Page 22 of Walking on Broken Paths

“Just hear me out,” Joel jumped in, raising a placating hand.

“You’d sell your soul for this ship, I know that.

But the actual business side of things makes you miserable.

I can read the misery on your face every time you come back from a cruise.

But me? I love the business side of things, and I want to grow it.

Add more ships, more cruises. Offer them in other cities on the island.

Hell, maybe expand to Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. And your ship can help me do that.”

Parker swallowed hard, a cavity opening in his chest and expanding, expanding, expanding.

“I’d take good care of her, Parker,” Joel added quietly. “You have my promise.”

Selling the ship would go a long way toward paying Dad’s debts. In fact, there’d probably be money left over after the bills were paid. Theoretically, it was a smart move.

But this was Dad’s ship. Parker couldn’t get rid of it because...

Because...

Because .

He just couldn’t.

“I can’t,” Parker said, fiddling with his phone. “I’m sorry.”

Joel nodded once, and although his closed-mouth smile was tight, his eyes held nothing but understanding. “If you change your mind...” He jerked a thumb toward his own ship again.

“I know where to find you,” Parker finished.

Joel rose and clapped Parker on the shoulder. “See you later, Parker. Have a good rest of the weekend.”

And then he was gone, taking all of the reasons why Parker couldn’t sell Dad’s yacht with him.

* * *

By the time six o’clock came around, Parker was too busy worrying about his date with Jesse to think about Joel.

Because Jesse hadn’t actually said yes to this date. Parker had steamrolled him.

But Jesse would’ve said yes. Obviously.

Right?

Unless... what happened in Toronto stayed in Toronto?

Well, fuck that.

At six on the dot, Parker knocked on the corpse door, now a sweet shade of Dignity Blue that was less like Jesse’s team colours and more like the ocean at twilight.

Jesse opened the door wearing a charcoal cowl-neck sweater and fitted white jeans cuffed over white sneakers.

Very summertime date mixed with it’s supposed to be chilly tonight .

Very effortlessly sexy.

Parker’s stomach went a little haywire.

“I thought you said you didn’t have anything nice.” Parker had known this wasn’t true, of course—Jesse had dressed nicely for Gavin’s play.

“I didn’t say I don’t have anything. I said I don’t wear it in the summer. What’s that?” Jesse nodded at Parker’s hands.

“You don’t seem like a flowers kind of guy, so I brought something useful instead.” Parker handed over his gift.

Jesse’s lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “You do know I have a hammer, right?”

“But do you have a tiny hammer perfect for hammering those little picture frame hooks? Probably not.”

“And this little bow?” Jesse said, fiddling with the ribbon Parker had tied around the handle. “What’s this for?”

“Prettifying it. Obviously.”

“Uh-huh.” Eyes full of laughter, Jesse hooked the claw end of the hammer around one of Parker’s belt loops and dragged him closer, over the threshold and into the foyer. “And why do I get a hammer?”

“Because you’re supposed to bring something nice on a first date.”

Jesse made a sound deep in his throat that had Parker’s balls thrumming. “I thought you were my something nice.”

“Oh. Well.” Suddenly shy, Parker blinked at him. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“I’m a nice guy.” Jesse grimaced. “Sometimes.”

“How many times can we say nice in the span of ten seconds?”

Jesse’s laugh was a delightful rumble against Parker’s skin, and he was still laughing when he tugged Parker an inch closer with the hammer and kissed him.

Toronto wasn’t staying in Toronto, then?

Parker would’ve whooped for joy if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

“So?” Jesse said what was probably a whole minute later. “Where are you taking me?”

Parker drove them to a lounge with unique cocktails and live music featuring local artists.

The lounge had both a cozy and chic vibe Parker had never experienced elsewhere, and it was all exposed brick, a peaked wooden rooftop, and exposed bulb lighting.

They were seated at a pair of couches that faced each other over a wooden coffee table, but instead of taking the second couch, Parker sat next to Jesse.

They ordered drinks—Parker’s was bright pink and tasted like passionfruit, and Jesse’s was amber-coloured and tasted like ginger—and finger foods to share.

It was noisy, the other guests’ conversations competing with the band for the title of loudest in the room, but Parker was sitting close enough to Jesse that he didn’t have to yell to be heard, so he didn’t much care.

