Page 28 of Walking on Broken Paths
Chapter Twenty-One
August rolled in, blanketing the island in a week of uncharacteristic mugginess. Parker tried not to complain about it—PEI had such a relatively short summer season that he was grateful for any kind of summer weather.
Parker had never been a fan of August. As a kid, it had meant back-to-school loomed ahead.
As an adult, it meant fall was around the corner, which meant winter was around the corner—cold weather, snow, frigid winds, shovelling.
And considering almost everything shut down on the island on October first, it also meant several months of utter boredom.
He’d opted for a patio table at Coffee Beans and Things this morning, and although he was shaded under an umbrella, the humidity clung to his skin as a couple of locals seated near him debated whether it was on PEI or in PEI , taking Parker back to the same debate he’d had with Jesse in Toronto.
He tried to ignore them as he slowly lost his mind.
The strategist at the fundraising agency wanted rewrites that he didn’t know how to make.
It needs more emotion , the strategist had written in her email. A hook for why people should donate .
Parker had interviewed one of the volunteers at the food bank in Alberta and had even reached out to a couple of people who benefited from it—their testimonials were in the letter. It didn’t get more emotional than that.
Elbows on the table, he dragged both hands back through his hair and read the email again.
“Fuck this,” he muttered to himself.
He was done.
Clicking out of the email, he started a new one, typed out a brief message, and sent it to his old boss at the Montreal Gazette . Then he copied and pasted it into emails that he sent off to almost everyone he knew in the sports industry.
It was basically him begging them to let him know if they heard about a job opening for a sports reporter in... hell, anywhere. He wasn’t picky.
He should’ve done that months ago, but he hadn’t been fully functioning after Dad died, and then he’d been distracted by Jesse.
His final email was to his strategist, letting her know that the current projects on his plate would be his last for the agency. Thank you for the opportunity, yada yada yada.
He was giving it a final read for typos when Agata appeared. She slid two iced coffees onto the table. “You look like you need these.”
“Agata. My soulmate. Love of my life. Marry me.”
She dropped into the chair across from him and flashed her left hand at him. “I’m already taken.”
“Me too, as it turns out.”
“Maybe in a next life, though.”
Parker grinned at her, enjoying her sense of humour.
“So what’s got you looking like you’re about to throw your laptop against the side of my coffee shop?”
Sighing, Parker deleted the email to his strategist. What the hell had he been thinking? He couldn’t quit. He needed income. “Work stuff. Don’t suppose you know anyone who’s hiring a sports reporter?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
Parker pursed his lips. It had been a long shot anyway.
Just that postings for media-related jobs that he’d found online lately were for sales or marketing, internships or junior roles, and content development.
Of course, sports reporters were highly sought-after roles, and they weren’t always advertised.
“Maybe it’s time for a change,” he mused out loud.
Agata sat back and kicked out her legs. “What kind of change?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to still be involved in sports reporting, but it doesn’t have to be in the traditional sense.”
“That’s true. There are plenty of online sites nowadays. Podcasts. Streaming platforms.” She rapped her knuckles on the table and rose. “I’ve got to get back to work. Want a pastry?”
“The coffees are enough. Thanks, Agata.”
He was looking up sports podcasts when a text came in from Joel Penny, thanking him for putting him in touch with Doug Seymour, one of Parker’s dad’s friends.
Joel:
He just finished his first week as my first officer. He’s great. A bit of a chatterbox, but he’s charming as hell. My guests love him.
Parker:
Does that mean you don’t need me to cover your vacation?
Joel:
Correct. But I appreciate you being willing to.
Parker waited for Joel to bring up selling Dad’s ship again. Waited for a whole two minutes, staring at his phone screen as the time ticked from 11:02 to 11:03 to 11:04.
Huh. Maybe it wasn’t coming. Maybe Joel had finally taken a hint and given up.
Another text came in.
Or maybe not.
Except it wasn’t Joel. It was Ashton Yager.
Ash:
If you’re still up for a visit, my partner and I are thinking of heading to PEI the last week of August. I’ll take you up on that boat ride, but you’ll have to bring a puke bucket.
Parker:
Dude. The whole ocean is your puke bucket.
Ash:
[laughing-crying emoji] [puking emoji]
Grinning now, he set his phone aside and went back to his podcast search, only to curse when an email pinged on his computer. “What is this?” he grumbled to no one. “Interrupt Parker day?”
It was Dad’s lawyer, following up on a conversation they’d had shortly after Dad had died.
Let me know if you’ve come to a decision about selling the house. I’ve got a shortlist of realtors I can put you in touch with.
Parker was not selling the house. Selling it—just like selling Dad’s yacht—would cover the remainder of Dad’s bills, but Parker couldn’t do it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Dad had put the house in his name before he’d died, but more than that, it was Parker’s childhood home.
Once the Willis Dinner Cruises season ended and Parker had more free time, he’d need to start going through Dad’s things to donate or sell what he could.
But the house? Dad had paid off the mortgage years ago.
Why would Parker part with it? His growth chart was still written in pencil on the kitchen wall next to the pantry, and it still said Jesse sucks in red crayon on the wall of his closet.
He’d been young. They’d gotten into a fight. He’d shown it to Jesse the next day, and they’d laughed about it until Dad had brought them lemonade.
He was mid-reply to the lawyer when someone sat across from him. Growling at yet another interruption, he looked up with a scowl, only for it to morph into a smile. “Hey.”
Jesse’s eyebrows knit together, but even glowering at him, he was gorgeous.
It’d been almost two weeks since Jesse had broken down on The Windblown , but he’d seemed almost at peace ever since.
There was a sort of steady calmness to him that spoke of wounds beginning to heal over and pain being shed.
“I went to your house looking for you, but you weren’t there.”
Parker chuckled, recalling a time when Jesse had looked for him here but found him at his house. “They do make these things called phones. You could’ve called to find out where I was.”
“I’m going to next time, seeing as you’re never where I expect you to be. Why do you have two coffees?”
“It’s been that kind of day,” Parker said with a sigh. “I’ve been here for...” He checked the time on his computer. “Christ, two hours? How have I gotten nothing done?”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Not working, that’s for sure.” Parker slammed his laptop closed. “Why?”
“Want to come out on The Windblown with me?”