Page 132 of In Your Wake

Mitch is the riptide that wraps around my legs. That drags and pulls until I can’t breathe, and I’m lost in a world of water, sand, and torment.

I frown. That’s not quite right.

With Mitch, it isn’t torture. I’m not struggling for air or needing breath. I’m searching for the opposite. For the sweetness of the water rushing into my lungs, for the surrender.

My love for Mitch knows no rationality, no common sense. It never did.

I could drown within him and not mind it one bit.

29

Decisions

Mitch

A wailing firetruck whooshes by on the street below. Even twenty floors up, the sound hits my ears and grates on my nerves. My jaw tenses around my bite of Cheerios.

In a matter of a few days of being back in the city, I’ve grown tired of it. I used to love looking down on the bustle of New York, but now all it does is fill me with dread and a massive ball of anxiety wedges itself in my chest like a rock.

I sit down with a huff, setting my bowl on the kitchen table, and get a message from Logan. He’s attached a picture of merch he designed. We haven’t even announced the podcast yet, haven’t even recorded the first episode, but the guy ordered one-hundred hoodies with our podcast name—T&A Hockey.

I wasn’t sure about the name. Figured it was a little risky, but Logan convinced me it would get good clicks. And I have to admit, it makes me chuckle.

I shoot back a reply with a thumbs up, then open a web browser page and type in Oakwhite Bay real estate.

Mom decided to sell and move near her sister’s house in Hallstead, but it’ll take her a while to pack up. She hasn’t spent more than a few hours at a time in the house since Dad died, but when I search for four-bedroom homes in the area, the price tags make me wish she’d hurry. If I could be there with her now, helping her, I would. But I’m not too worried. She tells me Maxine’s been helping her out.

Max. I still hate how we left things, but she wasn’t opening up to what we could have. And I’m not going to stick around and get my heart broken. Not again.

There are two hours until I have to meet with Phil, but the things I’m planning to say aren’t sitting right. They’re incomplete and lack conviction. It doesn’t help that I already imagine how pissed he’s going to be.

I narrow down my search and scroll through the listings, taking another look at a house I saw a few weeks ago while driving to Spencer’s. I’m surprised no one’s snatched it up yet, but when I zoom in closer on the pictures, I see why. It’s a fixer-upper, or worse yet, a lemon, but it seems to have great bones, and the problems seem more cosmetic than structural. Nothing a little TLC couldn’t fix.

Am I really thinking about doing this?

I smile, forwarding the property listing to Spencer, then hop into the shower.

While the hot water cascades over me, I try to ignore the way my skin tingles with nervous energy. I’ve made serious changes in my life before. Changed team mid-season, salary negotiations, you name it. But for some reason, this move feels different. More significant. More meaningful.

A fluttery sensation bubbles up from my stomach and spreads outwards. It’s scary as hell, but I know it’s a sign this is meant to be.

After all, what’s the point of life if you’re not taking risks?

I get out of the shower and get dressed when my phone buzzes with Spencer’s email reply: Adorable!

I chuckle, pretty damn sure Bethany told him to type that, but either way, I agree. And after questioning myself, doubting my future and my choices for so long, this feels right.

More than right; it’s precisely where I’m meant to be.

Phil is waiting for me at the French steakhouse in the West Village, a restaurant he loves and insists we eat at every time we meet. The food is great, but there’s nothing about the place that draws me in. There’s no personality, the staff are snobby, and honestly, I feel out of my element.

Then again, this might be another side effect from being back in the city, where every step I take feels misplaced, as if I’m walking in someone else’s shoes.

“Mitch,” Phil says, rising to greet me with a warm smile and a firm handshake. “You’re looking good.” He plants a hand on my shoulder and nods.

“I don’t, but thanks,” I reply with a grin and sit.

Lately, I haven’t been sleeping well and feel as though I’m a stranger in my own home.