Page 4 of Walking on Broken Paths

Chapter Four

There was a house not far from downtown, a white single-storey home on Gerald Street with a red front door, a bay window, and sad, untrimmed hedges lining the front walkway. Jesse stared at it from the foot of the driveway, arms crossed over his chest, and tried to see its potential.

The white siding was weathered and grey. The red door had turned a rusty blood colour. One of the windows was shuttered with plywood, and the downspout had fallen off and was lying in the overgrown grass.

It didn’t look condemned by any means, but neither did it look inviting.

That was what Jesse got for purchasing it sight unseen.

To be fair, the real estate listing hadn’t been misleading. He’d known what he was getting into.

The interior was better maintained, although it was a little like walking through a time capsule to the 1970s.

Still, it was a cute house, and he liked the neighbourhood.

It was a quiet side street with no sidewalk, enormous leafy trees, and a cracked road that probably hadn’t been repaved in more than a decade.

His house had a huge front and backyard, and while he suspected some of these homes offered housing for University of Prince Edward Island students, he’d yet to hear a single house party.

But he’d only been here one night.

And it was the summer. Most out-of-town students had probably gone home for the next couple of months.

Where should he start? Lawn mowing? Weed pulling? Maybe he should repaint the door a colour that didn’t remind him of a police procedural. Maybe a dark blue that matched his team’s colours.

The sound of shoes pounding the pavement as a jogger approached breached the mid-morning silence. Jesse ignored it and pulled out his phone. Listed somewhere online were the exact shades of his team’s colours; one of them must come in paint form.

Despite the early hour, he had a missed text from one of Mikey’s high school friends, reminding him where and when Mikey’s fifteen-year memorial service and celebration of life was going to be held.

The whole reason for Jesse’s return to PEI, written in black and white on his phone screen.

It felt like someone had pulled a curtain closed over the sun shining above, and he shivered as the wind picked up.

The pounding footsteps slowed, and a figure stopped on his left, breathing hard and interrupting his morning.

Jesse glanced over and nearly swallowed his tongue.

How dare running shorts be so goddamn tiny and cling so goddamn nicely to long, shapely legs dusted with hair the same shade as the finest dark chocolate?

Jesse was still reeling at being in the same place at the same time as Parker for the first time in years—had, in fact, tossed and turned all night thinking about Parker—and now he showed up out of nowhere again and sent Jesse’s libido into a jumble of desire and yearning?

There were things that Jesse had left in his past, and his attraction to his best friend was supposed to be one of them.

Former best friend? Best friend he’d recently gotten reacquainted with? Former best friend who could be his new best friend?

Fuck. Relationships were hard.

Along with the shorts, Parker also wore a long-sleeved running shirt in teal and a baseball hat with Montreal hockey’s logo on the front.

His dark hair curled out from underneath the sides of the hat, and the two-day stubble on his jaw was way sexier than Jesse wanted to admit.

He was a couple of inches shorter than Jesse’s six foot three, but whereas Jesse was—admittedly—very big, even for a defenceman, Parker was lanky and toned, the muscle definition obvious in his running gear in a way it hadn’t been in the jeans and Willis Dinner Cruises-branded long-sleeved T-shirt he’d been wearing last night when he’d appeared like a figment of Jesse’s childhood wishes and sat next to him on the bench at the marina.

Whatever he wore, Parker looked like he’d fit into all of Jesse’s empty spaces.

Shaking his head to rid himself of that thought, he shoved his phone back in his pocket and scowled. “I’ll get you a new hat.”

Parker’s lips quirked. “I like this hat.”

“Since when are you a Montreal fan?”

“Hey, don’t knock them. They made it to the playoffs.”

The unlike you was left unsaid, but Jesse heard it loud and clear and refused to be amused.

“So.” Parker’s shoulder bumped up against his. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?”

“This is my jogging route.”

“That so?” Jesse would have to remember to be by his window in the mornings so he could watch Parker run by in his short shorts.

“Mm-hmm. Is it your jogging route?”

“No.”

“What are you doing here then?”

Glancing back at the house, Jesse let out a long breath. “Deciding what to tackle first. What colour would you paint that door?”

Parker blinked once and frowned. “Why would you paint it any colour?”

“Because that rusty red makes me think of dead bodies on a crime show?”

