Tim couldn't get his heart to slow down. Ever since she sauntered up his lawn yesterday, his heart would not stop beating, pounding to get out of his chest. No amount of breathing or whateverthefuck-hokey-yuppie-meditative-bullshit was going to slow it down. When she was in the room, it felt like a boxing match was taking place in his chest. Hell, he couldn't tell if it was better when she wasn't in the room. Fuckin' whiskey didn't do a damn thing about it either.

This girl was going to put him in the hospital.

Even though she's upstairs taking a shower – she ain't even in the room – and Tim's breathing got deeper, heavier, just thinking about being in that boat with her today. He can't stop thinking about it even if he tried. And he's trying because he has this damn fish to cook. And because he has a guest over, he's gotta cook it to perfection. Goddammit, what about sides? Gotta have sides. Is there enough time for mash potatoes? Why didn't he plan this shit out earlier? What cans does he have in the pantry? No. No. He has fresh vegetables in the fridge. Steam those babies up. Yes. Yes, that'll work.

The spices from the fish waft throughout the kitchen as the fish sizzles in the butter in the cast iron pan on the stove top. A slight sense of disappointment pauses Tim's ever-beating heart. He's made a more mouth-watering fish before. He should've just stuck with lemon pepper seasoning. It's a standard for a reason. Why did he have to try to get fancy.

Tim just wants everything to go well tonight. Don't ask why.

Lyla Garrity is an old friend and she's been a special part of his life for, God knows how long. Can't a guy just cook a nice dinner for his special friend? Don't make it weird. It's not weird to want to do something nice for someone who has always treated him with respect when no one else would.

She's engaged and Tim is fine with that. Really. What matters is that Lyla is happy. And Tim is going to do his part in keeping her happy while she's here and that's enough.

She didn't finish that bottle of rosé, did she? Shit. Hope not.

Right as Tim set the pieces of fish on the plates, she arrives into the room. She smells nice like, whatever soap she used in the shower. Smells like flowers. Her hair is pinned back into a nice half-ponytail letting most of her long silky hair spill down her bare shoulders. She just had to wear a sundress, didn't she.

Look away, man. Keep plating.

"Something smells nice," she says with a smile. Her white teeth have always been perfect. Everything about her is always perfect. It can be so infuriating at times but it's so hard to be mad at someone so lovely.

"Don't get too excited," Tim starts focusing as hard as he can on only plating the meal and nothing more. "It's just fish."

She glides over to where he is and looks over his broad shoulders. The smell of her soap tangoes with the aroma of the fish. It's a confusing but ultimately pleasant dance. She gasps in wonder at the meal being served. "Timothy Riggins, you've never cooked me a meal in your life. Where did this," she gestures at the food, "come from?"

"No one has ever called me Timothy a day in my life, don't you start that now," Tim carries the plates to the table and gestures for Lyla to sit. She glides her hands down her skirt, flattening it, and sits in the chair with grace. "And I don't know if you recall, but the only food I ever had access to as a kid was beer."

Lyla makes a knowing face, "Oh, I remember, alright."

Tim sat down like he's been dying to sit for ages. "It was Becky, believe it or not."

"Becky taught you to cook?" Lyla asks as she gets up and grabs a couple of glasses from a nearby cupboard and begins to pour them both a glass of ice water.

"Back when I lived on her property, she," he pauses for a moment and rolls his eyes, "she was real nosy as a girl…"

"No," Lyla mocked. "Becky? Nosy? Never."

Tim smiles. "She liked me a lot."

"You don't say." Lyla set one glass next to his plate before placing hers down and sitting once again. A smirk splayed across her face.

"Well she got concerned when she happened upon my fridge and was horrified to only see beer and not much else."

"Tim, really?" Lyla side-eyed, knowing full well it was the truth. "Not one solid piece of food?"

"Times were tough."

"Times been tough on you since birth, Riggins."

"Aint that the truth." Tim waited in anticipation for her to try the food. Couldn't understand why she was waiting. "Anyhow, she dragged me into her kitchen and started teaching me to cook. Spaghetti, mac and cheese, grilled cheese, eventually I graduated to more sophisticated meals."

"Like fish?" Lyla asked with a teasing smile.

"Like fish."

They sat there like that for a good minute. Sitting next to each other, smiling, enjoying the ease of the conversation. Tim wasn't gonna eat before her. She had to take the first bite. Suddenly he worried it didn't smell good or something. Crap. Maybe she doesn't really like fish.

"You gonna eat or am I gonna have to cut it up for you, Garrity?"

Lyla dropped her jaw briefly. "No! But I think we should say grace."

