23. Maddox
Maddox
The Grizzly Paw glows warm against the dusk, and while we won’t exactly be alone, we won’t be at home with my mother and Blane either. I’ll take it.
Grace stares at the lit wooden paw above the door and pauses, forehead knitting. “Do you get a lot of grizzly bears around here?”
I hold the door open. “Sometimes. Winslow Grove has had its sightings.”
“Seriously?” She grips the doorframe.
Grinning, I nudge her inside, dipping my head close to be heard over the crack of pool balls and low music.
My lips graze the shell of her ear. “Don’t worry, Buchanan. I’ll protect you.”
She shivers and gently shoves me aside, glaring at me. I chuckle, wrap my palm around her cold fingers, and glance around the room for an empty table.
Shit.
Oliver immediately spots us, lifting his beer in greeting. “Coach.”
My smile tightens as we head toward a table full of my friends—of course they’re here. There goes any hope of just the two of us.
“Hey, Mad.” Wren’s smile widens when she spots the blonde at my side. “Grace, glad to see you’re surviving with this one.” She flicks her chin at me.
Grace laughs softly. “There have been moments.”
I press my hand firmly into the small of her back and murmur for only her to hear, “I could say the same.”
Her steps stutter, and I’m not sure if it’s at my touch, my teasing, or the warmth of my words feathering the length of her neck. She glances back at me, cheeks rosy, eyes gleaming.
“Mad. Grace. How’s it going?” Percy holds her beer up at us.
“Hey, Wren. Perce.” I nod, and Grace steps in beside me and waves.
Across the table, Zoe lifts her camera in greeting. “Maddox.” Her eyes move to Grace with easy warmth. “Hi, I’m Zoe. Wren’s best friend and town photographer.”
“Hi, Zoe.” Something lights up in Grace’s expression, and she turns into me slightly, dropping her voice. “Pike’s Hardware, is this the same Zoe? And is she any good with a camera?”
The question lands close—her shoulder brushing mine, her breath warm near my jaw. I keep my eyes forward. “Yeah. Won some award.”
She pulls back enough to look up at me, and her smile is so uninhibited it opens my chest. “Amazing.”
Then she scans the table, looks back to me—a quick, quiet question in them about where to sit. Next to Zoe, Serena gives a small, shy wave, and Grace says hello with the kind of warmth that seems to come naturally to her.
She slips into a seat on the other side of the table, second from the end, and I drop into the chair beside Oliver.
Smart. Or stupid.
Although every part of me stays tuned to her like a frequency I can’t dial out.
Kellen leans back in his chair, grin lazy and deliberate. “Grace. I’m Kellen. Welcome to the circus.”
She laughs. “Not sure if that’s comforting.”
“It is.” His gaze fixes on her. “We’re a good time. Me most of all.”
Wren jumps in before I can get my foot to his shin—launching into teasing Oliver about losing his keys twice this week, not because she cares, but because she’s Wren.
She clocked my reaction to Kellen’s flirting, and Oliver plays along without missing a beat.
I flag Maisy, the owner, and order our drinks.
Warmth settles over the table, the old, lived-in kind that feels like home. And Grace—somehow, without trying—fits in like she’s always had a seat here. That shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does.
Kellen’s attention is still on Grace. “So, the way I see it, you’re the new talent in town.”
“I’m hardly new. I’ll have been here three weeks tomorrow.” She bites the inside of her lip, and her eyes cut briefly to mine.
Three more weeks. That’s what I have—what’s left of whatever this is before she packs up her notes and her questions and goes back to her real life.
I should want it finished. No more questions. No more reasons to stay close.
I’m not sure I mean it anymore.
“New to me.” Kellen’s grin deepens. “I can’t believe we haven’t crossed paths. You should let me show you around sometime.”
My grip tightens around the beer bottle, and my jaw locks.
I keep my mouth shut because saying anything would be worse than saying nothing.
Any word from me would mean admitting this is mine to feel, and it isn’t.
Not her attention. Not the slow burn that moves through me when another man looks at her like she’s something worth pursuing.
Wanting doesn’t give me the right to act on it, and I know that.
I know that.
Percy’s expression cuts sharp across the table, and she sets her glass down with the quiet of someone who’s made a decision. “All right, Kellen. That’s enough out of you. Go find someone else to charm.”
He presses a hand to his chest like he’s wounded, and Wren rolls her eyes.
Grace shifts in her chair. “Pretty sure I’ve seen most of the town already.”
