Page 24 of Walking on Broken Paths

Chapter Eighteen

“And then I got massively seasick. I haven’t been on a boat since.”

Parker winced. “Yeah, rough seas aren’t for everyone.”

On his computer screen, Ashton Yager chuckled. “Tell me about it. My partner wants to go on a cruise, but I’m not convinced.”

“Modern cruise ships are designed to minimize movement and provide a smooth ride. Seasickness is possible but unlikely. Plus, if you’re really worried about it, there are pills for motion sickness.”

Two weeks after Parker had first spoken with Mitch Greyson, he finally sat down—virtually—for an interview with Ashton Yager, the first professional athlete who’d ever come out.

Two weeks, three days of phone tag, and four reschedules—two for each of them—later, and Parker had enough material to fill every page of his book.

He’d known he’d end up with more information than he needed, but at this point in his research, he wasn’t sure what would be relevant and what wouldn’t.

So he was asking all the questions while he could, and he’d sort out the details later.

The interview itself had concluded twenty minutes ago, after which Ashton “call me Ash” Yager had asked about life on Prince Edward Island, and they’d been chatting about everyday stuff since.

“You should come visit me on the island,” Parker said, elbows propped on his kitchen table. “I’ll take you on the smoothest boat ride you’ve ever been on.”

Of course, he couldn’t truly promise that—it was weather-dependent—but still.

“Maybe I will,” Ash said, nodding his grey head.

He was forty-three, but he’d gone prematurely grey sometime in his early twenties.

“I’ve never been to Atlantic Canada. Dan and I are visiting family in Toronto next month; maybe we’ll swing by PEI before or after since we’ll be in that neck of the woods. ”

Parker snorted a laugh. Sure, if Prince Edward Island could be considered in the same neck of the woods as Toronto.

He supposed it was closer than Florida, where Ash lived with his partner, so maybe it was all about perspective.

They signed off a few minutes later, Parker promising to provide Ash with a draft of the book once it was complete—whenever that was—so he could review what Parker wrote about him.

Parker had release forms, sure, and he’d be recording all of his interviews so he didn’t misquote anyone.

But he didn’t want to print something that one of his subjects might later decide they were uncomfortable with him sharing, so he planned on providing a draft of the book to all of his interviewees.

Parker didn’t know what Ash had done or who he’d told about the book, but just last night Parker had been contacted by the agent of a professional golfer who was willing to share her story.

He also had a voicemail he still needed to return that would hopefully lead to an interview with a Major League Baseball coach.

Two weeks ago, Parker had no one to interview. Now he had two athletes and a coach, with hopefully more to come.

Energized by his call with Ash, Parker got to work jotting down notes and ideas and even a rough outline of his first two chapters.

Then his phone alarm went off and the euphoria crashed down around his ears.

It was the time to switch projects alarm he’d set earlier. The one to remind him that he couldn’t work on the book all day—he had actual jobs he needed to do, and he couldn’t ignore them just because they bored him to tears.

It was just that his options were terrible. Begin work on a fundraising letter for the humane society or work on Willis Dinner Cruises’ financials.

Both made him want to tear out his hair.

Suddenly, with a ferocity that surprised him, he resented everything that took him away from the book. The copywriting, Dad’s business, the ongoing internal debate about what to do with Dad’s house. Even the damn laundry annoyed him.

He wanted to do one of two things: work on his book or hang out with Jesse.

It’d been a little over a week and a half since their first date, and there was a part of Parker that still couldn’t believe he’d said all of that to Jesse—that his broken parts were perfect and he wanted them to dream big together. What was the alternative, though? Leaving things unsaid?

Parker had been lucky—his dad’s diagnosis had allowed Dad to get his affairs in order, and they’d also allowed Parker the chance to spend those last few months with him.

They’d gone out on the water, sat on the porch and watched the world go by, eaten most meals together, taken walks when Dad had still been mobile, laughed about the silliest things, and talked about everything.

Neither had held back, knowing that if the words weren’t said, they’d never get the opportunity to say them.

Without consciously acknowledging it, Parker had adopted that same say-it-now-before-it’s-too-late mentality when he’d been talking to Jesse.

Something about how Jesse believed he didn’t have enough left to give had sparked a match inside Parker even as it had made him incredibly sad, and he’d laid all of his cards on the table.

Maybe it had been too soon to do so, but Jesse had kept coming around in the last ten days, so clearly Parker hadn’t scared him away.

He just hoped what he’d said would be enough to convince Jesse to give them a shot past this summer.

The doorbell rang, and Parker leapt to his feet, abandoning his work without a second thought.

And speak of the devil. Jesse Melnik stood on his front porch, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, sunglasses shading his eyes.

Hello, all of my dreams come true.

“You weren’t at Coffee Beans and Things,” Jesse rumbled, appearing adorably pissed at that fact. He held out a paper bag stamped with the coffee shop’s logo. “So I brought you a pick-me-up.”

Parker snatched it out of his hand. “Is there glaze on it?”

“Obviously.”

Absurdly touched, he pressed his lips to Jesse’s in a quick kiss. “Thank you. What were you doing at Coffee Beans and Things?”

“Looking for you,” Jesse said guilelessly. “I wanted to?—”

“Oh, there’s your mom,” Parker said, spotting her over Jesse’s shoulder. “Apparently, it’s the Melniks’ stop-by-Parker’s-house day.”

Coughing up a small laugh, Jesse turned toward her as she came up the porch steps. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, Mrs. Melnik.”

She tipped up the brim of her sunhat, her gaze going from Jesse to Parker and back again before it snagged on where Parker loosely held Jesse’s wrist.

He couldn’t bring himself to let go.

She made a little hmm sound Parker didn’t know how to interpret.