Tim didn't believe in this God crap. Not really. What God would allow kids to live in poverty with shitty parents like him and Billy? But Lyla believed. Lyla was practically an angel on earth and that was enough for Tim to maybe consider that it's not total bullshit. For all the Tim's in the world, there were also Lyla's. One of them has to be right – why not the Lyla's of the world?

Lyla smiled at him sweetly as she closed her eyes. Tim took her hand and his and savored the sensation. He tried to close his eyes, he really did, but he couldn't resist watching her. As she recited some prayer or whatever, he thought he saw a faint glow emanating from her milky skin. She really was some sort of angel on earth. His angel. Just as he does every time Lyla Garrity comes around, Tim made sure to cherish every moment he had with her. There might be a time when she won't come back again. His angel might need to save someone else more worthy than him. Some guys named Kevin.

"Amen," She finished and took her hand back. The absence of her was felt.

Tim waited with bated breath as she speared a fork-full of fish and took a bite. As she chewed, he watched every motion of her face. Why did this matter so much to him? Who knows. It just did. She turned to him with light in her eyes. "Tim! You're a wonderful cook!"

Finally, he could breathe again. Normally. "Stop."

"For real, Tim. You are just full of pleasant surprises."

There goes that boxing match again. Rampaging harder than ever.

"I'm happy you're enjoying your time here," Tim said.

He meant it too. There's something about having Lyla here that just awakens the place. He hadn't felt this way since… since Tyra, perhaps. But not even Tyra made this place feel brighter. Sunnier. Awake. Alive.

When Tyra was here, it felt like a home, sure. She was the one who arranged the furniture so it didn't look like a frat house and she was the one who found the knickknacks and tchotchkes and the whoseits and the whatsits. She put them around the house to look nice. But Tyra spent all her time doing schoolwork and when she wasn't, she was lying on the couch with Tim drinking beer or drinking whiskey or they were… well, doing what couples do.

As the years went by and Tyra got more and more invested in politics, she wasn't around a lot. She was at school. Or she was at work hustling to pay for school. Or she was helping out a campaign or some shit. Or she was at the boathouse. Tim should've known something was wrong then; those times when she would retreat to the boathouse. Soon, Tim got used to her not being around, and suddenly, she took her things with her and left. It wasn't dramatic like old times. They were a volatile pair, Tyra and Tim, but this time was different. This time, Tim thinks, she grew up. This time it was a sad goodbye. It wasn't an angry one. Tyra wasn't going to come back again. She outgrew him. Perhaps, in his own way, Tim outgrew her too. Doesn't make it hurt less or nothing.

Everything else since then has been a whiskey-covered blur. The house has never looked less like a home than in the year since Tyra left. But was it ever a home even when she was here? That's a thought Tim didn't want to think about at all.

All he wanted to do was to be present and enjoy his time with his angel on earth.

"Why don't you talk to your brother anymore?" Lyla asked as gently as she could without looking at him. She took another bite of her fish.

Tim sighed. "I… I do talk to him sometimes."

Lyla knew that was crap. Tim knew that was crap.

"I spent a year in prison, Lyla," He held up his hand just as she was about to interject, "I know it could've been worse. Most people get five years. Ten years. A lifetime. I can't overstate how lucky I am to be out so soon and able to get a job. As much as it pains me to say so, I owe your dad a lot."

Lyla's face softened. It was hard to tell if it was a good reaction or a bad one. Perhaps it was both.

"But I would have never gone to jail in the first place if it weren't for my dumbass brother and his dumbass ideas. The chop shop was his idea, Garrity. I was playing it straight for once in my life, and for some reason I love that dumbass enough to go to jail for him because he got kids and a wife and I had nothing."

Lyla looked into his glistening eyes. She could see the pain, plain as day, etched into his face, pouring out of his eyes from the depths of his soul. There he is, she thought. There's Tim.

He sure knew how to break her heart.

Tim almost startled when she placed her hand on his. It almost makes the pain bearable. Almost.

"I don't ever want to go back there again, Lyla." He stared deep into her saucer-like eyes. He'll find comfort in there, no doubt. "It was the worst year of my life, no question."

"I can understand that," Lyla said softly. "But it's Billy. He's always looked after you."

"Not that time, he didn't."

Lyla knew to keep her mouth shut then. That discussion was over. There was no counter for that. Tim had a right to be angry about it and perhaps time would be the key to solving that problem. But she can be here for him now. She squeezes his hand and he reciprocates a squeeze back. She attempts a small reassuring smile out of the corner of her mouth. He gives one back.

He feels strong with her around.

