8
Wild Horses
Mitch
I’m never late. If league hockey teaches you anything, it’s to always be on time and never keep your teammates waiting. Punctuality is key, and if you don’t live by that one rule, you’ll get benched, or worse.
But tonight, I can’t be on time to save my life.
After a long shower, unable to think of anything but Maxine and her disruptive attitude, I step out and get a call from Phil. I’m already running late, so I let it go to voicemail.
While I’m getting dressed, I get a text.
Phil
Possible offer from Germany. I’ll be in touch.
ANSWER YOUR PHONE!!!
Wincing, I rub the back of my neck. There’s no way I’m moving to Europe.
Me
Not a chance. It’s the US or Canada. Nowhere else.
Phil
Beggars can’t be choosers.
Is that what I am now? A fucking beggar forced to accept a deal with a German team so I can keep playing the sport I live and breathe for? My chest tightens at the prospect. It’s one thing not to play because of an injury. It’s a whole other thing to never play again.
Still, I won’t leave the continent, especially not now.
Me
I’ll play the minors if I have to. But I’m not leaving.
Phil
You’ve got to be kidding!
I don’t respond, picturing the vein in his temple bulging in frustration. A few minutes later, I get another text.
Phil
I’ll see what I can do.
If only for a second, I grin. Phil and I go way back.
He’s been my agent for years, and I’m sure he’s pulling out what limited amount of hair he’s got left, but I appreciate his effort.
He’s one of the few people I know who doesn’t want to see me fail, so I hate how much it feels like I’m letting him down.
Now that my future hopes are all but snuffed out, I shove the phone into my pocket and head downstairs. I’m almost out the door, trying to breathe away my foul mood, when the sound of Dad’s walker scratches the floor behind me.
“Have you two patched things up yet?” he asks, his voice stronger than it’s been the last few days. His complexion is pinker than usual, too, which could mean the new medication is working. Or maybe it’s a sign that Max’s denial is rubbing off on me.
“This is Maxine we’re talking about, Dad. The only person who’s more pigheaded than her is—”
“You?” he interrupts with a small smirk.
“Yeah, exactly. She won’t have anything to do with me. So, I hate to say it, but this might be impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible, kid.”
I’m taken aback. The last time he called me kid I was twelve and insisted he never do it again.
“If you could wind up playing in the NHL,” he continues, “and your mom could take me back, then nothing’s impossible.”
I hear the not-so-subtle reminder that he never thought I’d amount to much.
Fortunately for him, I don’t have the time to get into it.
To explain that I am a terrific hockey player who more than deserved to be in the NHL.
Or even that it’s Mom’s oversized heart and guilt complex that make it impossible for her not to cling to him while he’s dying.
“You’re right, Dad. I’ll keep trying.”
“Attaboy.” He grips my shoulder, then gives it a gentle pat, again surprising me.
Nothing is impossible, I’m aware of that. And if a cold man like him can show me some sort of affection after years apart, then bringing someone like Maxine around shouldn’t be too difficult.
Even if it means breaking her in like a stubborn mare, I’ll do what needs to be done. I’ll be damned if I let Maxine Nolan stand in the way of getting this inn up to par before my dad dies.
I sit and watch people step into the freshly renovated brewery from the small park across the street. Every time the door swings open, the cheer and excitement seep out into the early evening.
But I can’t move. All I do is stare at our new patrons, people who’ll grow to love this new place, and force myself not to run away.
Because that’s what I want—to take off, get into my car and speed back to New York where I can hide in my apartment and ignore the world.
Let the city welcome me back, or forget me entirely.
At this point, does any of it even matter?
Determined to leave before anyone spots me—I’ll come up with some excuse that Hunter and Spencer won’t like—I shove off from the bench and make it to my car when a spark of red hair a block away catches my eye.
With her head down, Maxine walks toward me, her hands fisted around her purse strap. She’s not paying attention. Her thoughts are elsewhere, but she also seems completely aware of where she’s headed, swerving around people and narrowly missing bumping into a fire hydrant.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I always adored that about Max. How otherworldly she seems, fluid, angel-like, but grounded. Too perfect for this world, and a part of it, like the roots of the two-hundred-year-old oak trees that surround the bay.
But it’s that damn flighty distractedness that always gets her into trouble.
I notice the car coming, driving faster than it should down Main Street, the driver texting. Maxine is about to cross the street, one foot off the sidewalk, her head still down.
