Chapter 6
Mark
Mark sat at his desk, fingers drumming against the polished wood as he stared at the half-written legal brief in front of him. The words blurred slightly, his focus slipping—not something that happened often. He prided himself on discipline, precision, control. But today?
Today, his mind was elsewhere.
Ethan.
The handyman. The cop. The young man who carried too much on his shoulders, but still somehow had an easy smile.
Mark leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw. He wasn’t sure what had gotten under his skin about their brief interactions, but something about Ethan felt familiar—like looking in a mirror, but years younger.
A man doing everything alone, not because he wanted to, but because he had to.
Mark’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.
Linda Skeens pushed her way in, her usual confident energy filling the room. “I just sent over the notes for your deposition tomorrow. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Mark smirked. “I always appreciate your unsolicited generosity.”
She perched on the edge of his desk, crossing her arms. “You’re in a weird mood today. What’s going on?”
Mark hesitated. Then, in a rare moment of openness, he said, “I wanted to thank you for the referral. The handyman.”
Linda raised a brow. “Ethan?”
Mark nodded. “Yeah. He’s… impressive.”
Linda’s expression softened. “He’s a good one. My nephew trained his K9 partner.”
Mark’s brows lifted slightly. “Small world.”
Linda chuckled. “In Brookings? Everything is.” She tilted her head, watching him closely. “Why the sudden interest?”
Mark hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I recognize something in him. Feels like he’s carrying more than he should.”
Linda studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “He is.”
Mark exhaled, rubbing his temple. “You know him well?”
“His entire life, he’s my Godson.” Linda sat back slightly. “He grew up here in Brookings, was in the Air Force, where he trained with K9s in the military police. But when his dad injured his back, he came home instead of re-enlisting. Moved in with his parents to help them out.”
Mark frowned. “That’s a lot for someone his age.”
Linda sighed, her voice dropping just a little. “His mom… she’s going through some things, too.”
Mark’s jaw tensed. That explains it.
It wasn’t just responsibility on Ethan’s shoulders. It was grief waiting in the wings.
He knew that weight.
Knew it all too well.
Mark tapped his fingers against his desk, a decision forming. “I think I’ll head out early tonight.”
Linda’s brows shot up. “ Early ? Are you sick? Do I need to call an ambulance?”
Mark smirked. “I’m perfectly healthy.”
Linda eyed him. “I will have to record this moment in the firm’s archives. Mark Jensen leaves before eight o’clock in the evening.
Mark huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “If only you were as funny as you think you are.”
Linda grinned and walked back to her office.
Leaving the office at seven instead of eight-thirty or nine felt strange—like skipping a step in his routine. But as he pulled into his driveway, the familiar sound of a power drill hummed from inside the house, and Mark felt an odd sense of anticipation.
He stepped inside, immediately noticing the scent of sawdust and fresh wood lingering in the air. The built-ins were nearly finished now, the craftsmanship precise, clean—just like last time.
And there, focused, intent, hands steady, was Ethan.
Mark didn’t want to interrupt his work, but curiosity won out. He cleared his throat. “You’re fast.”
Ethan turned, surprised but not startled. He pulled off his hearing protection, smirking slightly. “Didn’t expect you home this early, Mr. Jensen .”
Mark leaned against the arm of the couch, crossing his arms. “Neither did people at work. They almost called emergency services.”
Ethan chuckled. “Guess you don’t cut out early often.”
“Almost never,” Mark admitted. His gaze flickered to the built-ins. “This is impressive work.”
Ethan shrugged. “Thanks.”
Mark hesitated. Then, carefully, he asked, “Linda mentioned you were in the Air Force?”
Ethan’s expression didn’t shift, but his posture tightened just slightly. “Yeah. Military police. K9 unit.”
Mark nodded, keeping his tone casual. “And you left to help your dad?”
Ethan exhaled, setting his tool down. “Yeah. Thought I’d re-enlist, but… my family needed me.”
Mark didn’t push further, but something in him ached at how matter-of-fact Ethan was about it. Like it was a given that his own life would be put on hold for others.
After a beat of silence, Ethan cocked his head. “You askin’ because you’re curious, or because you don’t trust me with your shelves?”
Mark smirked. “Bit of both.”
Ethan laughed.
Mark found himself liking the sound of it.
As the night wore on, Mark found himself lingering in the living room, watching Ethan work.
He hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t meant to start a conversation, to ask more about his life, but here they were.
And the more Mark learned, the more he saw it.
Ethan carried something heavy.
Maybe it wasn’t grief—not yet. But it was something close, something invisible to most people, but painfully clear to someone who had lived with it for years.
As Ethan packed up his tools, he extended his hand for a handshake—just like last time.
Mark took it.
And just like last time… something flickered in his chest.
A connection.
Something he hadn’t felt in years.
Something he couldn’t quite name.