They make their way back outside onto Tim's deck overlooking his land. The sky had already cloaked itself in black and gave way to the shine of the stars. The moon took all the glory, however, radiating its 'light' down onto Tim and Lyla as they rocked ever so slightly on Tim's wooden rocking chair.

Though they sat next to each other, the space between them felt uncomfortably wide. It felt unnatural. The crack between them took up an enormous amount of space and Tim didn't know what to do about it at all. He just simply slouched and crossed his arms and focused on the horizon. He could practically feel every motion Lyla made through the tension between them. Why does it have to be so hard to just be friends?

Tim watched her out of the side of his eye. The moonlight made her look radiant. Fuck.

"What does Kevin think about you being here?" Tim asked as he took a sip of his beer. There was a detectable edge to his tone.

Lyla took a moment to digest the question. "Oh, um…" she trailed off. "He's fine."

She never talks about him much – Tim noticed. He needed to know more about this guy. Does he deserve her? He better be an amazing dude to be engaged to Garrity. What is he like? What does he look like? Is he better in bed than Tim? Oh God, forget that thought.

"What's he doing right now? You talked to him, right?"

Lyla's eyes were firmly planted on the moon. "He's working."

"What does this guy do?"

"He's a lawyer. The best lawyer. He'll probably make partner in a few years."

He's older than her. Crap. Older guys have more experience. In everything. "Did he hire you?"

Shit. Shit shitty shit. Tim shouldn't have said that.

Lyla finally peeled her eyes off the moon and slowly turned to glare at him. "What are you implying?"

"I'm sorry, Garrity. I didn't mean that. I just wanna know about this guy. You're going to marry him. That makes him important to me. I wanna get to know him."

Lyla crossed her arms around her suddenly tense body. Her legs crossed at the knee. She felt further away than ever.

"He's great. Tall. The best laywer."

"You mentioned that," Tim said, trying to lighten the sudden influx of tension. It didn't work.

"He's a good kisser. He's charming."

Tim's eyes furrowed. Something just isn't sitting right with him and he just can't pinpoint why. "Ok, but… why are you marrying him?"

The question felt more pointed than it should've. Tim internally cursed himself. Why did he have to be such an idiot?

Lyla sat with this question a little too long. The ring glittered in the moonlight. She wished she had wine. She should ask for some. A shiver ran down her arms.

"You're cold. Let me get a blanket."

"Oh, you don't…" Before she could finish her sentence, Tim was up and into the house in pursuit of a blanket. He popped out a moment later with a cozy fleece. "Thanks Tim."

Tim smiled thankful to have a moment outside of the tension. Grateful for a moment of her warmth. He wishes he could get in that blanket with her.

"Kevin is the one who got me my job," Lyla admitted after a moment's pause.

Tim knew this was serious to her. An insecurity she's admitting. Trusting him with this vulnerability. He kept his mouth shut and his ears wide open.

"One of my senior-year professors at Vanderbilt , he recommended me to his lawyer friend who moved to Austin, Texas. I had been terrified out of my mind then, not knowing where to go after graduation. Do I stay in Tennessee? Do I go back to Texas… back to Dillon? Nothing seemed like the right answer until Kevin gave me an interview based on a letter of recommendation from my professor. He hired me as his intern at first but then quickly promoted me to paralegal and now I'm a newly minted lawyer. I want to feel good about it… truly I do, but…"

Tim heard the words that were unsaid. She doesn't know if she was promoted because of her merit. She's afraid to prod. Tim wants so badly to hold her. To tell her that she has all the potential in the world and he wishes he had even an ounce of that. Sometimes it's hard for Tim to relate to her in this way. It reminds him of Tyra a bit. They're both ambitious and smart. They have a hunger that Tim will never have. Tim lives to find peace. They live to make a difference. Suddenly the space between them feels warranted.

The rocker squeaks and squeals in the deafening silence.

"And then your dad gets locked in the slammer."

Lyla smiles as she gently shakes her head. "And then my dad gets locked in the slammer." She chuckles a little after she finishes.

Tim joins her in the chuckle. In a matter of moments, they both start laughing, heartily, out loud, scaring the grackles out of the nearby trees.

"Your idiot dad."

"My idiot dad." Lyla leans her head back against the chair and looks at the stars, calm for the first time in several hours. "I should probably go to his hearing tomorrow morning. I would rather do literally anything else."

"Can I come with you?"

Lyla rolls her head towards Tim. She examines him for any form of facetiousness but finding only sincerity. "You really want to come?"

"Yeah," he drawls out. "I owe your dad a lot, you know."

Lyla nods a tiresome ok. "I'd like you to come with me."

They smile a kind, loving smile.