Page 59 of Ebbing Tides

Fuck, I was overthinking again, but I couldn’t help it when I couldn’t remember wanting something as much as I wanted them.

It would never work, my asshole brain reminded me.

But why not?

Melanie looked over at me, dropping her napkin onto her plate. She slumped against the back of her chair, her cheeks pinched with a blush that did nothing to conceal the fantasies in her head. Was she remembering my tongue between her thighs the night before or the heat of my erection seated against her womb?

I smiled back, letting both memories play at once, and thought,Why not indeed?

But then there was the weak sound of my father’s voice stabbing against the bubble of contentedness I’d stumbled into, jabbing and jabbing with every intent of certain destruction, and I gritted my teeth, wishing him away and immediately scolding myself for doing so.

“What’s that?” Danny asked, looking this way and that.

“Hold on, guys,” I said, pushing my chair out and standing up in such a fluster that I knocked my fork off the table.

I cursed under my breath. I had to get to Dad, had to see what he wanted, what he needed. There was no time for this nonsense. Bending to pick it up, I rose quickly and banged my head, then hissed and winced against the pain as I dropped the dirty fork beside my plate.

“Do you need help?” Melanie asked, starting to stand.

“No,” I stated with a staying hand, too harsh, too cold.

She immediately sat.

Fuck. “Sorry. No, it’s okay. I just … I need …”

“Maxwell!” Dad’s voice was weak, trembling, but there was still that angry, bitter hatred in his tone that sent a shiver down my spine.

“I’ll … I’ll be right back.”

I hurried from the dining room and ran down the hall to his office-turned-hospice room. His frail, sunken face, swallowed by the bed and blankets and pillows surrounding him, looked back at me, scowling. Pale and hollow.

“Hey, Dad. What can I get for you?” I asked breathlessly, rushing to his bedside.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “What are you doing out there?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m … I’m just having dinner, and—”

“Liar.”

With a deep swallow, I looked around the room for something to do other than stare into his cold eyes. “Do you want something to eat? Are you—”

“You have people here.”

I gripped the back of my neck, squeezing tightly. “I … I just—”

A soft knock came at the door. I spun quickly on my heel, nearly knocking over a table of medications and medicalsupplies. It teetered on unsteady legs, and my hands frantically reached out to hold it steady as I stared at Melanie, bewildered and desperate and dangerously close to crying out and telling her to leave before he had a chance to poison her too.

“Hello,” she said quietly, cautiously, as she walked into the room with tentative steps. But she didn’t falter, didn’t back down, until she stood at my father’s bedside. “You must be Max’s dad.”

She smiled at him, but he couldn’t find it within his murky soul to smile back.

“That’s odd,” he said, his voice as emotionless as the expression on his face. “He hasn’t mentioned awordabout you, yet you somehow know aboutme.”

The beat of my heart thundered within my trembling bones as I stood frozen, unable to speak, my eyes volleying between my father and her.

She didn’t react as she took a seat at the foot of his bed. The act was bold yet warm, welcoming, and the corner of my mouth twitched.

“That’s probably because I told him not to. I’m just in town for a few days,” she said. “I’m Melanie Corbin. Max and I are old friends.”