“What brings you by?” Jesse asked.

“Your dad and I were driving by on the way to Peakes,” she said.

Parker looked past her. At the curb, Jesse’s dad sat behind the wheel of an idling car. Parker waved at him.

“We’re going out on The Windblown , and we thought we’d see if you boys want to come with us.”

Jesse stilled. Parker couldn’t be sure he was even breathing. He took Jesse’s hand in his own, a move Mrs. Melnik didn’t miss. Despite the warm temperature, Jesse’s palm was cold, so Parker held on tighter, sharing his warmth.

“We can’t,” Jesse said roughly. “I mean, I can’t. I have...”

Parker gave him a moment to think of an excuse, but when that moment turned into two, Parker jumped in with, “He promised he’d help me with the weeds out back. I haven’t tackled them since last summer, and the yard is looking a little mangy. We promise not to murder any baby plants this time.”

Mrs. Melnik’s lips twitched. “Maybe next time then. Good luck with the weeding. And don’t forget to put sunscreen on the back of your neck.”

Parker grinned at the very mom-like command. “Will do.”

She headed back to the car, and Mr. Melnik drove away with a little honk of the car’s horn.

“Thanks.” Jesse leaned his shoulder against Parker’s. “For jumping in with the white lie.”

“Oh, I don’t lie to moms, and especially not to your mom.” Parker gently smacked the back of his hand against Jesse’s stomach. “Come on. I have extra gardening gloves in the shed.”

“This definitely isn’t how I saw the rest of my afternoon going,” Jesse grumbled, but he dutifully followed Parker through the house—where Parker left his pastry on the kitchen counter—and out the sliding kitchen doors to the backyard.

“Jesus Christ, Parks. When was the last time you mowed the lawn?”

“Um...”

“If you have to think about it, it wasn’t recently.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I mean no offence when I say this, but... what would your dad say?”

Parker laughed, imagining Dad’s combined exasperation and amusement, and he deepened his voice, affecting his dad’s timbre. “At least mow it once a week, Parker. It doesn’t need anything more than that. What will the neighbours think, for Christ’s sake?”

“What will the neighbours think?” Jesse asked.

“Eh. They haven’t noticed. Mr. Davis over there”—Parker jerked a thumb to the left. —“is too busy looking for his teeth half the time. And Molly and Sean on the other side haven’t put away their Halloween decorations yet, so they don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“I have noticed the skeleton hanging from the tree in their yard.”

“There’s a witch in the other tree, but you’ve got to look way up to see her. So. Weeding. Which side of the yard do you want to start on?”

“You know weeding is most effective when the soil is moist, right? It’s easier to pull out the entire root system.”

“Actually, I don’t know that,” Parker said, shading his eyes as he looked around his overgrown yard. “How would I know that?”

“Wasn’t yard work part of your chores growing up?”

“No. I was usually helping Dad on the ship in the summer, remember? He always had a neighbourhood kid take care of the yard. Then I lived in apartments and condos for my adult life until I moved back here last summer. The most gardening I did was watering my indoor plants.”

Jesse grunted. “Why don’t we wait to do this until after a rainfall?”

“But then I’ll have lied to your mom.”

“Parks.”

“Huh?”

“She’ll never know.”

Parker narrowed his gaze on him. “But I’ll know.”

“Why don’t you eat your pastry instead?”

Parker opened his mouth to tell him that obviously he wasn’t going to eat his pastry instead, but honestly, that sounded a lot better than weeding or working. “Yeah, okay.”

Inside, he pulled two slices of vanilla-glazed strawberry bread out of the paper bag. He placed them onto plates, his mouth watering at how fresh they looked, and passed one to Jesse.

Jesse slid the plate back across the counter toward Parker. “Thanks, but they’re for you.”

“I’m not even going to argue with you,” Parker said, transferring the slice onto his own plate. “Are you going to tell me what had you looking for me at Coffee Beans and Things?”

Despite what he’d said, Jesse broke off a small corner of one of the slices and popped it in his mouth. Parker did the same and closed his eyes as strawberries burst to life on his tongue, mixing with the vanilla in the glaze.

“I hired someone to take a look at the house today,” Jesse said.

Parker opened his eyes. “Please tell me you’re finally hiring someone to do the renovations.”

“No,” Jesse said flatly.

“Damn. So why’d you hire someone then?”

“I needed help finding the draft.”

“You’ve got a draft?”

“Two, apparently.” Jesse sat on one of the barstools at the counter. “But I couldn’t find them, and neither could this so-called expert.”

Standing at the counter across from him, Parker forced himself not to laugh at Jesse’s disgruntled expression. “Maybe because there’s no draft?”

“It’s not coming from nowhere.”

“Fair enough. Did you get a second opinion?”

“I thought you could be my second opinion.”

“Me?” Letting out a snort-laugh, Parker started in on his second slice. “I’m not an expert.” A thought occurred to him, and he gasped. “Oh. Oh. I see. That was just an excuse. You wanted to see me so you came up with an excuse.”

“No.”

“It’s very flattering.”

“Parks.”

“You don’t need an excuse to see me though.” Parker eased around the end of the counter, pushed Jesse’s thighs apart, and squeezed between them. “I’m at your disposal, day or night, no excuse needed.”

Jesse let out a breath that could have been interpreted as exasperated but that Parker chose to label as fondness. Bringing his arms up, Jesse pressed his hands to the backs of Parker’s thighs and swept them up over his ass. “You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

Parker booped his nose. “Mostly, I’m pleased with you.”

“Do you want to see if you can find the draft or not?” Jesse asked, sneaking his hands underneath Parker’s T-shirt.

“Sure,” Parker said against Jesse’s lips. “Later. Much, much later.”

And he kissed him until neither of them could see straight.