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CHAPTER 1

KEEP IT TIGHT

TOMMY

APRIL 2018

“Allison, give me some good news.” Tommy Littleton had his phone tucked up against his ear as he shook the chalky protein powder and water in his plastic bottle. “How are we sitting today?”

He heard the hiss of a power washer in the background. “We’re at 90% but we’ve got fifteen cars going out before ten this morning.”

Allison was one of his most experienced managers. It was why he’d put her at the largest branch in his area, located in the West Ashley neighborhood of Charleston. As an area manager with Venture Car Rentals, it was Tommy’s job to oversee and manage eight rental car branches. The West Ashley location had a fleet of over three hundred vehicles, and was ideally located close enough to downtown that it got enough tourists to balance out all of the replacement rentals from the local auto body shops.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Tommy said, shaking out his legs that already burned from his Crossfit workout that morning. “Were you able to track down the big SUVs you need for this afternoon?”

“Yeah, we worked with Avondale and got them over yesterday after closing.”

Tommy smiled. She was good . He loved it when his team lived up to his expectations.

“Alright, well, text me if you guys need anything. I’ll be out in the field later and can swing by.”

“Thanks, boss.”

Tommy tossed his phone down at his bare desk in the central admin building where he spent less time than he should. He’d take days spent in the field checking on the offices he managed over sitting at a desk all day. Being an area manager involved producing a long list of reports and too many emails, most of which he wrote from his couch late at night. He didn’t mind, really. If that was the price of success, it was a price he was willing to pay.

“Littleton.”

Tommy glanced behind him, finding his fellow area manager and work nemesis Deborah Siegenthaler already sitting rigidly in her chair. Her eyes were fixed on her computer screen as her fingers typed furiously.

“Deb,” he said, infusing his voice with as much happiness as he could. He knew it pissed her off. “How are your numbers looking this month?”

The woman huffed. “Better than yours.”

Tommy laughed as he powered on his desktop. “You know that Avondale has been crushing the customer service numbers recently. One guy even wrote a letter to corporate last week, he was so impressed.”

“They’re looking for consistency, Littleton.” Deb flicked a piece of light brown hair back from where it had escaped from her angular bob.

“Would it kill you to call me Tommy?”

At that she turned around, leveling him a withering glare from behind her black-framed glasses. “Yes. I think it would.”

“Morning, my people!” A loud voice boomed down the hallway, and both Tommy and Deb immediately jumped to attention. “What’s the good news?”

Rick Davenport, the general manager of Venture Car Rental, was a huge man—both in stature and in personality. He’d been an offensive tackle in college, and still had the body of someone who could seriously mess you up if you crossed him. His skin was tanned from hours spent on the golf course, and his blonde hair was perfectly combed back from his face in that style that only men like him managed to make suave. Guys who made an obscene amount of money, like Rick and Keaton. Not Tommy.

He wore his customary navy suit with a green tie, and his white shirt was exactly the same hue as his sparkling white smile.

Damn . Tommy should get his teeth whitened. That was a thing, right?

Tommy jumped in, determined to get a word in before Deb. “Sales are up 4% this week in Area 4,” he said loudly. “And we’ve got two assistant manager interviews over at the James Island branch this afternoon.”

Rick clapped his beefy hands together and rubbed his palms like he was warming them up by a fire. “Right-o, Littleton! That’s what we like to hear.” He reached over and clapped Deb’s shoulder. “What about Area 2, Debby?”

Tommy caught the way her expression tightened for just a second before she responded. “All good, sir. Sitting tight with 96% of the fleet on the road, and customer satisfaction numbers are on par with industry average.”

Tommy bit back his grin. Deb was good at the business of it all, but Tommy was really fucking good at customer service, and he trained his team to be the best.

“Love to hear it!” Rick exclaimed, like he was speaking to them across a crowded gym rather than from five feet away. “Have you both submitted your time off requests for the Fourth of July?”

Deb’s smile was stiff. “Yes.”

“Yessir,” Tommy replied, even as his heart rate picked up. “Got it cleared by HR on Monday.”

“Haven’t fixed things with the wife, have ya?” Rick let out a wide-mouthed laugh, and Tommy smelled a wave of mint as his boss leaned toward him and slapped him on the back. “Just jokes, my man. All the wives come out for the Fourth, so you’ve got, what, three months to get things all fixed up?”

Ouch .

Tommy wasn’t sure what his face looked like, but he was trying as hard as he could to look amused. “Ha,” he managed to choke out. “Well, we signed the divorce papers six months ago. It’s a done deal.”

“Shame. Vows just aren’t what they used to be.”

From behind Rick, Tommy caught a flash of something that looked like pity in Deb’s eyes. He looked back up at his boss, but couldn’t figure out what to say.

