Page 33 of In Your Wake

“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?”