30
No More Games
Mitch
This trip back to Oakwhite is drastically different from the last one, since this time I’m staying for good.
To think that a little over a month ago, I couldn’t wait to get out of here, and now, as I drive along Main Street, seeing signs of fall, I’m humming to myself and am… happy.
But I’m also incredibly nervous to see Max again.
She texted me a few days ago, asking if I could stop in to see her while I was in town helping my mom move. It likely has to do with the inn. Still, we left things awkward between us, and I have no clue what’s about to happen or what is so important she couldn’t tell me over the phone.
The moment I see her working in the inn’s garden, all my concerns fade. She’s on her knees, wearing a plaid shirt under some old jean overalls with her hair braided into what I’d call her trademark two-pigtails. The sight settles into me like a warm breeze, welcoming me like a hug.
“Maxine?” I call out, the name feeling like honey on my tongue.
With her back to me, she tenses up. She drops her tiny shovel and takes off her gloves before glancing over her shoulder.
Blocking the sun from her eyes with her hand, she stands up and smiles, and for a few seconds, I’m stunned. Never in a million years did I expect her to greet me with a smile, but it’s so bright and cheerful, it damn near makes her look like she’s glowing.
“Hey,” she says, walking toward me. “How are you?”
“I’m good. You?”
“I’m great. Really great.” She tucks her hands into her back pockets, then quickly takes them out and brings them to her front, lacing her fingers together. Everything about her, from her cheerfulness to her fidgeting, tells me something’s off.
“So, the inn’s pretty busy?” I ask, nodding over my shoulder. “I had to park on the street.”
Her eyes shine with pride and her smile gets wider. “It’s a really busy weekend. Thankfully, the weather’s been holding up, so guests are still floating into town.”
The veranda behind us is filled with guests, and she points off to her right where we put a large patio before I left. Now, it’s surrounded with flowers and bushes.
“People love the garden. And we’re booked for a few weddings.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah, it is. Almost like we invested some money and fixed it up or something,” she jokes with a shrug.
“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad it’s doing so well.”
Small dimples frame her smile, and she looks down at her feet. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
I wave away her surprising gratitude. “I’m sure you could have. You’re good at everything you put your mind to.”
She lets out a dry laugh, then rolls her eyes. “Okay, are we done with this?”
“With what?”
“The small talk. It’s like we’re acting.”
“Acting?”
“Like we’re pretending that everything is hunky-dory between us.” She tucks her lips, taking a deep inhale through her nose, as if readying herself. “You realize that the way you left was shitty, right?”
“Straight for the jugular.” I run a hand through my hair. “It was shitty, but so was what happened with my dad, and between you and me…” I stop, taking a deep breath. “I guess I couldn’t deal.”
“You could have said goodbye.”
“No, I really couldn’t.”
“Ouch,” she replies, dipping her head. She turns around and busies herself with pruning off some dead flowers from a rosebush.
“No, I mean, I had to leave,” I explain. “And seeing you would have made me stay.”
“And would staying have been that bad?”
“Staying here and knowing that what I said didn’t change a damn thing between us? Yeah, that would have sucked.”
Pinching a half-wilted rose between two fingers, she stares at it before snipping it off, the sharp noise from the shears severe.
“You’re right. That would have sucked,” she admits dryly. She walks toward an iron bench and sits, pointing to the seat next to her. “Are you in a hurry?”
I check my watch. “I’ve got time,” I say, joining her.
She runs her finger along the curved edge of the shears. “So, how long are you in town for?”
“A while.”
She frowns. “Aren’t you just helping your mom?”
“I am, but I’ll be sticking around.”
“That’s vague. Don’t you have to go back to Germany?”
Squinting as the sun hits her eyes, she looks up at me, hopeful, and I glimpse the friend she used to be, the one I desperately miss. I take my sunglasses off, sliding them onto her face. She seems surprised, then smiles and nudges them up her nose.
“Thanks.”
“That’s not happening anymore. I quit.”
She smacks my shoulder with the back of her hand. “Shut up, you have not.”
My serious expression stares back at me from the reflection of the sunglasses, and her smile drops.
“Seriously? Why?”
The scent of roses—or maybe it’s her scent—fills my lungs with my deep breath. “It was time. I’ve been beating a dead horse. The truth is, I probably should have retired last year, but my pride kept insisting. I guess I was trying to convince myself that I was still as good as I used to be.”
“Mitch, you are—”
I raise my hand. “No, it’s okay. Really. I’m not looking for a pep talk. I’ve been playing hockey my entire life, but I’ve known for a while that I’m not better than the younger players. And when it comes down to it, I don’t love it like they do. I can’t.”
