22
Maybe
Maxine
The smell of garlic and tomato sauce hits me the second I walk into Dad’s house.
“Finally,” Hunter says from the kitchen island. “I was thirty seconds away from filing a missing person report.”
“You’re being dramatic.” I slip off my shoes and shrug out of my jacket.
“Good thing you got here. Dad started stress-grating parmesan.”
“I wasn’t stressed,” Vince, our dad, argues while treating the cheese rather aggressively.
As if noticing, he stops, then grins and continues grating, this time at an intentionally slower speed. I laugh and join them in the kitchen. Dad kisses the top of my head while I steal a piece of garlic bread straight off the tray.
He swats my hand away. “You can’t wait?”
“Nope.”
“Just like your mother,” he mutters automatically. I notice the quick pause, the realization of what he’s said. “Don’t spoil your appetite,” he adds, trying to pretend we’re not all thinking the same thing.
Still, something uncomfortable catches inside me.
“Tina couldn’t make it?” I ask, trying to sound as if I’m disappointed my older sister isn’t here.
“One of the kids is sick,” Dad explains, but Hunter and I exchange a doubtful glance.
Since our older sister, Tina, left town and started her new life in Hallstead, we hardly ever see her. Once in a while we meet her and Mom for dinner, but honestly, I’d much rather hang out with the boys. Tina and Joanne Nolan have an uncanny knack of making everything… awkward and uncomfortable.
I grab the wine bottle off the counter and pour myself a big glass.
“Are you afraid we’re going to run out?” Hunter asks.
I scowl. “I’m literally just having a drink. I’m allowed to have a drink, right?” I snap.
“Yes, you’re allowed to have a drink,” he replies, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Children,” Dad warns.
“You’re in a mood,” Hunter continues, ignoring him. “Get in a fight with Tucker again?”
I nearly choke on the Pinot. I guess with everything that’s happened recently, I didn’t bother sharing the news with everyone.
“I dumped Tucker.”
Silence. Both men stare at me, frowning.
“What?” I snap.
Dad returns to the stove. “When did this happen?”
“About a week ago. Before the camping trip.”
Hunter stares at me. “Before the camping trip? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I purse my lips. “Sorry, a lot’s been going on and I guess I forgot to write it in the family newsletter.”
“Maxine…” Dad says. “Hunter’s just curious.”
Hunter flashes a smart-ass grin, but Dad swiftly shuts it down.
“Hunt, leave your sister alone.”
I smile, sticking my tongue out at my brother.
He rolls his eyes. “I just find it weird that you forgot to mention you broke up.”
“Hunter, let it go,” Dad says.
“It wasn’t that serious,” I reply. “We dated for, what, a month?”
Honestly, ending things with Tucker has been easy.
Too easy, despite his occasional texts and calls trying to win me back, which probably says a lot about our relationship and how I should have ended it sooner.
When I think back on our time together, there’s this disconnected part of my brain that keeps comparing it to Mitch.
Inevitably, this leads to me thinking of Mitch’s mouth on my nipples.
And his hands gripping my hips. And the way he looked at me afterwards, like he wanted to say something bigger than either of us were ready for.
Jesus Christ, how is this my life?
I take a long drag of wine, trying to forget what happened on the boat.
“You didn’t like him that much anyway,” Dad says knowingly.
“I liked him.”
“Okay,” he guffaws.
“I did,” I insist.
Dad plates pasta while shaking his head. “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re easy to read. And it was obvious that guy wasn’t the one.”
I drop my gaze, ripping off pieces of bread and popping them into my mouth.
God, if I am easy to read, then everyone would know I let Mitchell Adams ruin my life both emotionally and sexually in the last few weeks. I hope my blush isn’t showing.
Luckily, we sit at the dining table and everyone’s distracted. Dad takes the head, and Hunter across from me.
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” my brother begins. “We fired Kayla.”
I glance up too fast. “You did?”
“Mm-hmm.” He smirks into his wine. “We had to.”
“The flirting got out of control?” Dad asks, amused.
Hunter groans. “She propositioned two customers during Happy Hour the other day.”
“She’s young,” Dad replies with a shrug. “We all do stupid things when we’re young.”
I nod in agreement, knowing that all too well.
“Like asking a bartender if he wanted to see how she could make a cocktail shaker disappear?” Hunter points his fork emphatically and raises his eyebrows.
I snort, spitting wine back into my glass, and Dad grimaces. “Oh, that’s just wrong.”
“It was becoming a daily issue,” Hunter continues. “Especially with Mitch. Kayla practically climbed him every shift.”
Hearing that shouldn’t bug me. It really shouldn’t. He’s a grown man, and she’s a sexy woman. Still, I school my expression, keeping it neutral.
“She got way too handsy and he wouldn’t admit it, but I could tell it was making him uncomfortable.”
Dad frowns. “That boy’s going through enough without having to get mauled at work.”
“Mauled is the right word,” Hunter agrees. “One time she literally grabbed his bicep mid-conversation and said, ‘I wanna bite this’. Right in front of me.”
My jaw tightens before I can stop it.
But not because I care. Obviously. Kayla touched everyone as if it were part of her job.
So yes, maybe I noticed the way she constantly hovered around Mitch and maybe I noticed how she laughed too hard at his jokes or found excuses to brush against him whenever possible.