“Which of your goals do you rewatch the most?” Parker asked Jesse as they were waiting for the bill.

Elbow propped on the back of the couch, head in his hand, Jesse didn’t hesitate. “The goal against Calgary.”

“During the playoffs a few years ago?”

Jesse looked absurdly pleased—if a slight uptick to his lips and an even slighter widening of his eyes could be equated with absurdly pleased , which on Jesse, it did. “You know it?”

“I’ve seen your highlight reels,” Parker said. He was half turned toward Jesse, his right leg tangled with Jesse’s left. “What team do you hate playing?”

“New York. They’re all assholes.”

“What team do you love playing?”

“Seattle. They always take us out afterwards.”

“I see. So your affection can be bought through your stomach.”

Jesse laughed. “Name me one guy who can’t be.”

Parker waggled his eyebrows. “Good thing I have another food thing planned after this.”

Once they’d paid, they got ice cream at Cows.

Caramel Moocchiato for Parker—caramel coffee ice cream, English toffee, and chocolate marble swirl.

And Fluff’n Udder for Jesse—chocolate ice cream with marshmallow swirl and peanut butter cups.

They took their ice creams to Victoria Park, where they strolled leisurely along the boardwalk, their elbows brushing.

The water of Charlottetown Harbour lapped gently against the shore and gulls sailed overhead.

The sunset reflected bubblegum pink and daffodil yellow off the water, reminding Parker of a painting of the island he’d once seen in a gift shop.

“Did you know that the word for someone who loves sunsets is opacarophile?” Parker said, breaking the tender silence between them.

“Did you know that the word for someone who loves hockey is fan?”

That was possibly the most inane thing Jesse had ever said to him, yet Parker laughed until his ice cream began to melt down the side of his waffle cone. He licked it up before it reached his hand, making a show of it when Jesse’s eyes heated.

“My turn to ask the questions,” Jesse said, averting his gaze and dipping his spoon into his cup of ice cream.

Who got a cup when a waffle cone was an option?

“What’s your favourite article that you’ve written?”

“Oh, hm.” Parker crunched into his cone as he thought about it.

“Probably the one about the hockey player who grew up in the shadow of organized crime and had to claw his way out just to play hockey. I signed an NDA as long as my arm just to get him to talk to me, so I had to refer to him by a pseudonym in the article. But I loved getting to talk to him and hear his story. Not a lot of people have.”

“Do you like doing the research better or the writing?”

“It’s honestly fifty-fifty, though depending on the research, that could change.

Sometimes it’s as dry as my dad’s roasted chicken.

” That earned Parker a laugh, and he smiled to himself.

“But interviewing athletes, especially one-on-one, is the best part of my job. What comes out of those interviews is what motivates me to put pen to paper. Or fingers to laptop keys as it were, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it. ”

“You must be looking forward to interviewing athletes for your book then.”

A frisson shook Parker’s spine. “It’s going to be amazing.” He popped the last of his cone in his mouth. “Ashton Yager called while we were on the flight back from Toronto. I called him back, but he didn’t answer. Now we’re playing phone tag.”

They fell silent for a few minutes, their footsteps nearly silent against the wooden boardwalk. Shoots of lavender joined the sunset, creating a chaos of colours in the sky.

Parker was surprised, and yet not, at the easiness between them that was still present after what had happened in Toronto. He’d wondered if the sex would change things, but the friendship was still there, just with an extra layer.

He considered asking Jesse if he was willing to be interviewed for his book. Problem was, Parker’s ability to remain unbiased was shot to shit.

Although... this was for a book, not an article. Did the same journalism rules apply to non-fiction?

“Ask you a serious question?” Jesse said. He’d finished his ice cream, and he held his empty cup by his side.

“Of course.”

“Are you where you want to be in your life?”

No,” Parker replied instantly. “I didn’t think I’d be writing bad fundraising copy and managing my dad’s business at thirty-two. I expected my dad to live at least another twenty more years, for one thing.” A pang hit with the force of a hundred trains. “And I thought I’d be married with kids.”

“You...” Jesse’s steps faltered. “You what?”

“You know.” Parker waved a hand ineffectually. “Remember in grade... I don’t know. Ten? We were, like, fifteen. We had a university prep course, and they asked us to envision where we thought we’d be at thirty years old.”