I close the distance with a few wide steps, and grab her arm, tugging her so hard she slams against me. Her tiny frame merges with mine, and a light oof spills from her lips. The car rushes past us, and Max regains her composure, screaming in its wake, “Watch where you’re going, asshole!”
I frown. “Watch where he’s going? Dammit, Toots!” I bark. “How about you look where you’re going?”
“I was.” She glares down at my hand, still wrapped around her elbow. “Can you let me go now?”
I release my grip, tucking my hand into my pocket. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day.”
“And you’re going to give yourself an aneurysm by being such a drama queen.” There’s that fierceness again, but she’s breathing fast. She got scared. “Why aren’t you in there?” she asks, nodding over her shoulder.
“I’m running late,” I explain. “Good thing, or I wouldn’t have saved your life.”
She slams her hands to her chest, batting her eyelashes. “Oh, thank you so much! What would I do without you?”
She’s trying to be a bitch, but I don’t take her seriously or even stop my smirk from building. She rolls her eyes and spins on her heel, this time making an exaggerated show of looking both ways before crossing.
“Wait. Before you go in.” I reach out for her, but then reconsider and bring my hand back.
“What?” She turns around, standing in the street about a foot from the curb, completely unbothered by the cars driving around us, but also pissing me off.
“Could you not do that? I realize Oakwhite isn’t New York City, but you never know.”
She looks around us, then crosses her arms and shrugs. “This bugs you that much? You realize Oakwhite’s hit-and-run rate is like zero, right?”
“Maxine…”
“Gah! Would you stop being such a whiny old man,” she says, stepping onto the sidewalk. “What do you need to say?”
“Did you think about my offer? Me helping?”
“Didn’t I say it wouldn’t happen?”
“I figured I’d ask again. After you’ve slept on things. I tried to ask you last night at the cemetery, but you seemed in a hurry.”
She steps closer, then tucks her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “I’ve thought about it.”
My brow lifts in surprise. “And?”
She stands close enough that I smell her sweet scent. Even though I’m a foot taller than her, I feel dwarfed when she rolls her shoulders back and juts her chin confidently. It’s something in her eyes. Determination. Strength. Fearlessness. And when she lets it out, it’s fucking captivating.
“Though I’d rather stick hot knives under my fingernails, this isn’t just about me.
Others rely on the inn, and it matters to them, so…
” She breathes out slowly, glancing around and rolling her eyes.
A glimmer of excitement ignites in my stomach.
Actual excitement, which is weird. “We can try to work something out.”
“Work something out, together?”
Chewing her bottom lip, she nods hesitantly as if agreeing to something unimaginable. We’re not exactly forgiving each other or moving on, but she’s meeting me part of the way and I’ll take it because it feels like the biggest win I’ve had in a long time.
“This is good, Max.”
I realize my mistake as she narrows her gaze.
“Sorry, Maxine. I’ve got some ideas—”
She holds up a hand. “Don’t get carried away. This won’t end well, so we’ll need to discuss a few things first.”
I frown, take a deep breath and then force a smile. “Sure. Of course. But come on, don’t be so pessimistic. Things are going to work out fine.”
She cocks her head, doubt filling her face and revealing the sorrow in her eyes she’d been hiding until now. “Christ, Mitchell. When did you get to be so fucking naive?”
Max
He still doesn’t see it. After all these years.
After me telling him straight up how I feel. How things will always be. He just doesn’t see it. Doesn’t pick up on how little I trust him or can even stand to be near him. Even here on the sidewalk, there’s a world of distance between us.
And yet we’re so close that I can’t help taking deep breaths of his sexy cologne, or noting how his dark jeans stress against his thick thighs. Or wondering how soft his crisp white shirt is and how smooth his skin might be under those rolled-up sleeves.
He looks so casual, simple, and… sexy. And I fucking hate myself for noticing.
Does he do it to draw attention? To make people stop and stare at his wide shoulders and broad chest, to absorb every ounce of his stupid charisma?
“Why am I naive?” he asks, his dark brow furrowed.
I blink, realizing I’m staring. “Because you still think the inn is savable. I mean, I guess you could help with that, but as far as you and me working together?” I shake my head. “It’ll end bloody and messy.”
“But how are we supposed to work together, if we can’t… work together?” He arches an eyebrow, but his eyes are lit up with amusement.
My unspoken words slam against my closed lips, but then a man and his young son appear.
“Bam-Bam Adams?” he asks.