Page 2 of Walking on Broken Paths

Chapter Two

Parker Willis wasn’t in the habit of snapping at his customers, but neither did he abide by the old adage, “the customer is always right.”

The customer was not always right. Sometimes, the customer was just a dick.

Parker stood on the docks of Peakes Quay in Charlottetown, next to his docked seventy-eight-foot yacht with its Willis Dinner Cruises logo splashed across the side.

He crossed his arms over his chest as his customer complained about the lack of lavender hues in tonight’s sunset (not Parker’s fault), the chicken that had been overcooked and dry (it had not been), and the waitstaff who’d been rude to him (a blatant lie if Parker had ever heard one).

“Not to mention the appalling lack of commentary.”

Parker gritted his teeth. “This is a dinner cruise, not a sightseeing tour.”

“All the same, you could offer added value to your guests and?—”

“Sir, why don’t you come with me?” His first officer and general do-everything gal—better known as a long-time friend of his dad’s—offered their customer a smile.

“I have a coupon to a local lobster restaurant I can offer you,” Matilda said, leading the man away.

“You might enjoy that more than the dry chicken.”

The chicken had not been dry.

Tilting his head back, Parker blinked up at the stars. “I love my job,” he muttered under his breath. “I love my job. I love my job. I love. My job.”

Oh, fuck it. Who was he kidding? He’d loved his old job. But his sweet gig as a sports reporter for the Montreal Gazette was a thing of the past.

He could—maybe—beg for his job back. But Willis Dinner Cruises was Dad’s baby. His second child, as he’d often joked. And with Dad gone, it was up to Parker to uphold Dad’s legacy.

Not to mention pay all the bills Dad had defaulted on while he’d been sick and unable to run the business.

Parker owed docking fees as well as payments to his food vendors and his wine distributor.

Dad’s estate had covered some of the bills, but not all of them.

After chipping away at them, plus paying his staff, there was hardly ever anything left over for Parker at the end of the month.

Good thing his old job had paid well. But if he didn’t start making money soon, he’d bleed through his savings faster than he wanted, and working as a freelance writer for an agency didn’t pay super great.

Speaking of super—it was also super boring.

Above, the stars peppered the sky like grains of sugar.

That scene from The Lion King , where Mufasa tells Simba that the stars are the kings of the past, had stayed with Parker his whole life.

In his mind, his dad had always been a king—kind and gentle, yet firm when he needed to be.

And even though Parker knew better at thirty-two than he had at seven, he couldn’t help wondering which star was his dad.

Maybe that one, in the centre of the Big Dipper’s handle.

Laughter jolted him out of his thoughts, and he whirled toward the sound. Another ship had docked while he hadn’t been paying attention, spewing customers onto the docks like ants filing out of an anthill.

Parker curled his hands into fists. Island Dinner and Sightseeing Cruises had slyly launched their business while Dad had been in palliative care last summer, swiping what should’ve been Dad’s customers.

And because Willis Dinner Cruises had a slew of negative reviews—Dad had let things slip as he’d begun to slip—Parker was having a hell of a time attracting customers for his thrice-weekly cruises.

Parker was a sports reporter. Plus, he’d played every sport under the sun and had participated in a couple of recreational leagues back in Montreal. He knew the value of healthy competition.

Still. He could’ve done without Island Dinner and Sightseeing Cruises encroaching on his territory.

“Parker!”

And there was the captain, ambling over with his hands in his pockets, the picture of casual and friendly.

Sighing, Parker let his arms drop and shoved his hands in his own pockets. He could be casual and friendly too, even if he wanted to bop Joel Penny over the head with a lifebuoy.

This conversation would go one of two ways.

Joel would invite Parker for a drink—again. And Parker would decline—again.

Or Joel would offer to buy Parker’s yacht—again. And Parker would decline—again.

Selling would certainly fix all of the business’s financial problems, but this was Dad’s goddamn yacht and Dad’s goddamn business. Joel could fuck off right back to the big city he’d come from.

Toronto. Barf.

“Joel,” Parker greeted as the man approached, finding a smile he didn’t feel. “Good cruise tonight?”

“One of the best so far. A company just celebrated its tenth anniversary and they booked a private cruise for their employees. They were a fun bunch.”

“Cool,” Parker said, unable to muster up anything else.

Joel stepped closer and bumped his elbow against Parker’s. “What are you doing now? Why don’t you let me buy you a drink and I can tell you all the reasons you should sell me your ship?”

Wow. A two-for-one. Joel was mixing things up tonight.

And it wasn’t that Joel was bad-looking.

He was actually quite handsome. A few years older than Parker’s thirty-two, he had wavy blond hair, a high forehead, and ears that stuck out a little from his head.

Attractive in a wholesome way, but Parker had never felt a spark of attraction toward him.

Maybe if he were desperate, he’d take Joel up on his offer.

But Parker had only ever been desperate for one person, and he hadn’t seen Jesse Melnik in fifteen years. Nobody had ever held a candle to his childhood best friend.

Yes, he realized that was as pathetic as it sounded.

“Can’t,” Parker said shortly, leaving it at that because he didn’t owe Joel an explanation.

Joel hummed. “Next time?” He backed away, not waiting for an answer, and called a “Have a good night” over his shoulder.

“He try to convince you to sell again?” Matilda asked, appearing at his elbow. Their irate customer was nowhere to be found.

“And buy me a drink.”

“You should take him up on that,” she said, not for the first time. “Get out a little. I’m honestly a little worried that one day I’ll come by your dad’s place and find your shrivelled-up corpse curled over spreadsheets and business plans.”

Parker shuddered. “Gross. Just for that, you get to supervise cleanup tonight.”

“We both know I was going to anyway. Go home, kid.” Matilda patted him on the back and turned back to the ship. “Get some sleep.”

Sleep. Now there was a novel idea. Parker hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in three months, not since Dad had died on a crisp winter morning.

It no doubt didn’t help that Parker was living in Dad’s house, surrounded by all of Dad’s possessions, all of the memories of his own childhood, and the ghost of Dad’s presence.

Blowing out a breath, he headed for the parking lot, but a man gazing at the marina caught his attention.

He was sitting on one of the picnic tables outside Mrs. Peakes Fancy Goods, haloed by one of the nearby streetlamps, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees. He was big and bearded and his posture said, Leave me alone. I’m busy thinking .

The breath caught in Parker’s throat, the familiarity of the other guy a jolt to his system. As a teenager, he’d been tall and built, an NHL player in the making. As an adult—as the NHL player he was—Parker could tell he was all hard edges and wide shoulders, even from more than a dozen feet away.

Parker had known that, of course. He’d googled his childhood BFF a time or two or a thousand in the past decade and a half.

His stomach a mess of knots, he strolled over. Sat to the guy’s left. “What are you looking at?”

“ The Windblown .”

“Pretty dumbass name for a sailboat, huh?”

That earned him a snorted laugh. “You were always a little shit.”

Parker grinned, his heart kicking against his ribs. “Then why did Ms. Putch tell me I had a lot of potential in fifth grade?”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” The man finally looked at him, his indigo-coloured eyes fathomless in the dark, and bumped their shoulders together. “Hey, Parks.”

Parker’s stomach flipped at the nickname. “Hey, Jess.”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Montreal?”

“Shouldn’t you be in Vancouver?”

Jesse Melnik smiled, igniting Parker’s long-dormant teenage hormones. Without any preamble whatsoever, Jesse said, “What are you doing now?” in an eerie echo of Joel Penny. “Want to grab a drink?”

Now there was an offer Parker could get behind. “You’re buying, superstar.”

Jesse’s low laugh was everything Parker had been missing for fifteen years.