Chapter 1

The cheap fluorescent light hummed, a dull counterpoint to the beeping of a distant monitor.

Michael Thompson lay in the narrow bed, his breath shallow, skin papery thin over sharp bones.

This nursing home smelled of antiseptic and despair.

He was fifty-eight, but felt a hundred. Alone.

Brenda was gone. Died a year ago.

On her deathbed, her voice was a rasp, but her words cut deeper than any knife.

"Michael," she' d whispered, a strange, almost triumphant smile on her lips. "The children... David and Sarah... they' re not yours."

He' d stared, his mind refusing to process.

"They' re Rick' s," she continued, her eyes glinting. "Rick Donovan. It was always Rick."

Rick. His rival. The man he despised. The man she supposedly hated alongside him.

His entire life, a lie.

His promising career as a mechanic, then Service Manager at Metro Motors, sacrificed. For her. For their family.

She' d wanted more money, a bigger house, so he' d stayed, chasing promotions he didn't get, while his dream of opening his own shop gathered dust.

She' d drained him emotionally, financially.

And the children, David and Sarah, the ones he' d raised, loved, provided for.

After Brenda' s confession, after her funeral, they' d been efficient.

Lawyers. Papers. His assets, carefully built, signed away.

Then, this place. They never visited.

He closed his eyes. Regret was a bitter acid in his chest.

If only... if only he could do it over. Know then what he knew now.

A final, ragged breath.

Darkness.

Then, noise.

Loud. Annoying. Music.

"Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley blared from a tinny radio.

Michael' s eyes snapped open.

He wasn' t in the nursing home.

He sat on a worn vinyl couch. A Formica table in front of him held a half-eaten donut and a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

The breakroom at Metro Motors. He knew it instantly. The smell of stale coffee and exhaust fumes.

His hands. He held them up.

Smooth skin. Strong fingers. No liver spots. No tremor.

He touched his face. No wrinkles. Hair, thick.

He scrambled up, knocking the coffee. It splashed, hot, on his pants.

He barely felt it.

A calendar hung crookedly on the wall, a cheesy picture of a Corvette above the dates.

June 1988.

The red circle was around today' s date: Tuesday, June 7th.

June 7th, 1988.

Weeks before Mr. Harrison would announce the new General Manager.

Weeks before Rick Donovan got the promotion. The promotion that cemented Brenda' s victory and Michael' s long, slow decline.

He was back.

He was young.

He had a chance.

The door to the breakroom creaked open.

Brenda walked in.

She was young too, vibrant, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed, her blue eyes, which he once thought were full of love, now looked calculating.

"Michael, there you are," she said, her voice sweet, the same sweetness that had fooled him for decades.

"Mr. Harrison is going to make his decision soon. About the GM position."

He just stared at her. The woman who would destroy him.

"I was thinking," she continued, moving closer, placing a hand on his arm. "Maybe you should talk to Mr. Harrison. Tell him you' re withdrawing your name."

He felt the familiar pressure, the start of her manipulation.

"Rick needs this, Michael. You know he' s done so much for us, those little favors..."

She squeezed his arm.

"It would be better for everyone. For our marriage."

A subtle threat. The same one she' d used before.

But this wasn't the old Michael.

This Michael knew everything.