“Not with me, you haven’t.” He just won’t quit.
I take a long pull of my beer, focus on the cold and the bite of it, and remind myself this is exactly the kind of moment that tells me what I already know—she’s here to do a job. I’m the complication she doesn’t need, and wanting her this badly is its own kind of answer.
Then another pain in my ass arrives at the table. “Hope you don’t mind an extra. I’m Blane.”
Wren, ever the diplomat, sits up a little straighter. “A friend of Grace’s?”
“Something like that.” He flashes her a grin.
“Colleagues.” Grace makes a point of setting things straight, and I try to hide my smile.
Oliver reaches across to shake his hand. “Oliver. Wren, Percy, Zoe, Serena.” A gesture around the table. “And the troublemaker is Kellen.”
Kellen lifts his beer without looking up. “What’s up, Hollywood.”
Blane laughs and drops into the only empty seat, the one beside Grace. The one I didn’t take because sitting there would have said exactly what I’ve been trying not to say. My stomach pitches, and a dull pressure builds behind my eyes.
“I’ve already got a nickname. Must mean I fit right in.” Blane nudges Grace with his shoulder. “Hope I’m not stealing your fan club.”
“Please.” She shakes her head. “They were being nice.”
Kellen scoffs. “Nice is one word.”
Blane’s mouth curves at him. “You flirtin’, man? Careful—she bites.”
Grace elbows him. “Only when provoked.”
The table laughs, except me. Clocking my mood first, Oliver gives me a quiet nudge to my shoulder. Then Blane glances over, and his smirk sharpens, satisfied.
Grace catches it a half second later, her eyes moving to mine, and something moves across her face. Like she can’t decide if she’s glad I’m failing to hide my annoyance, or if she wants me to pull it together before someone else notices.
Too late for both.
“Hey, looks like we need refills, and Maisy’s got her hands full.” Oliver motions toward the floor where Maisy Doncaster is hustling between tables, tray balanced and expression focused.
“I’d love a beer.” Blane raises his hand, making sure he’s not forgotten. If only.
“Sure thing. Mad, let’s grab drinks.” Oliver’s not asking, and I follow him to the bar.
Eddie Winslow’s at the bar, nursing a beer and holding court with a few of the older crowd. Oliver’s brother is twenty-one years our senior and twice as settled in his ways.
I clamp a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Eddie.”
“Hello, boys.” He turns on his stool. “Was thinking about working my way over.”
Kellen wedges himself between Oliver and me. “Eddie. Good to see you.”
Eddie runs a hand through silver hair. “You three letting loose with a few days off?”
“Something like that.” Oliver catches Duke’s eye behind the bar and holds up seven fingers.
“Make it six—I’m good,” I call over the noise.
Duke nods and moves down the bar. “You boys are next. You good, Ed?”
“Never better.” Eddie waves him off and turns back to me. “Maddox, got a visit from Katie the other day. She was pretty worked up about Lara Crandall.”
I open my mouth just as Grace appears at my side.
“You’re the firefighter.” Her face lights with recognition as she points at Eddie.
“Yes, ma’am.” He dips his chin, a rare smile finding its way out. “How you doing?”
“Good.” Her smile matches his warmth. “I wanted to thank you for everything you did that day. And… sorry about the oxygen mask. I was being stubborn.”
A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it. She glares my way, and I give her one right back, not even a little surprised she left that detail out of her version of events. I can picture it perfectly—Grace waving off the mask, insisting she’s fine, smoke inhalation be damned.
Eddie shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “Not unusual. Most people say they’re fine. But I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”
“Thank you.” She tucks a curl behind her ear. “Sorry for interrupting—I just came to help.”
“It’s fine.” I shift slightly so she fits more naturally into the group and glance back at Eddie. “So… Lara Crandall. You talk to her?”
“I plan to—talking to Katie was the first I heard. I want to enjoy my Thanksgiving before I take her on.”
Grace studies Eddie with that look she gets—curious, cataloguing, already composing questions. Always a reporter. I smile before I can stop it.
The first round of drinks arrives, and she grabs a couple. “I’ll take these back.” She then pauses, gaze finding Eddie one more time. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
He lifts his beer. “And you.”
Once she’s out of earshot, Eddie’s expression settles into something decided. “You’ve got your hands full there. Finally, someone who can stand toe to toe with you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hey, ain’t my place—”
“You brought it up. Spit it out, old man.” I’m grinning because this is what we do. Eddie’s been giving me grief since he took me under his wing, and I’ve been giving it right back.
