A baby screeched as the wheels of the airplane hit the tarmac and Max gripped the arm of his seat. He'd never been a fan of flying. The concept in general defied gravity. The irrational fear bloomed after the helicopter accident. Every squeak, alarm, shutter or bump scraped across his nerves, physical and mental. To him, they were warning signs the plane was malfunctioning, about to fall out of the sky.

For six hours he'd been on the plane, and only when the fasten seatbelt sign clicked off did he take a full breath. His mouth was dry, caught between relief at being back on the ground and angst at the knowledge the next five days would be not only Sophie-less, but he'd have to contend with his father.

At least he had returning to Sophie to look forward to. A muscle tugged in his gut at the memory of holding her through the night. Baby Wainwright, no Lucy, had to spend a few days in the hospital and Finn refused to leave her side. The hospital had 'accommodated' the new father, so he and Sophie had driven back to the lake house late last night. Too tired to contemplate eating, Sophie had pulled Max upstairs and straight into their shared bathroom for a shower.

Unlike their usual routine of shower sex, Sophie had carefully and gently washed his hair, his body, massaging out the strains of sitting in a hospital chair for too long. He'd returned the gesture, his fingers brushing over her tired muscles, trying to ease her discomfort. Once clean, he'd towel dried her hair and wrapped her in a fluffy bathrobe. With a chaste kiss on her brow, he aimed her toward her bedroom.

She'd laid her head on his chest. "Will you stay with me?"

Max's heart had double timed. "Always."

Her fingers dug into his waist, her embrace surprisingly strong. When she didn't move, Max lifted her in his arms and took her to her bed. They'd fallen asleep in each other's arms, her cheek resting on his shoulder. Sophie had awakened him holding a cup of coffee, a sad look on her face as she reminded him the car was coming to take him to the airport. Ignoring the coffee, he spent the remaining minutes he had left imprinting his lips on Sophie's. He was breathless by the time the chauffer waiting in the driveway was impatiently honking his horn.

Max trudged down the airport terminal, his duffle bag in hand, and searched for his sister. He almost walked past Wanda, her hat and scarf covering her features.

"Max." She tugged on the sleeve of his coat. Slim arms tried to hug him, her Michelin Man jacket making the task nearly impossible. Cole shook his hand and offered to take his luggage.

"I convinced Mom to let you stay at our place." Wanda unlocked the door of her quad cab and she slid behind the driver's seat. "Figured you didn't want to sleep in your old room."

"Is it still the same?" Max asked.

"Yup. Mom tried to convert it to a sewing room, but Dad refused. Why he insists on preserving your trophies and every article ever printed in the Badger Daily about the baseball superstar-to-be, I'll never understand."

In the back seat, Max winced. He'd fled that room seven years ago, leaving his hopes and dreams along with his useless baseball cleats. He stared at the flat, snow-covered fields that seemed to never end as they exited the interstate and sped toward the one-stoplight town of Badger.

His mother stood on the front porch, wrapped in a sweater that was old when he'd left. She attempted to make her way down the snowy steps, but Max bounded up the stairs and caught her in a bear hug. Did she feel smaller? Frailer?

Her ice-cold fingers traced his cheeks. "You're so handsome. Those portraits of you in uniform you send home don't do you justice."

Heat flamed on his cheeks. "You're biased, mom."

"Maybe so, but it's still true. Some woman will be so lucky when she captures your heart."

The organ in question stuttered. An image of Sophie, her lips swollen from his kisses, flashed across his mind. If only she could be the one.

"Come, come inside." His mother hooked her arm around him. "I made all your favourites."

Max stomped off the snow of his boots and hung his coat on the peg that had been his since he'd been knee high to a grasshopper. The TV blared from the living room, an announcer giving commentary on the local hockey team's chances of winning their next game.

"Gale, Max is here." His mother tapped her husband on the shoulder on her way through to the kitchen.

Max blinked at the man, who swiveled his armchair away from the screen. Grey sliced through his father's dark hair in thin lines and wrinkles, bracketed the mouth that had shouted encouragement at his games, when not complaining to the umpire about unfair strikes. Dressed in his usual weekend attire comprising a plaid shirt and faded jeans, the scene felt both familiar and yet not quite right.