“You can’t? That’s impossible. You used to breathe hockey, Mitch.”
“And I still breathe it. I’m actually starting a hockey podcast with my pal, Logan Tremblay.”
“I heard about that. Thought it was a joke,” she says with a light laugh.
I tug open my coat and show her my branded hoodie.
She reads it, then purses her lips. “T and A? Really?”
I laugh, sticking my tongue between my teeth. “The name’s grown on me.”
She nods, smiling. “I bet it has.”
I shut my eyes, trying to consider my next words, knowing that they won’t change a thing, but I spent an entire plane and car ride mulling them over. There’s no doubt that if I don’t speak this today, I’ll regret missing my chance. And I’m so sick of regrets.
“I’m telling you, Max. Coming back here, working at the brewery, seeing everyone every day.
I’ve realized those are the things I love.
The things that matter. Losing Dad made me see that my life wasn’t giving me what I needed.
I was happier for those few weeks here than I’ve been in years on the ice. ”
“That’s great, but—”
“I know what you’re going to say.” I take her hand, cradling it in mine.
“Don’t worry. I’m not looking to rehash what happened between us.
You were right. It would be impossible to win back what we could have had.
And we are in a weird place. I get it. So, if you and I are only meant to be friends, then I’m okay with that. ”
“Oh… you are?” she asks, her voice unsteady.
A shadow of unease crosses her face, and suddenly, I’m not sure of anything anymore. “You do want to be friends, right?”
She blinks and then makes a face. “Of course. For sure.”
“Good,” I reply, sort of wishing she’d say more. “Anyway, I went back to New York, and I just didn’t feel right. I knew then and there that Oakwhite is where I need to be.”
She covers my hand with hers, and a smile stretches across my face. I ignore the rush of warmth that shoots up my arm, straight to my heart.
If all she wants is to be friends, I mean it; I’m okay with it. But that doesn’t mean it won’t kill me to be around her every day and not sweep her up into my arms.
“I’m happy for you,” she says. “I’m sure whatever you’ve decided will be the right thing for you.”
“It’ll take some getting used to, that’s for sure—”
“I need to tell you something,” she interrupts, her tone haunted, reminding me of when Mom called to tell me about Dad being sick.
A pit settles in my stomach. “What’s wrong?”
She slides the sunglasses up onto her head, revealing her glossy eyes, and worries her lip between her teeth. My head spins, and as if a bolt of electricity has pierced through my chest, my heart stops. A ball of fear wedges itself in my throat.
“You’re freaking me out here. What’s going on?”
“I need you to promise not to take this badly. No matter what I say, promise me you won’t freak out.”
Numb, my blood grows cold, and then stops flowing through my veins altogether. All I can see is Maxine; her weary eyes, her creamy flushed skin, her tiny hands holding mine with a grip stronger than my own.
“Max…” The words fail me. I don’t want to hear what she’s about to say. I refuse to. I don’t think I can handle it. But I can’t run away, either.
“Mitchell, I need you to shut up and let me say everything I have to say. Got it?”
Max
“Mitch?” I say a minute later, a little worried by the severity of his stare. “Can you promise me that?”
He blinks, then shakes his head, snapping back to reality. “Yeah, sure, I promise.”
“Okay, good.” I focus on our hands, on running my finger along the tiny scars on the surface of his skin. Whether they’re from games or even some random kitchen accident, I’m not sure, but I’m suddenly insanely curious to find out.
He said he’s okay with being friends. And I should be happy to hear that.
So, then why do I feel like this abyss has opened up inside of me and that those might be the scariest words I’ve ever heard?
I don’t doubt I can take care of this baby on my own, and will if I need to, but I sort of want him by my side, going through it all.
As more than a friend.
I want him to love me again, so desperately, I feel it tearing at my bones.
“Christ, Max, say something,” Mitch snaps, and I realize I’ve been quiet this whole time, lost in thought.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt.
“What?”
“I’m pregnant,” I repeat. “And you’re the father.”
A million emotions run through his eyes—confusion, then understanding, then more confusion.
“But… how?”
A surprised laugh springs from my mouth. I drop my head to the side. “We had sex, remember?”
“No, I know how. I mean…” Frowning deeply, he swivels on the bench to face me, then ducks his head and whispers, “I pulled out. You said you were on the pill.”
“You did. And I am.”
“So then…?” He glares at me with an expression that screams, this doesn’t make sense!