can’t bear to speak the words. I just might curl into a ball and never reemerge if I have to detail that I haven’t spoken to my best friend, the love of my life, in five days.

I lie in bed at night and stare at the ceiling, my heart physically aching, my stomach sore, from how distraught I am. What am I supposed to do? I can’t track her down like a madman, that will only cause problems with her family and Imogen is not the strongest of people in tough situations.

But I can’t breathe, almost as if one of my lungs has given out. I’ve barely slept. I don’t taste food when I eat but know I need to at least do that to keep my strength up.

I have no idea what I’ll do after we talk … after she leaves me for good. I know it’s an often made statement, but I truly won’t be able to live without her. It won’t be a life.

I’ll simply be walking around this earth with a defeated organ in my chest, one that used to resemble a heart.

Shut it down, Walsh. I mutter it in my head, because if I let the demons out of the tightly locked box I’ve put them in, especially here, I won’t be able to function.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in there. I’ll be counting how many subtle eye rolls you get in.” He chuckles.

“Don’t act like you won’t be muttering ‘idiot’ under your breath more than four or five times.” Because he does … and it’s usually loud enough for everyone but Toxell to hear.

Hollis laughs as he walks out of the kitchen. My stomach sours, because I hadn’t given thought to this morning’s meeting. And the idea of listening to Nolan Toxell obsess about the sound of his own voice, and his shitty designs, for three hours … well, I’d rather drink gasoline.

So, don’t go.

The idea dawns on me, a shining beacon of light in the dark mist that my brain and heart are currently trapped in.

What was I going to do now that I wouldn’t be with Imogen? I didn’t belong here. At this firm, in Chatham, in the life we’d built.

I could go home. Back to my roots. Back to the island. The moment I think about Nantucket, a feeling of warmth washes over me. It’s always been the place that I connect with comfort, belonging, and familiarity.

It’s the place where I fell in love with Imogen. So if I have to live a life without her, I suppose I can live with the memories of wonderful days past surrounding me.