5 #2
“Yeah, sorry.” I sit, glancing out the window toward the backyard, and running a hand down my face. “But there’s no way this is going to work out.”
With difficulty, Bill pushes away from the table, and I wince.
He leans on chair backs, then on the counter for support, walking around the table.
A distant memory surfaces of him hoisting me onto his shoulders at the summer fair when I was a child.
What a stark contrast to the frail man making his way toward me now.
He plants his hand on my shoulder, but it might as well be a feather, his touch is so light.
“Mitchell, I’ve never asked much of you.
I’ve supported you, even when I disagreed with your choices.
” He pauses as if to give me the chance to agree.
He means the big fuss I made about leaving Oakwhite for MSU and then dropping out when I got drafted to the NHL.
He probably also means my fights with the general manager, with my teammates. All my fighting.
“It shouldn’t be too hard for you to do this,” he continues. “Can you put your differences aside? For us?”
Several arguments battle in my mind. But that’s his point, isn’t it?
That I’ve been a spoiled, whiny brat for too long.
That I’ve gone against his wishes—everyone’s wishes—and done my thing without caring how they felt.
And now, more so than any other time in my life, I should be here for them. This is no longer about me.
I purse my lips and nod. “Sure, Dad. I’ll do it.”
Max
I’ve never eaten a meal so fast or tasted the food so little. Every bite of what I’m sure is another one of Robyn’s excellent dinners turns to ash in my mouth.
She and Bill keep up a very normal conversation, small talk about what’s happening in town, but across from me, Mitch seems as uncomfortable as I am. Every word and answer he gives is monosyllabic, lacking the warmth I used to let wash over me like a summer’s day.
Whenever Mitch spoke, I was captivated. He wasn’t a big talker, and didn’t dive into deep, philosophical discussions, but I used to like that about him. It meant that when he said something, it mattered. That he’d weighed his words before saying them and didn’t waste them—they were valuable.
Tonight is the complete opposite of that.
He’s all one-word answers, his thoughts a million miles away as if he’s regretting coming home and wishing he was back in the city. He keeps pushing his food around his plate, worrying his lip. Not that I see much of his mouth under that bushy beard.
Even when his facial hair started coming in, he’d shave regularly, or at the very least, keep it trimmed.
By the time he was seventeen, he was one of the few guys we knew that had a full-grown beard.
But now he’s sporting a messy, disheveled one, and I don’t care how dangerous it makes him seem, he needs a shave.
After dinner, I help Robyn tidy up the kitchen while Mitchell takes Bill outside to the backyard.
I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation, but I have a feeling it’ll be more of Mitchell arguing, more of Bill telling him to mind his tone and ignoring the simple truth that pairing us together is like lighting a fuse.
“Are you okay?” Robyn asks when I’m heading out.
I nod, offering her a tight smile. “I will be.”
She tucks my hair behind my ear in that motherly way, and the affection sends warmth to my heart. “I know this is a difficult situation.”
Difficult? This is impossible.
“But I’m sure you two will work it out.”
I tilt my head. “We don’t have a choice, do we?”
She purses her mouth. “Life isn’t always fun and easy, Maxine. Take it from me; when you find those precious people that make it better, you need to keep them close.”
She means well. She sees her son through rose-colored glasses and has an entirely different perspective on Mitchell.
So, even if I don’t agree with her at all, considering the messy situation she’s living through with Bill, I need to stop making this harder.
She’s given me an immense responsibility and invested years of trust in me.
All things considered, working with Mitch might not be the worst thing ever. I mean, it’s not life or death like what she’s dealing with. Even if spending any amount of time with Mitch might kill me, I need to do this.
I give her a big hug. “I’ll make it work, Robyn. Promise.”
She wanders off and I slip my shoes on, but someone walks up behind me. The thud-like steps tell me it’s not Robyn or Bill.
“We need to talk,” Mitch says, his gravelly voice filling the tiny foyer like a loud drum.
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes. Now.” He steps closer, and the heat emanates from him in waves. “Exactly how bad is it?”
“Which part?” I ask, not bothering to face him.
“The inn.”
“Not so bad that you need to worry your pretty little head about it.” I step toward the door, but he circles me and blocks it.
“The fuck it isn’t.”
The intensity of his gaze almost knocks me down. This isn’t annoyance or bitterness; this is something deeper. He really does still hate my guts.
“Are you seriously going to pretend you suddenly give a shit?” With a laugh, I try to move around him, but he grabs my wrist, tugging me back. His fiery touch sparks my blood.
“Dammit, Maxine. Would you stop brushing me off? This is happening, whether or not we like it. It’s what they want,” he says, nodding over his shoulder, releasing my hand.
I avoid his eyes, rummage through my purse for my keys and ignore the way my skin tingles where he held my wrist. “Since when do you care what your parents want?”
“I’ve always cared. Just because I didn’t listen or wasn’t around—”
“Exactly, you weren’t around,” I interrupt, dumping the contents of my bag on the ground and kneeling to search through the pile of crap—candies, receipts, random… crap. But still, no keys.
“I mean it.” He crouches beside me to help. “With everything that’s happening…” He releases a sad exhale. “Things need to change.”
He’s so close, I see the way his eyes blend from green to black toward the middle. I used to love staring into his eyes; I found them so calming, but now they only fill me with pain.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mitch. Nothing needs to change. Stop acting like you’re suddenly this great guy and admit why you’re here.”
“And why’s that?”
“The league doesn’t want you anymore. You’re just looking for something to keep you busy.
” I lean closer, dropping my voice to a whisper, noticing how his focus falls to my lips.
“The inn matters more to me than it will ever matter to you. I’m the one who’s been there, day in, day out.
So, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving it up to you.
” I shove everything back into my bag, ripping a tampon from his hand, then stand.
“You can forget it. I’ll never welcome you.
You’ll never be a part of this. Do you hear me? Never.”