“The last few months, things haven’t been good,” I tell him. “Fish counts are down, the cost of fuel is at a premium. People are losing everything left and right. Dad was going to take a loan out on the house. I was pretty sure I was going to have to, too. And you’ve seen my house, Olls. You know we’re not talking about a huge line of equity, okay? We were scraping the barrel.”

“Shit,” Oliver mumbles.

“So,” I continue, “a month ago we got a visit from a couple of suits at the Adventure Channel. They wanted to film on the boat, document our lives and what we go through. Document us. My first reaction was that they were totally fucking with us. My second reaction, when I realized they were for real, was to say no, because it’s clear that the goal of the show isn’t about fishing, it’s to show us and our lives.”

“The lives of four eligible, brawny blokes up in Canada, you mean.”

“Exactly,” I say, rubbing my face. “But the guys—my brothers and my dad—they thought we should hear them out. They’re tired of fighting so hard, you know?”

Beside me, Oliver nods.

“We talked, and it was decided that since I was the only holdout—and believe me, I was dead set against it—I’d be the one to go out to L.A. and meet with the production company, get all the details, and come back. We’d decide together.”

“Okay,” Oliver says. “Hence the visit.”

“The more I thought about it, the more I knew I didn’t want to do the show. Even as I was driving down to San Diego, I knew. I didn’t want to make light of what people are going through up here. I didn’t want us to be some kind of a joke. But then I got to California and... one of the engines threw a rod and it was one thing after another and pretty soon, it was either that or lose it all. No way would any loan help us dig out of the mess.”

“But you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell Ansel.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t.”

“You did tell Harlow.”

I take a deep breath and look out over the horizon. A seagull circles overhead before it swoops down, dipping its beak into the ocean. “Yeah,” I say finally.

“Should I be mad that you told her but not me? You were in a relationship with her for, what, twelve hours?” Oliver says. “We’ve been friends for over six years.”

“You’re right. But you and Ansel, you’re a permanent part of my life. Harlow was temporary.” Oliver lifts a brow and I quickly add, “At first.”