Episode 239
SMOKE ON THE WATER
River
Twenty Years Earlier…
Two days.
We rob Old Man Larson in two fucking days. This time tomorrow, we’ll be looking at our last sleep before the deed.
As if any of us will actually sleep. We’ll be moving in the early hours before daybreak.
Brett sits beside me on the split rail fence, one boot balanced on a lower rung, the other planted in dirt dry enough to crack.
He lights his cigarette without looking at me. Just flicks the Bic, the flame catching with a practiced snap, like he’s done it a thousand times. Because he has. We both have.
“I don’t like it,” I say.
Brett exhales, lets the silence stretch before he finally bites. “You don’t like a lot of things.”
“I really don’t like this.”
“Which part?” he asks, turning his head. “The plan? The risk? Or the fact that Jake’s the one itching to pull the trigger?”
I give him a look. “All of it.”
The sun’s bleeding out behind the western ridge, painting the hills in that rust-gold hue this place is famous for. Normally, it would be peaceful. A comfort. Tonight, it just feels…off.
Fuck. What’s it going to feel like tomorrow night?
“Jake’s not supposed to be all in,” I mutter. “He’s supposed to be the anchor. The guy with the conscience. The fucking brakes.”
“He still is,” Brett says, but there's something in his clipped tone that makes me pause.
I take another drag, let the burn settle in my chest before I speak. “He looked me dead in the eye this morning and said, ‘I want this.’ And he meant it. No hesitation. No caveats. No speech about lines and consequences.”
“So?” Brett says. “Maybe he’s tired of being the good guy. Maybe he finally realized justice doesn’t always wear a badge and carry a rulebook.”
I look over at him, searching for something beneath the mask he always wears so damned well. That’s Brett. He’s the master of pushing everything else aside and concentrating on a single task. For the life of me, I don’t know how he does it. He’s downright mechanical at times.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” I finally ask.
“Should it?”
“Yes.” I toss my cigarette butt on the ground. “It should bother someone that the guy who used to lecture us about moral gray areas is now the one raring to go.”
Brett shrugs. “People change.”
“Or they break.”
He doesn’t respond to that. Just smokes in silence, his profile carved sharp against the sunset.
I know Brett better than anyone. I know when he’s compartmentalizing. I know when he’s lying to others and to himself. Right now, he’s doing both.
“You’re not worried about Jake?” I press.
“I’m worried about you,” Brett says. “You overthink shit when it gets close.”
I frown. “This is close.”
“I know.” He flicks ash to the ground. “So stop trying to fix what isn’t broken. Jake wants this. Let him want it.”
There’s something final in his voice. Like he’s already decided the outcome, boxed up the emotion, and filed it somewhere far away where it won’t interfere with what’s coming.
I look down at my boots coated in dust, at the earth we’ve all stood on since we were kids. Jake’s justice used to be our compass. Now it’s our fuel.
And I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
But it’s too late either way.
Brett nudges my shoulder with his. “We ride in less than forty-eight hours, Riv. Smoke your doubts while you still can.”
I light up again.
But no cigarette can smoke away my doubts.
Present Day…
By the time Brett and I get our drink, the staff has set up for Alex’s bachelor bash in the courtyard.
Sebastian, Jake, and Alex arrive and join us, which I’m happy about, though I wanted a few more minutes alone with Brett.
Things still aren’t right between us, and though I know I need to give it time, I’m used to Brett and me always talking things out like we used to while sitting on that split rail fence at the ranch.
Brett takes a sip of his bourbon. “Hey, guys.”
Alex smiles. “I can’t think of a better way to say goodbye to bachelorhood than to be here with all of you. All four of you.” He nods to Jake. “I know you have a story, bud, and I want to hear it, but let’s have a drink first.”
Jake nods. “I don’t want anything to spoil your big day tomorrow,” he says. “My story can wait. Tonight and tomorrow are about you.”
Staffers serve us a sumptuous dinner of grilled lobster dripping in garlic butter, jerk chicken with charred pineapple salsa, coconut rice, roasted plantains, and rum-soaked everything.
“Best Alex stories!” Sebastian shouts after swallowing a mouthful of lobster.
I open my mouth to speak when a few male staffers drag out the oversized woven rugs from the yoga room and lay them down in uneven circles across the ground. A few women scatter dried flower petals in a slow, methodical trail, like they’re marking a path.
“What the…” Brett starts.
The staffers continue, arranging beach stones and then pouring salt around them. One of the bartenders lights a bundle of dried flowers—lavender, maybe something local—and the air shifts. Smoky floral scents catch in my throat.
Someone pulls a speaker out from behind a potted palm and cues up a playlist full of drums and low, pulsing beats.
“What exactly did you tell Evie you wanted tonight, Al?” Seb asks.
Alex shakes his head. “This isn’t for me. I swear.”
“Is it for the women then?” I ask. “Emily told me they were celebrating on the beach.”
“Got me.” Alex shrugs.
We finish our dinner and instead of dessert, we sip on a smoky Armagnac. Damn, it’s smooth.
“So about those Alex stories,” Jake says but then widens his eyes.
“Hey, big fella.” A gorgeous blonde dressed in a flowing silk robe embroidered with dragons slides into view.
It’s Jazz, Ariel’s friend from home.
Shouldn’t she be—
She sheds the robe to reveal a lacy red teddy. “I’ve got a special present for our bachelor tonight.”