Second Chance Hero (12 page)

“Need the loo.”

“What happened?” Jade asks when she’s gone.

“I was horrid. I’m a horrible person,” I sigh and my
lip trembles as the guilt rips through me, “I thought he was with one of his
trait girls. I went crazy, told him I wanted him out of my life and that he was
self-obsessed. He was only drinking with his brother.”

Jade bites both of her lips together and narrows her
eyes.

“What am I missing?” I ask.

“My answer will depend on if you’re a sucker for
self-punishment.”

“Tell me.”
What have I done?

She pauses, taking a huge mouthful of her drink, the
tension hanging in the air like an approaching storm.

“Steve went with them, Deac wanted a boy’s reunion.
He finally wanted to go out with them again.”

“That’s good.” I nod. All okay so far.

“It was. Until brad mentioned something about you.”

“Me? What about me?”

“Steve wouldn’t give me details. He said Jonas had
to walk away, because he didn’t want to hear it. Whatever Brad said had Deac
all riled up. And he hit him. It turned into a brawl, took Jonas, Steve and Sue
to split them up. They were pretty drunk, Deac left and walked home, stayed at
Emma’s last night. She’s freaking out about the fight but neither of them will
tell her what happened.”

Grace arrives back at the table, and hands me a
glass of water and I lift it to my mouth with shaking hands.

“Steve said-” Jade stops, but I nod for her to
continue, “That Deacon defended you like you were a princess.”

“Shit.”

I drop my head in my hands again, wondering what was
said between two brothers to make them fight. How many relationships am I going
to jeopardise?

“I have to go.” I manage, with my hand over my mouth
to battle the nausea creeping up my body.

“Where are you going to go?” Grace asks.

“I have to go.”

As if she reads my mind, Jade hands me her car keys.
I rush from the table, I think I manage a goodbye, before I run to Jade’s car.
I jump in, pull on my seatbelt and stab the keys in the ignition. I pull away
as quickly as I can, thinking about nothing except my urgency to make what I
did this morning right.

I pull up on the driveway, noticing all three cars
are here. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing he’s home, but I’m petrified of
the reception I’m going to receive. He didn’t follow me this morning, didn’t
make me listen to another one of his explanations. Except this time he was
right. And I didn’t let him explain; I tarred him with the same brush everyone
else does and walked away from him. Again. When all he’d done was to defend me
against a drunken comment his brother made.

I climb out of the car with shaky legs and
butterflies stampeding in my stomach, and make my way to his house. I knock on
the door and wait... I knock again and wait...

I push the door, and it opens slowly. It’s silent
inside. Maybe he’s sleeping. He must be in pain; from the state of that bruise
on his face his morning, maybe he’s got a headache and he’s gone to sleep it
off.

I find myself walking towards the staircase, but I
veer off to the French doors when I hear a rhythmic pounding coming from the
garden. I stop at the threshold.

Deacon is outside, flipping a tyre that looks like
it’s from a monster truck over and over. He’s wearing black boxing shorts that
stop below his knee and a white vest soaked with sweat. I lean against the door
and knot my fingers together as I watch him. Bend, lift, drop. Bend, lift,
drop. It’s mesmerising listening to the rhythm, watching his back muscles
straining against his vest, and his calves so tight they show no signs of
struggling with his exercise.

When he reaches the barn at the end of the garden,
he stands up and wipes the sweat from his head with a wristband. There’s
something so sexy about that band around his arm, my stomach quivers and I
gasp, reaching for my throat. My eyes follow his rippling muscles and powerful
body as he walks over unfazed by his last activity, to a tree with a punch bag
hanging from it. I feel a pull, like there’s a rope tied around my waist,
pulling me towards him, but I freeze as he stands beneath a branch and jumps to
grab hold of it, his body hanging in mid air. What’s that f-?

