I realize I’m still holding a dripping sponge, and set it back in the sudsy bucket. “What was I fucking thinking, Con? Marriage? A lifetime commitment? Maybe for some guys, but not for me. I should just thank my lucky stars it imploded when it did.” Before I had a chance to fuck it up.

“Maybe you’ll feel different at some point,” Connor says.

I shake my head. “No. I thought I could be that guy. A dad. A husband. Whatever. Someone people could admire. But it’s too much fucking work.”

“You know, people do admire you.” He thinks about it a second. “Except when you’re capsizing their dogs and denying them toilet paper.”

I think about this for a moment, then shake my head. “Not Gabe. If he admired me, he would have tagged me to run the business—or at least me and Clark—when he thought he might move to New York City to be with Lucy.”

Connor doesn’t try to argue, because he knows it’s true. “You could make him admire you.”

“How so?”

“What if you stopped fighting him all the time? If you did what he wants, instead of making him drag you kicking and screaming?”

The thought makes me want to hurl. Connor must be able to see that on my face, because it’s his turn to shake his head. “Well, you don’t have much of a choice at this point, do you? If you don’t shape up, he’s going to cut you off, and then what?”

“Then maybe I’ll open my own business and not have to deal with his shit.”

Connor squints. “Is that what you want?”

I think about it. My dad, my brothers, the business we built. About what it would mean to ditch out. About how it’d make me feel to be on the outside.

That makes me want to hurl, too. I shake my head. “No.”

Connor paces back and forth a few times along the side of the boat, then slaps a hand on his thigh. ”I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“My mom’s got this new business. One of those sell-out-of-your home things. Beauty stuff, like body wash and perfume and shit. She does these girls’ night parties. Women love them. My mom can’t keep up with all the requests. I bet that would work for your boat. And my mom coordinates the food and wine and everything. You could redeem yourself without having to personally kiss a lot of ass. They do the party, you just supply the location.”

Huh. I don’t hate the idea.

“You’d still have to buy TP,” he says, always practical. “And not forget the bug wipes.”

“I can totally handle that much. Jesus, that sounds like a fucking dream. I’m all over that.”