Lips pressed into a tight line, his father x-rayed Max from head to toe. Max instantly travelled back in time to age ten, coming home late after school with a D- score on his latest math test. His spine tingled and his feet wanted to run, to return to the lake house, back to Sophie's arms. With determination, he met his father's stoney gaze and held it. Cold eyes didn't blink. "So you finally decided to come home?"

The jab stung worse than the shrapnel that had embedded in his leg after a particularly vicious battle.

Wanda brushed by a muted Max. "Ignore Grumpy Gus over there. I'm happy you're here."

At least that made one of them.

***

"I only want to know what his plan is?" Max's father slammed a palm on the dining room table.

"Gabe." His mother's fork clattered against her plate. "Leave the boy alone."

After an afternoon of stilted conversation with such scintillating topics as the weather, the bakery that had recently shut down in town and who his ex-girlfriend had married last fall, all doled out with the backdrop of sports reruns on the TV, his mother had called them to the dining room. The table was laden with bowls of stuffed, mashed and roasted potatoes, green beans covered in crispy onions, peas, carrots shining in a glaze, accompanied by what looked like a side of roast beef, a small ham and steaming hot rolls in a basket. They'd filled their plates and, in between compliments to his mother's cooking, ate in silence.

Until his sister had asked about Finn.

The innocent question seemed a spark to a flame for his father's disgust at Max's life decisions.

His father crossed his arms. "Surely you don't expect him to waste his entire life in the army."

"Navy," corrected his sister.

"Navy, army." His father waved a hand like he was swatting away a wasp. "What's the difference?"

Max gritted his teeth. His own father couldn't take the time to learn how he'd been serving his country.

"My point is, it's time to grow up." His father barreled forward, despite the down-turned faces around the room that concentrated on their plates. "Get a real job. Settle down like your sister. The factory is hiring. I still have some pull. Could get you an interview."

Tension rippled across Max's shoulders. "I don't want to work at the factory."

"Why? Are you too good for the job?" His father sneered. "Good enough for your old man, but you want better?"

To suppress the yes attempting to burst out of his mouth, Max clamped down his teeth. The tendons in his arms ached from the fists he made under the table.

"Tell me then. What are you going to do with the rest of your life? Your tour is over in the summer. How will you support yourself? Never mind support a wife."

Pressure built between Max's temples. Wanda leaned forward, perhaps to intercede on his behalf, but Max put his hand on her arm to silence her. He turned to his father. "The Navy pays well. And I have money saved."

"How long can that last once you leave?"

Max met his father's glare. "I'm not leaving."

Across the table, his mother gasped. Wanda placed her hand on top of his. "Really Max. Haven't you served long enough?"

"I like what I do." He barked, twisting in his seat to face her. When he saw the concern on his sister's face, he was plunged into a snowbank. He softened his voice. "I'm good at it. I have a team, a family." Or at least he did. In the last year, so much had changed. Bug had died, Finn had retired, Campbell was being pressured by his wife to do the same. His family was breaking up, leaving him.

Wanda ran a thumb across his wrist. "You have a family here, too." Her mouth softened. "We only want you to be happy. And safe." She glanced around the table, her gaze lingering on their father, then landing back on Max. "We worry about you."

Max's heart folded in on itself. He'd never considered that they were concerned about him. After he'd lost his chance at the fame and fortune, they'd all expected of him, they'd stopped looking at him the same way. One reason he'd left was to escape the look of pity. But Wanda's watery eyes didn't show an ounce of pity. They reminded him of how Mary had looked at Emily in the hospital. Tender. Anxious. Full of love. He glanced at his mother to find her eyes shining. Max's gaze flickered to his father, who was now staring at his own plate.

"You don't have to worry about me." He wouldn't lie to his family, tell them it was safe. Nothing was ever safe. A simple helicopter ride to an aircraft carrier had turned into a disaster costing lives.

Wanda squeezed his hand. "It's our right. Because we love you. We want you to be happy. However, you want to be happy. Be it by staying in the Navy or finding some other path. Either way, we want you in our lives. I want my brother back."

Max's throat constricted. A family that wanted him around. Maybe there were a few reasons to consider staying stateside after all.