“No, I mean...” That unique greyish-greenish gaze of Parker’s swung from Jesse to the house and back. “Do you know the people who live here? Are you doing work for them this summer or something?”

“ I live here,” Jesse said. “And I don’t want to live with that gross colour for the next two months.”

“You... bought a house?”

Jesse grunted.

“But you live in Vancouver,” Parker said slowly, as though reminding Jesse of this fact.

“No, I know, but...”

But what? He’d wanted a project for the summer? Something that would keep him occupied so he didn’t have to think about where he was and why he was back for the first time in fifteen years? A fixer-upper was as good a distraction as anything.

His therapist wouldn’t love that he was keeping busy instead of sitting with and analyzing his feelings. But she didn’t have to know. Right?

When Jesse didn’t continue, Parker said, “Are you retiring from hockey and moving back here?”

“Fuck no,” Jesse blurted. “I’ve got two years still on my contract. Who knows where life will take me after that?” Hopefully to a contract extension.

Parker scratched his cheek. “You bought a house for the next two months? You know they have these things called hotels, right? Airbnbs? Hell, you probably could’ve rented a houseboat if you didn’t want to stay with your parents.”

“True. But I liked this house.”

“Even with its corpse door?”

Jesse barked out a laugh. He’d forgotten how Parker could always make him laugh without trying.

“Do you have the keys?” Parker asked. “I want to see inside.”

“Of course I have the keys. Where do you think I stayed last night?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Parker grumbled, and for whatever reason, the fact that he was still a grumpy sourpuss in the morning made Jesse bite back a grin. “You could’ve stayed last night with your parents and gotten the keys this morning.”

Jesse grunted acknowledgement of that. “Come on. I’ll give you a tour.”

The corpse door led into the living room, and Parker breathed out a low “Whoa” when they stepped inside.

Except for one accent wall done in mustard-yellow paisley wallpaper, the walls were plain white, brighter where frames or art must’ve been hung.

Gauzy yellow curtains hung in the windows, and the floor-to-ceiling fireplace was constructed of boulder-sized rocks, giving the place a hunting-lodge air.

“I hope you got this place for cheap, considering it hasn’t been renovated in a hundred years,” Parker said.

Jesse stared at Parker as Parker stared at the orange carpet.

Parker was possibly the very last person Jesse had ever expected to have in his living room at any time, never mind on his second day back in his hometown.

There was so much Jesse wanted to say, starting with an apology for ghosting him after Mikey died.

He had questions too—lots of them—about the past fifteen years of Parker’s life.

He wanted to know everything, all the important and unimportant stuff, like if he missed his job at the newspaper or whether he still ate Mini-Wheats for breakfast.

Parker grimaced at the wallpaper. “If you need the name of a contractor, I can ask Matilda if she knows anyone. She’s Dad’s?—”

“First officer,” Jesse said. “I remember. And thanks, but I don’t need a contractor. I’ll renovate it myself.”

“Oh, cool. Do you flip houses in your spare time?”

“Uh, no?” When would he have time for that during the hockey season? And in the summers, he usually volunteered to coach youth camps for his organization.

Parker planted his hands on his hips. “But you have experience renovating a house, right?”

“Nope. I’ll learn as I go. That’s part of the fun.” And the learning would keep him just as busy as the doing. It was win-win.

“Oh boy,” Parker muttered. Then he clapped his hands together and got a look on his face that said I have the best idea , but that usually meant he was about to get Jesse in trouble.

Like that time he thought microwaving their action figures was a good idea.

Or when he’d convinced Jesse to attend the beach party that had gotten him grounded.

Or when he’d said that of course pulling the weeds out of the garden was a great birthday gift for Jesse’s mom—except they’d mistaken baby plants for weeds and Mom had been madder than she’d been about the beach party.

Jesse still felt bad about murdering those baby plants.

So he blurted, “No,” before Parker could say anything else.

“Yes!” Parker’s gaze went bright. “I’ll help you.”

Huh. Okay, that wasn’t what Jesse had expected. The help would be nice. And he’d get to spend more time with Parker.

“Meet me at the hardware store at four-thirty,” Parker added on his way toward the door. “We’ll get all the supplies you need.”

And with that, he was out the door, taking his smile and his energy with him.

* * *