Page 20 of Breaking Through

I looked up, startled by the perceptive comment.

"It's not..." Wade started, then stopped. His hand tightened around his mug. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, as if sharing something he hadn't meant to reveal. "You're more than just his grandson. The memories, Isabella's art..." He looked away, but not before I caught something vulnerable in his expression. "You're keeping Blue Harbor's heart beating. That..." He swallowed hard. "That matters."

"But what if I'm not enough?" The words came out raw, scraping my throat like ground glass. All the late-night doubts, moments of panic when Grandpa's breathing hitched, and the weight of being the only one in the house all bubbled up at once.

Wade tensed, his hand jerking slightly like he might reach across the table. He caught himself and pulled back. The movement knocked his spoon against his mug with a soft clink.

My voice cracked. I stared down at my coffee, watching ripples form from my shaking hands. "Everyone else gets to make suggestions from a safe distance. They don't have to watch himstruggle with the oxygen tube or hear him calling for Gran in his sleep."

"You..." Wade's voice was gruff, almost angry. He stood abruptly, moved to the window, and then back to our table. When he spoke again, the words sounded like he'd dragged them from somewhere deep. "You show up. Every single day."

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it more disheveled. "I've seen you, you know. Walking with him. Sharing stories." His voice softened with each example. "Making him laugh even on the hard days."

He met my eyes then, and for the first time, he didn't look away. "That's... that's everything, Holden."

The way he said my name made my breath catch. His gaze held mine across the table, and for a moment, I glimpsed the man behind the gruff exterior. It was someone who understood loss, love, and the weight of choices.

"The facility would have doctors and twenty-four-hour care."

"They'd have the equipment," he acknowledged, his voice rough. "He'd have everything except home." Wade's deep voice sounded like it rested on a layer of sandpaper. "Sometimes, that's the right choice, but not always." He glanced out the window, where the evening sky had deepened to indigo. "Sometimes love means letting people stay where their hearts are happy."

A comfortable silence settled between us. Outside, a flock of geese passed overhead, their calls muted through the café windows. The coffee warmed my hands, but Wade's presence warmed something deeper.

"How do you do that?"

He tilted his head slightly to the right. "Do what?"

"Say the perfect thing while pretending you're not saying anything important at all."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Practice. You should see me with lost hikers. I've got a whole speech about trail markers that's really about life choices."

"I bet that goes over well."

"Usually, they're too tired to argue." He pushed back from the table. "Come on. Let's get those lemon squares before Clark hunts us down."

At the counter, Wade moved with the stiff precision he usually reserved for official park business. When I reached for my wallet, he shook his head sharply.

"It's..." He cleared his throat, staring intently at the pastry case. "Ranger's prerogative."

Katie raised her eyebrows at his gruff tone, but I saw how his hands weren't quite steady as he counted bills. The tips of his ears reddened as he pointedly avoided everyone's stare.

The walk home was lighter somehow. The paper bag of pastries was warm against my chest, and the evening air carried the scent of woodsmoke from nearby chimneys. Wade walked beside me, his longer stride unconsciously adjusting to match mine.

He stopped at my grandfather's gate. Light spilled from the living room windows, and I saw Grandpa's silhouette still in his chair.

"Thank you. Not just for the coffee and squares, but for..."

Wade shifted his weight, boot scuffing against the sidewalk. His hand lifted slightly and then dropped back to his side. "Yeah, well." His voice was gruff again like he was trying to rebuild his walls, but a hint of softness remained around his eyes. The smile that followed was small, unpracticed, but real.

He turned to go. After taking two steps, he stopped and turned back hesitantly. "The park service..." He dug in his pocket, pulled out a small notebook, then pushed it back down. "Wehave resources. Lists of contacts. Home healthcare, equipment suppliers. All local. I can share."

"I'd like that."

He nodded once and walked away, his figure gradually blending with the gathering darkness. I watched until he turned the corner, and then I headed inside.

Grandpa was awake, pretending to read but obviously waiting. "You were gone a while for just lemon squares."

"Ran into Wade Forrester." I tried to sound casual as I set out the pastries. "We had coffee."

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