Hitched & Hitched Again: A Comedy of Marital Mayhem novel Chapter 1313

“Fine, we’ll do it your way!”

Evan let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“It’s already afternoon, so today, Uncle will be teaching me. Bernard, you’ll just have to watch,” Evan said.

“Hmph!” Bernard snorted, one of them looking smug while the other looked seriously annoyed.

The big guy with the scarred face stepped forward, his expression deadly serious. He was just about to launch into a lecture when Bernard suddenly cut in.

“If you suck at offense, don’t mess him up. I’ll teach him how to attack, you stick to defense!”

Everyone knew, after all: the best fighters could play both sides of the game—offense and defense.

The scar-faced guy glared daggers at Bernard, practically grinding his teeth.

“This is my time. Nobody asked you. If you keep quiet, nobody’s going to think you’re dead,” he snapped.

Bernard just rolled his eyes and shut up.

The scar-faced guy really didn’t want to admit it, but Bernard wasn’t wrong. When it came to attacking, Bernard had skills he just couldn’t match.

He’d tried teaching Evan some offense before, but after sparring with Bernard, he’d figured it was better to focus on defense. That was where he really had something to offer.

“Evan, when your opponent is weak, sure, you can end things quick. But if you’re up against someone just as good as you—or even better—solid defense will keep you alive and might just give you the upper hand.”

“Come at me. I’ll show you how to cover yourself better…”

…

While Elysia and the kids were busy—some drawing with sidewalk chalk, others chasing each other around the backyard—Tarquin was off to the side, standing quietly by the picket fence, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers.

His smoking habit had gotten a lot better, but he hadn’t quit completely. When something weighed on his mind, he still needed that familiar comfort.

All he could think about was finding the real source of the eighth mutation of the virus. Over and over, he replayed memories of his parents—their laughter, their voices, and especially the day they died.

He tried to pick apart those memories, searching for clues, for anything he might have missed the first hundred times.

Some memories were sweet, some were bitter. But because it all ended so badly, even the sweet ones turned sour, and the bitter ones just hurt more.

Eventually, all that pain just turned into grief.

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