20
Ship-Wrecked
Max
Burning into me like the afternoon sun, Mitch’s gaze keeps finding me no matter where I go on the boat. Not even intentionally, maybe. But every time I glance his way, his eyes are already there. Which is unfortunate because I’ve caught myself doing the exact same thing.
The trip makes me notice things I never got a chance to before, like the dark hair scattered across his chest, and the way his forearms flex when he pushes his sunglasses up his nose. It’s deeply irritating how attractive Mitchell Adams grew up to be.
I step out of the water and wrap a towel around myself, squeezing the sea from my hair.
Across the deck, Mitch lounges near his parents with one arm stretched along the back of the couch.
He’s so relaxed, at ease, enjoying this beautiful day with his parents, side by side with his dad.
And you’d think that’s all he’d focus on.
This time when our eyes meet, he quickly looks away, acting as if he hadn’t been staring at all. A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.
“Whatcha smiling about?” Celia asks, popping up in front of me and offering me a glass of crisp champagne.
The whole point of this sailing day was to give Bill a terrific time, so everyone’s mood is light and positive, though somewhat forced. I’m trying hard to pretend that it’s a perfect day, and except for the intense glares Mitch keeps shooting my way, it has been.
“Nothing. Why?” I sip the champagne, the bubbles tickling my nose.
“You sure? Something tells me it has to do with whatever weirdness is going on between you and Mitch,” she answers, nodding over her shoulder.
“We’ve always been weird,” I reply.
“I wouldn’t know. But you’ve been different lately.”
Hunter and Spencer are arguing over music near the speakers while Bethany helps Robyn rearrange blankets around Bill’s legs. The smiles seem real enough, but I can’t shake this feeling of something fragile underneath it all.
“It’s been a rough week,” I say. “That’s probably all it is.”
Celia studies me for a second. “Did you two ever actually talk after camping?”
A laugh escapes me. “Define talk.”
“So, no.”
“We talked a little.” I stare out at the water. “Nothing earth-shattering, but enough to tell me that things are still way too complicated between us.”
That feels safer than admitting the truth that sometimes when Mitch brushes past me at the inn, my entire body short-circuits like I’m sixteen again and want to make terrible life choices.
She bumps my shoulder. “For two people who supposedly hate each other, there’s been a lot of eye contact.”
She seems far too curious.
“I think we’re just… figuring things out.”
“And by figuring things out, you mean avoiding having a meaningful conversation?”
“Exactly.” I tap the tip of my nose with my finger.
Her mouth turns down as she frowns. “Sounds super healthy.” After a moment, her expression softens. “And this has nothing to do with him leaving?”
“I’ve always known he’s leaving,” I reply with a shrug.
“Not Oakwhite. He’s headed to Germany. Some team reached out.”
“Oh.” I keep my face neutral, but something uncomfortable twists low in my stomach.
Of course he’s leaving. Mitch would never stay in Oakwhite forever. But thinking he might leave the country feels so strange and… final.
“Good for him,” I say, forcing a smile.
“Yeah, it is,” she replies, but everything in her tone says she’s not quite convinced. Or that she’s still searching for more from me.
I drain the rest of my champagne before I can think too hard about why I can’t catch my breath. “I’m getting another drink. Want one?”
She lifts her still-full glass. “I’m good, thanks.”
I head below deck, refill my glass, then wander slowly through the hallway, peeking into rooms.
The inside of the yacht looks less like a boat and more like a floating luxury hotel with smooth white walls, polished wood, and marble countertops probably worth more than my car. There’s even a washer-dryer combo!
Halfway through admiring an absurdly fancy espresso machine, a hand lands lightly on my shoulder.
“Jesus!” I jump, startled.
Mitch steps back immediately. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine.” I steady my drink. “Has anyone ever told you that you walk like a sneaky serial killer?”
“Good to know.” His small smile is sexy enough that it catches me off guard. “Are you snooping?”
“What? No. Just looking around. This boat is ridiculous.”
“Agreed.” He leans against the doorway. “Spencer says there’s heated bathroom floors, too.”
I blink at him. “That should be illegal.”
A brief silence settles between us. Not tense exactly, but uncertain, as if we’re both waiting to see what comes next: a sparring match or an affectionate cuddle?
“Can we talk for a minute?” he asks finally.
Something in his voice makes me soften a little. “About what?”
“I think you know.”
