Page 1 of It Started at the Lake

CHAPTER 1

Bennett

The euphoria of winning never gets old.

Dunking the basketball in the hoop, my two points secure my win against my friend and coworker, Peter. “Boo-ya!” I say, pounding my chest like champions do. “I win—again.”

Yeah, I’m a poor sport. I love rubbing my domination in my opponent's face.

Peter’s shoes squeak against the polished floor of the gym as he walks around with his arms resting behind his head. Three times a week, we come to play basketball, pickleball, or squash together. If it weren’t for Peter asking me a million times to go with him, I’d probably be home staring at a blank wall, unable to move or think about anything except the terrible choice I made three years ago.

“One of these days, you’ll slip up, Bennett.”

Swiping the sweat off my face with the bottom of my black shirt, I smirk at Peter. “I’m not sure why you want me to keep playing against you. It’s been six months straight of me winning. Don’t you want to challenge someone else?”

“Why would I do that?”

I grin cockily at him. “Because the adrenaline rush of winning is nice to experience every once in a while.”

He pretends to tie his perfectly knotted shoelaces. “I get a great workout every time we’re together. Seems like a win to me.”

His refusal to look me in the eye as he says it makes me wonder if the only reason he ever asked me to join him is because he pities me. I don’t like being looked at as a charity case. At the same time, if Peter hadn’t coerced me into joining him, I worry what state I’d be in. Being physically active helps me mentally. Keeps my mind off the mistakes I made and how much I grieve my wife.

“Well, I’m going to miss kicking your trash for a few months,” I say, snatching my water bottle and towel off the floor where I left them by the half-court line. “Think you’ll be okay without me?”

“You’re leaving already?” He shakes his head. “That snuck up on me. What will you do while you’re in New Hampshire?”

I won’t do like I did last year, that’s for sure. “Hang out with my brothers and cousins and start on my next research project. Maybe go on a hike or two. What are you doing for the next few months besides teaching?”

Peter and I walk off the basketball court together, making our way through the fitness center, heading to the parking lot.

“I’m taking Emma to South Carolina. That’s about it.”

A pang of jealousy hardens my stomach at the mention of his girlfriend. Forcing a cheerful tone, I say, “Sounds like a good time. Where are you staying?”

“Seabrook Island. You ever heard of it?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Emma found a hotel she’s excited about. Costs a fortune, but I’m planning to propose on the trip. I figure the extra expense is worth it this time.”

I swallow the emotions building in the back of my throat. I’m happy for Peter, I truly am, but a start of his happily ever after with Emma only serves as a reminder of the tragic ending of my marriage. “We spend tons of time together and you’re barely telling me now you’re going to propose soon? Where’s the friendship, dude?”

He winces. “Sorry. I figured…” He waves a hand dismissively in the air.

Yeah, you figured I couldn’t handle discussing your happiness. A year ago, he’d be right. Therapy and exercise have helped me get back to a mostly normal routine. “You can talk about your relationship with me. I won’t break down.” In front of you, anyway.

“Okay.” He grins, like he’s relieved I’ve granted him permission to talk about Emma openly. I’m sad he thinks I don’t want to hear about her and yet grateful he’s been considerate of my feelings. But in order for me to be a good friend, I need to set aside my own issues and celebrate his big life events regardless of how it makes me feel.

“Well, what’s the plan? How are you going to pop the big question?”

He opens the trunk of his car, tossing his basketball in. “I’m going to have breakfast delivered early one morning. French toast—her favorite, with whipped cream and strawberries. A lone raspberry with an engagement ring around it will be resting on top of the whipped cream. What do you think?”

“Intimate. Classy. Personal. I think it’s brilliant. Text me when you ask her and let me know how she reacts. And I don’t mean her saying yes, that’s a given. She adores you a disgusting amount.” So much so, I can’t stand being around Peter and Emma when they’re together. The handholding, whispers, and constant kisses drive home how alone I am and will be for the rest of my life.

“I will.” Peter opens the driver’s side door of his Camry. “Keep in touch, yeah?”

“If I have time.” I wink and close his door for him, waving as I walk to my SUV.

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