Page 51 of In Your Wake

“Very funny. Always with the jokes, eh, Mitch?” I cross my arms tightly against my chest, desperate to ignore how warm my skin is. I step to the window and see Rusty working outside. “Who is this guy, anyway? You should have consulted me first.”

“I tried. You didn’t want to listen.” He steps closer. “Anyway, I figured I could keep waiting for you to stop being so selfish or—”

“I’m not self—”

“I wasn’t done,” he cuts me off, raising his hand. “Or, I could show you I’m not after what’s rightfully yours.”

I dip my chin, staring at him. “What’s rightfully mine?” I repeat.

He nods. “I’m not being a dick, here. This place is yours, as much as it’s mine.”

I pause, taking this in. The tension in my shoulders melts away, causing them to drop. “For real? You’re not just messing with me?”

“No, I’m not. I’m trying to help.”

“But I don’t need your help.”

“Uh-uh-uh,” he says, wiggling his finger at me. “That sounds like selfishness again.”

I narrow my glare, the fire in my belly turning from slightly bothersome to laser-beam-level irritating.

“You can either accept my help now or later, but eventually, you will have to accept it.” He stirs the sugar into his coffee, then moves to leave, but stops, facing me again. “And for what it’s worth, Max, you’re mad at the kid who left town thirteen years ago. You know nothing about the person I am today. Sure, I made mistakes. I realize that. But if I can right some of those wrongs, then please don’t try to stop me.”

“He might not die,” I offer.

“I don’t just mean my dad.” Mitch purses his lips, gets closer, but keeps his head down. He stops when he’s a foot away from me, his eyes peeling up my body. When they meet mine, there’s no mistaking how deadly serious he is. “And stop being naive. He’s dying, and the last thing he needs is the two of us bickering like little brats.”

“I’m not a brat,” I say. My voice is so weak I hate myself for it.

He cocks his head. “Yes, Toots, you are. Always have been.”

We stare at each other, the quiet between us flooding the room with raw, unspoken tension, the weight of our animosity straining my limbs.

“Did you ever consider talking to him?” I suggest. “Bill doesn’t need your money, or renovations. An apology alone might do a world of good.”

The light in his eyes dims. “Is that what he needs… or what you need?”

Anger rushes through my veins, and I sneer at him. “Fuck you.” I slam my shoulder into him as I storm past.

A few seconds later, he joins me at the front desk, resting against the edge of the counter, and sips his coffee. “If we don’t settle this shit between us, the next few weeks are going to be hell.”

“I’m fine with hell,” I reply, randomly clicking things on the desktop computer, pretending to be busy.

“Well, I’m not. Life’s too short to keep this grudge going. It’s not worth the pain.” The slight tremor in his voice makes me glance up. His damn green eyes reach into me like a spell, even after years of not seeing them.

Letting it all go, giving him what he wants, forgetting and moving on would be so easy. But I’m nowhere near ready to forgive and forget, and I don’t believe for one second that he is either. How could he move on from what I did, let alone forgive me?

“When Rusty’s done, get him to bill the inn.”

“Christ, Maxine!” Mitch spits, running a hand through his hair. “You’re infuriating.” He lets his head drop back, giving me a decent view of his Adam’s apple jutting out below his beard, and suddenly, my tongue feels very present in my mouth. “Contract negotiations are easier than dealing with you.” He glares at me, his brow pinched. “But if you want to play hardball, we’ll play hardball.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see.”

A pit of anxiety bounces around in my stomach. I remember the pranks Mitch used to pull on all of us, and I bolt up, about to threaten him or something, when I hear the most god-awful screeching coming from somewhere in the house.

We both turn our heads toward the noise. “What the hell was that?”