Rick clapped his hands together loudly, flashing another white grin. “Okay then, you two. My best and brightest! Keep battling out there and I’ll see you for our recap meeting on Friday. Until then, keep it tight and keep selling!”

He turned and walked back to his office.

Tommy let out a loud huff and rubbed his hands over his face. “Are you ready for the Fourth?” he asked Deb.

She arched a thin brow at him. “What, am I ready for a ridiculous party at a lake house with a bunch of carbon copies of our boss, where we are all expected to not only compete in, but excel at a series of juvenile games and athletic events?” She sniffed and swiveled her chair back to face her computer. “I’ve already been training for months.”

That got Tommy’s attention. “Months?” He tried to keep the concern from his voice, forcing out a laugh. “What, you don’t have anything better to do with your time?”

“The last three area managers who Rick has promoted to regional manager have all demonstrated athletic dominance at the event.” Her fingers clicked on her keyboard. “Reschonda beat the standing record in the distance swim.”

Tommy’s mouth went dry. Reschonda had been the last area manager to get promoted the previous summer. Being a regional manager was a huge step up from being an area manager—doubled salary, and responsibility for over a third of the state.

And Tommy wanted it. He wanted to be the next one tapped on the shoulder. Rumors and office gossip whispered that he and Deb were the next ones up for the new regional manager role opening in the northern part of the state.

After everything he’d been through in the last two years, he needed this. He needed a win in his life.

He’d worked his ass off to get where he was. He pulled long hours, hustled, and held his team accountable to being the best. He knew the rules of the game, and he knew he was perfectly positioned to win it.

If he could show up Deb at this Fourth of July retreat.

This year the holiday fell on a Tuesday, so the retreat would start on Sunday and wrap up on Tuesday afternoon. Rick and his wife hosted the event every year at their house on Lake Murray, opposite from the vacation house where he and his college buddies went each year for spring break. Rick’s mansion was in a gated community with a golf course, and apparently, he had live-in staff and an infrared sauna.

Like Deb had said, the retreat was legendary. Rick expected all of his people to enthusiastically participate in a series of events: sand volleyball, cornhole, and a half mile open-water swim.

Tommy was still in good athletic shape; the Crossfit he did three mornings a week kept his body tight. A couple games of beach volleyball would be fine, and he’d played enough cornhole in college to give him a lifetime of skill.

But the swim? A half a mile didn’t sound like a big deal, but an open water swim across a fucking lake?

Yeah, that was going to be a problem.

And now that he knew Deb was already training? He needed to get his shit together, because no way in hell was he going to let her steal his promotion.

* * *

By 6:08pm Tommy was climbing into his car, wincing at the heat of the black leather cushion as he powered the vehicle on.

He pulled out of his parking place just as his Bluetooth synced with his vehicle. A few quick touches later and the sound of ringing filled the car.

“Hello?”

“Keaton! What’s good?”

Tommy heard papers shuffling in the background. “Working,” Keaton replied.

“Are we on for golf on Sunday?” Tommy tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

“I got us a 9:00am tee time.”

Tommy smiled. Keaton Redd had been on the swim team with Chuck back at Southeastern, and now he was on the cusp of becoming a partner at his family’s law firm. They were an old money family and important enough to be members at the most exclusive golf course in Charleston.

Rick was a member there. Someday, maybe someday, if Tommy kept his upward trajectory at work, he could get an invite.

“Alright, man. Good luck with the work tonight,” Tommy said.

“Thanks, T.” There was a click and then the line went dead.

Another tap and once again ringing filled the car.

He worked his way through each of his branch managers, calling them one by one and checking in on how the day had gone. Randy, one of the drivers at the Avondale office, was planning on retiring after years with Venture, and Tommy wanted to make sure that they did something nice for him. He’d put together a retirement party for him in the next few weeks.

When he’d finished his check-ins, he called Chuck.

“Hey,” his warm voice said, answering after one ring.

Tommy felt his shoulders loosen. “Hi.”

“You want to come over for dinner?” He heard the clanging of dishes. “I was going to chill and watch something.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“You’re making your pasta salad, though.”

Tommy smiled. “Deal. See you soon.”

“Uh, T?” Chuck was quiet for a moment. “What do you know about raccoons?”

“Raccoons?”

“Yeah. Raccoons.”

Tommy frowned. “Do I want to know?”

Chuck snorted a laugh. “I’ll tell you when you get here. Drive safe, T.”

* * *

Eight minutes later Tommy was pulling into Chuck’s driveway, his SUV sliding up next to Chuck’s sedan.

