dedicated to Daniel and Debbie Riley. Thanks so much for your friendship. And even after all these years, a special thank you for still making me feel at home every time I visit the Eastern Shore.
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Stepping out of his Ford 250, Jaxon Pruitt winced as his knees creaked. At thirty-two, he was already nothing but a washed-up old man. A failure.
He glanced at his two-year-old son, Brody, strapped in his car seat. Correction—Jax was a washed-up, thirty-two-year-old dad.
After all these years, he was back where he’d begun, at Kiptohanock Kayaking. The shop was on the seawall, sandwiched between the marine animal hospital and the Coast Guard station.
From the adjacent harbor, a slight breeze wafted. Recreational and commercial fishing boats bobbed in the marina. And the once familiar scent of briny seawater filled his nostrils. At the sound of a loud caw, both he and Brody looked skyward. Overhead, a seagull performed an acrobatic figure eight.
As Jax reached to unbuckle the harness, Brody shrank into the seat. The toddler’s brown eyes went wide, piercing Jax’s heart. A former Green Beret, he’d always known what to do on any given mission, but Jax didn’t know how to fix things with the son he barely knew.
He had no clue how to be not just a father, but Brody’s father. He’d messed up everything with Adrienne, and now he had no idea how to help Brody deal with her loss.
Brody closed his eyes and stuck his thumb into his mouth. With a click, Jax released the seat buckle, and Brody’s eyes popped open. But the thumb remained in his mouth. Giving the child space, Jax backed away. His work boots crunched on the crushed-shell parking lot.
Seizing his chance, Brody scrambled out of the crew cab like a convict desperate to escape Alcatraz. Despite short toddler legs, he jumped to the ground in a move that made his airborne-qualified father proud.
But those days were behind Jax. He fought the urge to give in to the despair dogging him since his commanding officer had pulled him aside to deliver the life-changing news of his wife’s death.
“Wanna go home,” Brody whispered.
Jax wanted to go home, too. If only he knew where home resided. That was the reason he’d brought his son to the small fishing village in seaside Virginia where he’d grown up.
Was this a giant mistake? A ten-year combat veteran, he hadn’t called any place home in a long time. And with Adrienne gone, perhaps home was a place that no longer existed for him.
So far, the transition from military to civilian life had been anything but smooth sailing. Thank God for his aunt, and the new start she offered him.
Kiptohanock Kayaking was an opportunity to make a home for Brody. Maybe Jax’s last chance to bond with his son. If it wasn’t already too late.
He shook himself. He couldn’t afford pessimism. As a former member of the elite Special Forces, he was trained to never quit. And no matter what it took, whatever sacrifice, he’d make this work with Brody. Their survival as a family depended on it.
Per his training, Jax scoped out the terrain. On this mid-June Saturday, two vehicles were parked outside the outfitters shop. A seen-better-days bronze SUV with an empty roof rack, and next to it, his aunt’s burgundy Grand Cherokee.
A bell jangled as his aunt stepped out of the shop onto the porch. Grinning, she waved them over. A lot had happened in his life since he’d worked here during high-school summers. More than the years or mileage would indicate.
He took Brody’s small hand. “Let’s go meet Aunt Shirley.” He towed his son toward the porch.
After spending a disastrous six months with Adrienne’s family, Jax found it good to see a friendly face. In cargo pants and the buttoned-up sleeves of her quick-dry shirt, his aunt was a walking advertisement for an outdoor provision company. Only these days, her hair was more salt than the pepper he remembered.