The boat’s already halfway out of the water, straps tight around her hull, her name—Artemis—tilted at an angle like she’s embarrassed to be seen this way.
“I’m saying goodbye,” I say.
Tony snorts. “You said goodbye in September. This is just winterizing.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That too.”
He doesn’t push. That’s the thing about Tony—he knows when to let silence do the work.
The marina’s quieter than it’s been all summer. No music. No sunburned tourists. Just gulls and wind and the slow hydraulic groan of the lift. The guys move around us, efficient, practiced. Drain lines. Check seals. Wrap the engine. Everything done right. No shortcuts.
Tony always takes care of what he loves.
We stay that night. One last one.
It’s cold enough that the beer barely sweats in our hands. We sit on the deck wrapped in jackets, cigars glowing like fireflies, the water knocking hollow beneath us.
Tony breaks first.
“I’m gonna marry her.”
I turn. “Melissa?”
He grins, softer than usual. “Yeah.”
Something tightens in my chest, but it’s a good kind of tight. “That’s… that’s good, man.”
Then his smile fades. He looks straight at me.
“But I can’t have bullshit, Ethan. No drama. Not at my wedding.”
I nod. Once. “We’re done. For real.”
He watches me a beat longer than necessary, then hands me another beer.
We talk. No jokes this time. No gloss.
I tell him about the fights. Her trashing my bedroom, putting her hands on me. Deleting my voicemails by calling into my phone from blocked numbers.
Tony doesn’t interrupt.
When I’m done, he exhales slowly. “Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“I knew she liked to stir shit up,” he says. “But… man.”
“I didn’t know either,” I say. “Not at first.”
He stares out at the dark water. Then, quieter, “There’s something else.”
I glance over.
“My family owns the Z-port bar, right?”
“Unfortunately.”
“We got applications.” He hesitates. “Beth applied. So did… her.”