Jesse smirked. “I said I’d be the best hockey player ever. Not sure I quite succeeded, but I’m no slouch either. And you said you’d be a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter.”

Parker sighed mournfully. “I could’ve been the first sports reporter to win a Pulitzer in history. I also said I’d be married with two-point-five kids, a dog, a white picket fence, and the best landscaping in the neighbourhood.”

“What’s the landscaping thing about?”

“I don’t know. It seemed important at the time.”

“And the kids? Do you still want those?”

“Meh.”

Jesse side-eyed him. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic about it.”

Laughing, Parker bumped their shoulders together. “It’s just not a yes or no answer. I can see myself with kids, but if my partner, whoever I end up with, doesn’t want them, that’s not a deal-breaker. How about you? Do you want kids?”

He could picture it so clearly. Jesse teaching a little boy or girl to hold a hockey stick. Celebrating their first steps and first words. Reading to them at bedtime. Helping with school projects. Baking muffins for the school bake sale.

The image morphed and there was Parker too, cheering from the sidewalk as their kid played street hockey with the neighbourhood kids.

Holding the cell phone to capture those first steps and first words.

Sitting with their kid sandwiched between them on the bed during story time.

Offering advice on the school project. Teasing Jesse about his World’s Best Dad apron while secretly melting on the inside.

It was so vivid in his mind that he could almost taste the chocolate chip muffins, warm from the oven with the chocolate all melty and delicious.

“No,” Jesse said softly, jolting Parker back to the present. “Kids aren’t in the cards for me, Parks. I’m way too messed up to be trusted with a child.”

An ache began to throb dully in Parker’s chest, expanding throughout his core as his daydreams went up in a puff of reality. He grabbed Jesse’s wrist, turning him to face him. “What are you...” He had to clear the grit from his throat. “What are you talking about?”

Jesse’s indigo gaze drifted toward the shore. “Ever since Mikey died...” His throat clicked when he swallowed. “I’ve been broken, Parks. I’m not a whole person. And what’s left of me... it’s not enough to offer a child or a partner.”

Parker sucked in a sharp breath, Jesse’s words like a knife in his gut. “If you really believe that, then what is this?” He waved a hand between them.

“I don’t know,” Jesse whispered unevenly. “Fun? A summer thing?”

The knife twisted sharply, sending shafts of pain radiating into the base of Parker’s skull.

He’d been right in thinking this wasn’t a what-happens-in-Toronto-stays-in-Toronto kind of deal.

Turned out it was a what-happens-in-the-summer-stays-in-the-summer thing.

And that was un-fucking-acceptable.

Parker’s eyes burned and his chin trembled, but he refused to cry. Because coating the sadness was anger, and it flared so hot in his chest that he had to clench his teeth against it.

“You are broken, Jess,” Parker grated out, hurrying on quickly at the spasm of pain that crossed Jesse’s expression.

“But so am I. So are most people on this planet. I think the only ones who aren’t are babies who haven’t had to make a bad decision yet.

” He inhaled a gulp of air that helped steady his thoughts.

“But they’ll be broken too one day, at least a little bit, and that’s okay.

That’s normal. That brokenness inside of us, it’s what makes us unique.

” Stepping closer to Jesse, he trailed his hands down Jesse’s arms and twined their fingers together, gratified when Jesse held on tight.

“Those cracks are what strengthen us and create connections with others. So own the broken parts of you, Jess. Because they’re beautiful.

They’re perfect. And they’re worth so, so much more than a summer of fun.

Because that’s not what this is—this is more.

This could be our future. Our happiness.

Our everything. Our hopes and dreams, and joy and pain.

And I need you to believe that as much as I do.

Because I want to dream with you, Jess. I want to dream big with you.

” He finished on a ragged whisper, his voice failing him.

Jesse’s eyes were glassy when he closed them tightly. A muscle ticked in his jaw. With their hands still clasped, he lowered his forehead to Parker’s in a move that was so unbearably sweet that it nearly took Parker out at the knees.

Jesse’s gulp of air was shaky. Wet. “I don’t know if I can believe that,” he murmured.

Parker’s heart fell to his toes. Hell, his entire world fell to his toes.

“But I can try,” Jesse added. “Just... don’t give up on me.”

“Not a chance, Jess. Not a goddamn chance.”