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He went to the Western Union site to wire some money. They had never had a joint account, but

he was a signer on Mac's because he was the primary breadwinner. One time he had mentioned their

getting a joint account to Demarco, but his friend's expression alone had killed that notion.

He typed out the amount. Ten thousand dollars. His finger hovered over the SEND button for

just a second, and then he changed the first zero to a five and pressed SEND.

He hoped it would be enough… not the money, but the action. He'd thought he'd left this kind of

anxiety behind, the stress of living with a…

Sycophant, Demarco answered in his thoughts.

Only Demarco would not have used this word. This was Alec's vocabulary shining through his

friend's persona. But what would the real Demarco say when he told him what he had just done?

He stood to get another cup of coffee, and then set the mug down on the table and walked to the

window. His mind was racing. What if Mac did kill himself? What if the money wasn't enough? What

if this was rock bottom? Perhaps his leaving Mac had started the spiral in the first place.

He was cheating on you. Demarco's voice again.

Yeah. Patterned behavior. But still… could he live knowing someone he had cared about took

his own life because he had done nothing but send money?

No way.

He turned from the window and stared at the laptop on the table. He would never be able to get

another thing done with this weighing on his mind.

That's what he does. He gets in your head.

He needed some sort of confirmation that Mac wouldn't hurt himself.

He sat back down and opened Skype, connecting to Mac's account. He would just confirm that

he had sent the money. Get another look at him. Reassure himself that everything was fine.

No answer. He disconnected.

I have to go back. Five words—his voice. Five words he didn't want to hear himself say.

He opened the American Airlines site and found a flight from Missoula to Reagan National

leaving in three hours. He could make it. He'd just take the essentials and worry about the rest of his stuff later. He needed to get moving.

Again, he found his finger hovering over the confirmation button. He pressed it, reached for his

phone, and opened his text messenger:

Tyler—Something has come up and have to return to DC…