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“Motherfucker!” coming from the basement. She reacted without thinking, grabbed a long knife, and took the basement stairs two at a time.
    She jumped to the landing, knife held in front of her.
    Cameron Holt stood in front of a punching bag, rotating his wrist and grimacing. He faced his wife nonchalantly. “Hey.”
    Jackie threw her hands out with a flourish, all exasperation. “Hey? That's it? You scared the shit out of me! I actually grabbed a knife!”
    He finished re-wrapping his hands. He rotated his wrist a few more times, and was apparently satisfied enough to go back to hitting the bag. “I couldn't sleep,” he said as he struck the bag with several straight jabs. “Calm down.”
    “You know I hate it when you say that. I was just worried about you.”
    “What,” he grunted as he threw a hook to the body. “Did you want me to leave you a note?” He gradually increased the pace of his blows.
    Jackie stormed over to him and glared at his silhouette. “That's hilarious.”
    He responded by throwing a flurry of punches, giving the impression of a fighter trying to steal a round just before the bell.
    She placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “I remember a guy who would always apologize for making me worry.”
    Holt gritted his teeth and his punches became a blur.
    “Jesus, Cam, look at -”
    He whirled on her. “Can you just leave me the fuck alone, already?!?”
    She was startled, but she held her ground, and his gaze, for several seconds. She spoke with voice free from inflection. “When you're ready to talk, come upstairs. Until then, do what you have to do to work your shit out. And ice that wrist, because you might need it for a while.” Having said what she wanted to say, she took a step away from him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
    “Wait. Just wait.”
    She didn't pull away from him, but she didn't turn, either.
    Satisfied that she was going to stay, Holt grabbed an envelope off of the pool table. He pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to her.
    She noticed two things immediately. It was expensive stock, and it was an invitation to something. She read aloud. “We request the honor of your presence at the Lost Whaler Island Memorial Gala ...” She stopped reading and looked at her husband.
    “It brought everything back, Jackie. The nightmares, and the paranoia, were finally gone, or close enough to it. Under control, at least. And this fucking envelope brought it all back in a hurry.”
    She dropped the letter on the floor and hugged him. “Baby, I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how hard this must be for you.”
    “I thought I could handle it. I will handle it.”
    “I know you will. We all will.” She threw a glance at the clock. Well, that sucks. “Hey, do you want to join me for a really early breakfast?”
    Holt began to take off the wraps. “Yeah, that sounds good. Just give me a minute to cool down.” Whether it was his intent or not, Jackie picked up on the double meaning.
    She touched his forearm. “Is your wrist okay?”
    “Yeah, yeah, I just hit the bag wrong and rolled it. I wasn't exactly focusing on technique.”
    She nodded and walked upstairs.
    She was halfway up when he said, “Jac?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that.”
    She tried to smile, but her heart was breaking for him. All he wanted to do was put the island behind him forever. “Neither did you.” She continued up the stairs and out of sight. Holt soon heard the sounds of cooking.
    He slowly rolled the wraps up and placed them back in the gym bag. He wiped down with a towel and threw that on top. He picked up the invitation, muttered, flipped it onto the pool table, and headed up to the kitchen.
    He inhaled deeply. The smell of bacon and coffee hit his nostrils immediately, and the eggs mere moments after they hit the hot skillet. He sidled up behind her and gently rubbed her upper arms. “You work fast.”
    She stirred the eggs and laughed. “I know how you get when