I do, but I hesitate before nodding toward the bedroom. “Probably better than standing in the hallway.”
He lets out a quiet laugh and follows me inside, shutting the door behind him.
The room is huge by boat standards, with soft cream-colored bedding and wide windows overlooking the water.
I sit at the edge of the bed while Mitch stays standing for a second, running a hand through his hair as if he’s trying to organize his thoughts before speaking.
“I wanted to thank you,” he says. “For helping out with my dad. For helping all of us.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do, though.” His eyes meet mine. “Especially after everything he did. I know I couldn’t have done the same.”
“Time’s a funny thing.” I stare down at my glass, turning it slowly in my hands.
“I realized that I could spend my life hating him, hating my mom for what they did, but in the end, what would it change?” I sniffle, then chug the champagne and put the empty glass down on the floor.
“Your mom needed support. And Bill, well…” I shrug lightly.
“I guess holding onto anger for so long gets exhausting.”
“Don’t I know it,” he says without any hint of animosity. “So, you just forgave them?” His words drip with disbelief.
“I can’t say that I have. I can’t say that I trust them either. But after you left—” I stop, glancing up. He’s staring at me, sadness turning his eyes glossy. “I trust Robyn. She was hurting so much more than I was. I mean, her husband and her best friend?”
I grimace while Mitch slowly nods, but he still looks conflicted. “I’m not as good at that as you are.”
“What, forgiveness?” I wait until he nods, then continue. “That’s okay.” I smile kindly. “You never were.”
His chuckle eases some of the tension slightly after that. It’s not gone, but seems less dominant in the small room.
Mitch leans against the dresser across from me. “I still don’t understand how you stuck around at all.”
“I ask myself that sometimes, too.”
“No, seriously.” His brow furrows. “After what he did?”
I consider it for a moment before answering.
“It takes two to tango. My mom played her part, don’t forget.
But despite everything, I didn’t want to leave.
Oakwhite is part of me and will always be my home.
” I pause, glancing out the window. “And your mom never stopped working. She didn’t give up on the inn, even though it was part of him. So, I knew I couldn’t either.”
His face softens at that.
“She was hurting too,” I continue. “We were all hurting in different ways.”
Mitch looks down, crossing his arms. “Still doesn’t change what happened.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
A heavy silence follows.
“I think part of me still feels… betrayed.”
The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. I’m not sure if he’s talking about his dad, or me. I nod slowly.
“And I hate that.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “Because, let’s face it, I did the same to you. I hurt you, too.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. The sadness on his face seems to mirror my own.
“You did.” I twist a strand of my damp hair around my finger. “I was angry,” I admit. “And embarrassed. And I didn’t know how to face you after everything fell apart.”
Mitch studies me. “You really thought I hated you?” he asks gently.
A humorless laugh leaves me. “Didn’t seem impossible.”
“I didn’t hate you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” I exhale slowly, tension pulling at my shoulders.
Another silence grows between us, but this one is different. Not like the wall that’s been between us for years, but more like the beginning of us fixing the cracks within it.
Mitch glances down at my empty champagne glass. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Considering what I’ve just admitted to you, probably too much.”
He shakes his head with a subtle smile. “I’ve noticed you’re not biting my head off yet.”
“Careful now, there’s still time,” I reply with an arched eyebrow.
His eyes hold mine for a second too long, and my skin warms. I tear my gaze away and start to braid my hair, sighing heavily.
“I understand why you were mad. You had every right to be,” I begin, my lips loosened by the champagne. “But getting back at me by revenge fucking Jessa De Luca? That was pretty low.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asks.
“You and I. That weekend, camping—”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing happened between us that weekend.”
“Well, not nothing.”
“No, but we stopped before things went too far.”
“We did? From what I recall, you stopped. You said you were scared of Hunter. That I was like your sister. I felt about an inch tall.”
“So, you’ve been mad at me for over a decade because I didn’t have sex with you?” he asks, his eyes wide.
“No, Mitch. I wanted to have sex. I wanted you. But you made it seem like you weren’t willing to risk our friendship—”
“I wasn’t!”
“But that wasn’t the only reason, was it? Deep down, you were holding out for something better. For Jessa.”
He sinks down onto the bed next to me, dropping his head into his hands. “You’re mad because you think I slept with Jessa?”
“There’s no shame in it.”
“This isn’t about shame. This is about something that never happened.”
“Okay,” I scoff with an eye roll.