But noticing her inappropriate behavior isn’t jealousy.
Hunter watches me carefully over his pasta. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I stab at my noodles. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason.”
Dad points his fork at me. “He’s right. Something’s bothering you.”
They stare at me with their knowing blue eyes and I hate how they can read people so well.
I hesitate. Not because I’m considering telling them the truth. Absolutely not. Hunter would have a coronary if he found out I hooked up with his best friend. And Dad… Fuck. The last thing I need is my father connecting me and Mitch like Bill and Joanne. No thanks.
“I’ve just been thinking,” I say finally.
“Uh-oh,” Hunter mutters.
I ignore him.
“About what, honey?” Dad asks.
“Life stuff.” My fingers tighten around my wine glass.
This is something I should talk to Zayne about, but the kid’s been so busy studying for finals, I don’t have the heart to tax what remains of his free time.
“Do you ever think some things aren’t meant to be, no matter how much you want them to be? ”
Hunter’s expression shifts slightly. Always one to get into existential conversations, I bet he’s insanely curious why I’m bringing this up.
Dad wipes his mouth, then leans back in his chair thoughtfully. “I thought about that a lot after what happened with your mom.” He shrugs. “Life’s complicated enough, Max. Overthinking about things that are out of your control is a waste of time.”
Waste of time seems to sum up the last few weeks perfectly.
I think about Mitch leaving soon. To New York, Germany, wherever. Whatever comes next for him, hockey has always been his real home. He belongs in arenas and hotels and cities.
He’s not meant for Oakwhite, just like he’s not meant to stay here with me.
And even if he stayed, then what? We’d eventually destroy each other all over again.
I glance toward Dad, watching him eat. He’s quieter than I remember him being before Mom destroyed our happy family. It’s been years and yet there are still traces of that pain simmering beneath the surface.
I guess some heartbreaks don’t ever fully heal.
The pain they cause just fades into the walls we build around our hearts.
And I can’t let another heartbreak happen to me.
I won’t. Because wanting someone is one thing, but trusting them with your heart is another.
And Mitch already broke mine once. Even if he maybe didn’t realize he was doing it.
“You know what I think?” Hunter says suddenly.
“That this pasta needs more cheese?” Dad replies with a chuckle, reaching for the parmesan.
Hunter shakes his head. “I think that if you want something hard enough, then it’ll happen. But humans are weak and we give up easily.”
Dad starts to whistle When You Wish Upon a Star, and I giggle.
“No, I’m serious. Sure, we can say that some things aren’t meant to be, but deep down, it’s a matter of desire. If the drive is there, then you won’t let anything get in your way.”
“You mean like when you let Celia’s ex get in yours?”
He inhales deeply, calming himself, then releases his breath slowly and smiles. “I am life’s student. I am still learning. But in the end, it all worked out, didn’t it?”
“I guess,” I reply.
“So, if you want Tucker back, keep at it,” he adds.
I freeze and Dad goes quiet too, watching him carefully, as Hunter digs into his pasta. My face warms.
He thinks I’m talking about Tucker?
I snuff down a laugh, hiding my smile with a sip of wine.
Thankfully, the conversation shifts to the brewery.
Summer business is booming, with tourists and locals flooding into Oakwhite’s new addition on Main Street.
Hunter tells us an insane story about how he and Celia accidentally locked themselves in the beer fridge for a few hours, but found ways to keep warm, which earns a couple of cringes from us.
Then Dad talks about a new art class he’s taking and gushes a little too much about the attractive teacher, Annette.
Meanwhile, I laugh on purpose in the right places. I nod when expected. I pretend I’m invested in the conversation.
Usually, I love these dinners. They ground me and remind me who I am outside the messiness of everything else.
Tonight, though, my mind keeps drifting.
Back to the boat. To Mitch standing in front of me in that tiny bedroom, looking like he still carries every unresolved thing between us right there on his shoulders.
And the worst part is, I do too.
But somewhere deep inside, beneath all the denial and fear, one awful truth keeps stabbing me like a burning poker—I want Mitch. Not just physically. Not temporarily. But that’s exactly why I can’t let myself have him.
“He’s leaving,” I blurt absentmindedly before I can stop myself.
Hunter looks up. “Who is?”
Shit.
“Mitch. To Germany or whatever. He’s leaving, right?”
Hunter nods slowly. “Yeah, maybe.”
Maybe?
“He’s thinking about taking it?” Dad asks.
Hunter shrugs. “Hard to tell with him lately. He’s all over the place. He’s really distracted.”
My chest tightens. I know what’s on Mitch’s mind—his dad. The fear and pressure of figuring out what comes next. What’ll happen any day now.
But a selfish part of me wonders if I play a part in there, too.
I glance down at my wineglass and sigh. There’s no point in even considering it. Even if Mitch wanted me in the way that matters, and I’m still not fully convinced he does, what then?
Let’s say I admit how I feel. We’ll inevitably implode all over again. And considering our parents’ history, maybe that’s all we’re ever destined to do: hurt each other, circle back, repeat.
I’ve already spent too much of my life rebuilding myself. I don’t need Mitch Adams coming back and wrecking me a second time around.
Even if there’s a part of me that’d be willing to take that risk.