He cocks his head, deciding, then leans forward. “Rickie was a sweet girl, but troubled. You loved her, and she loved you, but she never carried her own weight. You were her life raft, and there were times I worried she’d pull you under.”
My gut spasms, and I hope my expression stays neutral so as not to let on how on the nose he is.
He thrusts his chin toward where Grace disappeared. “But that one. She’d have your back. Balance you out. Give as good as she gets.”
“Eddie.” I drag a hand down my face. “She’s a reporter. We’re working together. That’s it.”
Oliver and Kellen say nothing. They don’t have to—they’re both calling me a liar with their eyes.
“Not buying it.” He tips his beer back, grinning.
Oliver shakes his head, but his expression sobers. “Speaking of Rickie.” He waits until I look at him. “She texted me today.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. This is why he found a reason for us to leave the table. “What? How’d she get your number?”
“Never changed it.”
“What did she want?”
“We haven’t talked in ten years, and she’s telling me she wants to come home, needs cash, says you won’t help her—”
I set my beer down on the bar, impatient for him to get on with it. “Oliver.”
“She wanted me to talk to you about fronting her the money.”
The silence sits heavy. This is the first time Erica’s attempted to come home, which means she’s either finally willing to face what that looks like, or she hasn’t thought it through. Either way, everyone will know about her. About why we broke up.
Until now, she’d rejected coming home, letting anyone in on how life has changed for her, even when she left me no choice but to tell Reggie.
Back then, I was navigating her addiction alone, building a career in a foreign country, and I couldn’t tell anyone—not even my mother, as much as I wanted to.
It felt like a betrayal to tell Erica’s story, even when she had no problem doing the same to me.
All three of them watch me, then Eddie’s hand closes around my forearm, but he looks to his brother. “What did you tell her?”
“That I’d pass the message along. That’s all I promised her.”
“Thanks, Ol.” I rake a hand through my hair, the weight of it settling in—a loneliness I know too well. The one that showed up after my father’s accident. His death. Every time Erica pulled me back under, and I let her.
I’m tired of carrying it alone.
Erica reached out to Oliver. As far as I see things, she made that choice, which means maybe I get to make one too. If she comes home, my friends and family will be blindsided, and that’s not fair to any of them.
“There’s something I should’ve told you a long time ago. About our breakup.”
Eddie stays steady, almost relaxed, while Oliver and Kellen freeze in the way people do when they sense the ground shifting.
“You know how it was when we left. I was training around the clock, trying to prove I belonged. Erica had too much time and not enough direction. I suggested classes, school, learning the language, but she wasn’t interested in any of it.
Then she started running with partiers until it wasn’t just partying anymore. ”
Oliver’s jaw tightens, and Kellen stares.
“She started using. At first, recreational, and I didn’t even notice until it wasn’t.
” I keep my voice level. “I put her in rehab, more than once, begged her to come home, let Reggie help. And even with all that—” I stop short of the wreckage I still don’t have clean words for.
“Let’s just say by the time it ended, I didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t just the addiction.”
The silence has weight to it, then Eddie’s voice blankets us, low and even. “How long did you carry that alone?”
“Long enough.”
Kellen drags both hands down his face. “Mad. Why didn’t you—” He stops himself, shakes his head. “Never mind. I get it.”
When Oliver finally looks over, his eyes hold the exhaustion of recalculating something you thought you understood. “All those years we thought it just—fell apart. The distance, the pressure—”
“Yeah, I know.”
His gaze shifts for a moment. “Does anyone else know? Your mom?”
“Reggie. That’s it.” I pick up my beer. “But if she’s serious about coming home, everyone will find out. I’d rather you hear it from me than find out when you witness it.”
Eddie’s squeezes my arm, brief and firm; no words are needed.
Kellen exhales. “She’s still using?” I nod once, and he shakes his head. “But if you don’t give her the money then—” He stops short of spelling out what we all know. “Or maybe she doesn’t really want to come home; she’s just looking for cash.”
“Maybe, but she’s done this kind of thing before when I’d be away, working. I’d sooner pay for her flight than give her the cash.”
“Are you going to?” Oliver crosses his arms over his chest.
“No.”
“Then she won’t show up.” Kellen’s so matter of fact that I want to believe but know better.
Erica has made her moves by texting me, calling Oliver, which means the idea is already planted in her mind. And if there’s one thing I learned too late about her, it’s that she doesn’t reach out unless she already knows the door is cracked.
I just haven’t figured out who left it open.