He knew the front door would be open and walked right in, dropping down onto one of the couches to unlace his shoes before stashing them on the rack next to the door. Next he shrugged off his jacket and undid his tie, hanging both up on a waiting hanger in the coat closet.

He was much more comfortable now in just his unbuttoned shirt and slacks. Honestly, he was always comfortable in Chuck’s house. Maybe it was the soft, neutral-colored rugs on the floors, or the furniture that was stylish without sacrificing comfort, or the leftovers carefully stacked in the fridge. Or maybe it was that Chuck always looked happy to see him.

He could hear Chuck in the kitchen, humming some song that Tommy didn’t recognize.

Tommy started lumbering down the hall, but paused when he saw a flash of gray and white fur out of the corner of his eye. He pounced, scooping up a yowling, writhing cat and cradling him in his arms. He made quiet cooing sounds as he scratched the glowering cat between the ears. “Looking mangy as always, Bones.”

Bones, or, as Chuck liked to remind him, Skinny Bones, let out a forlorn yowl as he blinked up at Tommy with round green eyes.

“Be nice to Skinny Bones!” Chuck called out from the kitchen.

Tommy rounded the corner, finding Chuck in his usual home attire—loose athletic shorts and a faded t-shirt. Wild red waves circled his head, and freckles covered every inch of his face and arms. Chuck was tall and lean; even years after competing, he had maintained a powerfully-built upper body. Tommy had no idea why he hid all of that hard-earned muscle under baggy shirts.

Placing the cat gently down on the floor, Tommy made a lame effort to brush the cat hair from his shirt and slacks as the animal scampered away to hide. “He loves me,” he argued.

Chuck let out a huff without turning around. “The pasta’s already five minutes in, and everything else is in the fridge.”

Tommy got right to work, familiar with Chuck’s kitchen after many nights spent there in the wake of his divorce. He’d found a comfort in Chuck’s solitude he hadn’t been able to find with anyone else.

There were a whole crew of them who had stayed close after graduating from Southeastern University together. Darius and Keaton were both in Charleston, but when Tommy’s marriage had ended, Darius was happily living with his wife and Keaton had been staying at his family’s estate out of town while his place was getting remodeled. Their other friend, David Hughes, hadn’t moved back to town yet.

So, when his life had fallen apart, he’d gone to Chuck’s house. Chuck was always ready with a warm smile. He had a sixth sense for when to stay quiet and when to ask questions. He’d welcomed Tommy, and no matter how many times Tommy asked, had never complained about him being there.

Even now Tommy had a duffel of spare clothes in the guest room and an extra suit hanging in the closet.

“How was your day?” he asked when he’d gotten the rest of the ingredients for his Grandma Marge’s pasta salad out of the fridge. He was a good Minnesota boy with at least fifteen family recipes for cold salads and casseroles stashed in one of those old library card boxes in his kitchen.

“Fine,” Chuck replied.

“Only fine?” Tommy put down the knife he was using to slice green onions and turned around. “What’s up?”

Chuck shrugged his broad shoulders. “Just feeling a little off, is all.”

“Off?” Tommy frowned. “Is there anything I can do?”

Chuck let out a quiet laugh. “Good question, man.” He turned around, and Tommy immediately zeroed in on the dark circles under his eyes that stood out against his peachy-white, freckled skin. His wide eyes, though, were still as bright and blue as ever. His mouth tugged up into a smile. “No really, T. I’m good. We had our last team meeting this afternoon and gave out all of the off-season training plans. It just takes me a minute to adjust to the off-season.”

Tommy wasn’t sure if he believed him.

A muffled thud distracted him. Tommy looked around, certain he’d find one of the cats up to something. But there was nothing moving around the kitchen or in the dining room.

Tommy looked over at Chuck. “The fuck was that?”

Chuck opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a loud scratching sound that definitely came from under the kitchen floor. When it came to a stop, Chuck pointed down. “That,” he stated, russet brows raised, “is why I asked if you know anything about raccoons.”

“Where is it?” Tommy frowned at the hardwood floor.

“I think it’s in the crawl space. I started hearing scratching last night when I was going to bed, and it’s been going non-stop ever since. I think it’s having a fucking party down there.” He reached out a bare foot and stomped it against the floor. Bang, bang, bang.

A second later the scratching resumed.

“Are you sure it’s not one of the cats?”

Chuck shook his head. “I tracked them all down earlier. You just saw Bones, Angel is sleeping in my laundry hamper, and Sir Mix-A-Lot is under the guest bed.”

The scuffling sound shifted, like whatever it was was moving beneath them.

Tommy put his hands on his hips, thinking. This was the sort of shit that was right up his alley. Throughout his marriage, he’d lost track of the times he’d been summoned to remove large insects from the bathroom or trap rats in the garage.