Oh. He crosses his feet at the ankles, bends his knees
and pulls his body up to the branch. One, two, three... After twenty, my pulse
is racing, I’m breathless, my hands are sweating and my insides are quivering
and I’m not the one doing the gruesome exercise. I lose count watching his
muscles contract and release, his stomach tightening with every pull. I’ve
never seen anything so painfully erotic in my life. The sweat is pouring from
him in the burning heat of the sun, and Deacon’s face is taut, the only part of
his body showing the effects of his relentless discipline.

He stops, and so does my heart as he swings his legs
up and curls them over the branch, falling back and reaching for the floor. I
watch him again, as he pulls his body up to his legs, the sound of his deep
inhales and exhales the only sound above the birds, and the sea in the
distance. He slowly lowers himself off the tree after thirty of those crunch
things, and pulls his vest off, wiping the sweat from his head. He still has
his back to me and my eyes trace every muscle, every sinew, defined and
outlined.

“Did you want something?” He calls and my heart
leaps. He knows I’m here?

I step out on to the patio and shield my eyes from
the sun as Deacon pulls on a pair of black boxing gloves and goes to town on
his punching bag. I’m half tempted to stop, if he has that much rage to get
out.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t spying, I didn’t want to
interrupt.”

“What do you want?” He grunts between fast punches.

“Can you stop?” I step closer to him and he slows,
breathing out loud hisses every time his fists connect with the bag, “I want to
talk.”

He slows again, but says nothing. And he doesn’t
stop.

“I know you weren’t with anyone last night. I’m
sorry for what I said. I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

He stops and turns to me, his breathing heavy and
his fists clenched so tight the gloves shake.

“You believed it when you said it. Whether it was
last night you were talking about or every other time, you meant it.”

“Because I thought what you said to me on Friday was
a lie. I made an assumption and it was wrong. I’m sorry.”

He takes me by surprise when he presses the gloves
to my stomach and pushes me against the tree. My breath escapes in a rush as my
back hits the trunk.

Deacon

            Jenna’s back hits the tree with a thud
and her breath shoots out in a rush. I hadn’t intended to shove her that hard,
but I’m pumped up from working out and still fuming that she has joined the
rest of the town in believing I do nothing except take advantage of women.

            “Where did you get the black eye, Deac?”
She rasps, her breathing ragged.

            I shrug, “I was hit in the face helping
to fit floorboards.”

            She raises one perfect eyebrow and
pretends she’s unaffected by our close proximity, the same way she did before.
I take another step towards her and lean down, resting my forehead on the tree
next to her face, keeping my hands on her stomach; she tenses beneath my touch
and gasps.

            “You’re lying.” Her skin is flushed, her
lips parted and I’m sure I can hear her pulsing racing in her neck.

            “Accusing me again?” I brush my lips lightly
against her ear.

            “Yes. Yes I-” I bite the top of her
lobe, “Stop it.”

            Her mouth is calling for me to stop, but
her body is betraying her. She presses herself against me, and I pull my gloves
off, putting my hands on her waist, just under her t-shirt and I feel the
Goosebumps under my fingertips as I trace the contours of her waist. I circle
my thumbs into her hips, kneading her skin and she releases a sigh, taking her
bottom lip between her teeth.

            “I. Want. To. Talk.” Each word is
accentuated.

            “You said sorry. I forgive you. What
more is there to talk about?”

            A lot. But my body needs more than my
mind right now. I can't slow my heart rate down, only feeling the driving need
to increase it whilst burying myself in Jenna. The anger hasn’t left me yet; of
course I forgive her, it’s Jenna, but it doesn’t mean I forgot she said it and
the anger only fuels my need to take her.

            “I want to know what Brad said.”

            I stop and look down at her. Who told
her?

            “There’s a lot I wanna know too, but I
don’t have the answers.”

“Yeah, like what?”

I squeeze her waist and spin her so she’s facing the
tree, before she has time to react. I pull her hips back, kick her legs open
with my foot and press my hand at the back of her neck to hold her still as she
braces herself on the tree trunk.