“And you’re sure it’s a raccoon?”

“I mean,” Chuck hedged. “I’m not positive. I took a flashlight and looked under the porch and saw a pair of glowy yellow eyes staring back at me. Scared the shit out of me, so I didn’t stick around after that.”

A laugh snuck out of Tommy’s mouth, and he tried to play it off as a cough.

Chuck saw right through it, pointing a spatula at him. “I’d like to see you play it cool when you’re down there, asshole. It’s creepy as fuck and can’t raccoons have rabies?”

Tommy pulled out his phone, typing in a quick search. “Yep. Lots of rabies in the raccoon community.”

“See? You would’ve freaked too.”

“Maybe.” Tommy put his phone back in his pocket and turned back to the green onions. “So what’s the plan?”

“Call an exterminator.” He heard Chuck’s quiet laugh. “It’s why we have real jobs, isn’t it? So we don’t have to deal with rabid raccoons ourselves?”

Tommy couldn’t argue with that. “What’s the plan for tonight then?”

“ Spartacus . Season One.”

“Yes!” Tommy pumped his fist. “Hurry up and get that chicken on the grill,” he said, and then, dropping his voice down in a butchered imitation, roared, “That is not my name!”

Chuck shook his head at him, an amused look on his face. He grabbed the pan of chicken and looked pointedly at the counter. “Don’t forget the olives.”

Tommy huffed. “Like I’d forget your olives. Who do you think I am?”

Chuck responded with a wide smile, and then disappeared out the back door.

Fifteen minutes later they sat on either end of Chuck’s deep, navy couch, each with a bowl of Tommy’s pasta salad and some sliced grilled chicken on top. Tommy’d put about three times as many olives in Chuck’s as the recipe called for, but hey, he knew how to make his friend happy.

Chuck flicked the lamp off as the familiar theme music started. Tommy turned to glance at Chuck, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by how grateful he was to have a guy like Chuck in his life. “Thanks, man,” he said quietly. “For having me.”

Chuck looked over at him and offered him one of his quieter smiles, one that made him look younger. “Always, T,” he replied.

* * *

“Damn it.”

Tommy squinted, a hand shielding his eyes as he tried to track the white speck against the vibrant blue sky.

“Right into the trap.” Beside him, Keaton shook his head as he tugged the glove from his hand. “You’re still coming a little out-to-in on your swing, bud. Try keeping your chest more square through impact.”

“I still don’t know how you managed to birdie number five. That approach shot was insane.”

They walked back to their cart, and Tommy slid his seven iron back into his bag. It was unspoken that Keaton drove the golf cart, what with him being the name on the prestigious club membership and that one time eight years ago when Tommy had gotten a little too wild and crashed into the scrub oaks on the edge of the course.

“How are you feeling about that promotion?” Keaton asked as they drove down the fairway.

“Good. All of my numbers are where they need to be. My team is doing great. If I can make it through the Fourth of July retreat my boss hosts at his lake house, then I think I’ve got it in the bag.”

Keaton frowned, his clean-shaven face smooth and unblemished. His dirty blonde hair was styled as always, with a clean swoop in the front. “His place is on the eastern side of Lake Murray, right?”

Ever since their senior year of college, Tommy, Keaton, and the rest of their Southeastern buddies had stayed at a house on the other side of Lake Murray for spring break. It was owned by a friend of Keaton’s family, and even now that they were all in their thirties and many of them had coupled off, they still made it a priority to go every year.

Tommy nodded. “It’s a huge place. He does it every year, and brings out all of upper management and anyone up for a promotion. He’s a competitive guy—played tight-end at Clemson back in the day—and he has everyone compete in a series of games. He acts like it’s a casual thing, but how you perform matters.”

“You should be fine, then,” Keaton drawled, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes. “All that Crossfit you do can be put to some use.”

Tommy laughed, but quickly sobered. “I’ll be fine except for the open water swim. That’s going to kick my ass.” A thought dawned on him, and he looked over at Keaton. “You were a swimmer. You should help me.”

Keaton snorted, an amused smile on his face. “You don’t want that. I’ve been told that I’m a terrible teacher.”

“Didn’t you used to do private training?”

“Yes, and I was terrible at it.” Keaton eased the cart to a stop just short of the sand trap that Tommy’s ball had found. “Why don’t you ask Chuck? He swims almost every day in the off season and, unlike me, he’s actually a good teacher.”

Tommy felt a smile tug at his mouth. Training for an open water swim on its own sounded like a miserable time. But swimming with Chuck? That was an idea he could get behind.

“You’re a smart man, Keaton,” he said, climbing out of the cart and pulling his wedge and putter from his bag.

Deb wasn’t going to see him coming.