“What are you doing?” She asks, her voiced laced
with anticipation.

But she doesn’t fight me, doesn’t try to stand up;
just waits for my next move.

“I want to know,” I lean over and sink my teeth into
her neck, and slide my hand up the back of her t-shirt, taking the cotton with
me, “What this is.”

She catches her breath as I squeeze her hips and run
my thumbs along the artwork on her skin, just above the waistband of her jeans.
She tries to move away; clearly embarrassed of the complicated rose design, but
I hold her still and press my burning arousal, barely concealed by my shorts to
her behind.

I continue to explore her with my mouth; her neck,
her ears, her shoulders. She rolls her head back onto my shoulders as I run my
tongue up her neck, and reach around the front of her, undoing the button and
zip on her jeans. She moans as I slide my hand into her underwear.

She’s hot and tight and wet and turns her head until
her lips find mine as I thumb her clit, and slide a finger inside her; she
pushes against my throbbing cock, looking for friction. Her hands grip the tree
in front of her, and she whimpers, dropping her head and arching her back. I
squeeze another finger inside her and I can feel her beginning to coil,
beginning to build.

“Deacon?” I hear my mum call sprightly and awareness
that the most embarrassing thing possible is about to happen hits me.

I don’t have time to get us into an innocent
position. Jenna and I jump back as Mum reaches the garden and I know she’s seen
us. Jenna keeps her back to my mum, doing up her jeans and taking deep breaths.
She’s trying to breathe out the humiliation, while I stand with my hands behind
my back, facing my mother. Who looks just as embarrassed as I feel.

“You really should lock your door.” She says, her
eyes swirling a grey storm. She’s angry, “I tried to call you, but you were
obviously busy. Esteban wanted to know if you wanted to go fishing with him.”

“Sure. Fishing. Good.” Is all I manage to say.

She raises her eyebrows and gives me the
I-am-not-impressed look, turns on her heels and I hear the front door shut. If
only I’d been able to hear past my pounding heart and Jenna’s blissful cries to
hear her
open
the door.

“Oh. My. God.” Jenna drops cross-legged to the floor
and I’m expecting a spout of anger for dominating her in my garden for anyone
to see. I look to my left, over at the yard to make sure there hasn’t been a
makeshift extension in order to watch Jenna revel in her bliss. Jesus, that was
hot.

She explodes into laughter; the kind you have no
choice participating in when you’ve been embarrassed
and
interrupted.

I sit down next to her as the laughing subsides and
she lies down on her back, resting her head on my lap. I can't bear her to be
so close and my body stirs to life.

“That was humiliating.”

“It wasn’t your mum walking in.” I grunt and she
laughs again, her smile outshining the sun bursting through the trees.

There’s a long silence between us, and I listen to
her musical giggles quieten.

“I got the rose about five years ago. A spur of the
moment thing.” She says finally.

“Do you regret it?”

“No! Not at all.” She says as if she’s holding
something back, “I should go. Dad’s probably waiting for you.”

“I don't have to go fishing.” She stands and I
follow her as she makes her way back in to the house.

“You know he’ll kill you if you don't. I just came
to say sorry. If you accept my apology then I’ve got to go, I’ve got some stuff
to sort at the shop.”

I accepted her apology the minute she said it. I
forgave her the minute I felt her come into the garden when I was flipping the
tyre. I want to tell her I don't forgive her so she’ll stay, but the look in
her eyes tells me she’s back to serious, nothing-happened ice-queen Jenna.

“Of course I forgive you.”

“Good.”

We reach the front door and she leans up on tiptoes,
steadies herself on my shoulders and kisses me, so softly on the cheek. I wish
I hadn’t forgiven her.

“See you around, Red.”

That was intentional and has me smiling like a
school boy; she gets in her car and I watch her drive away. I run back in the
house and change, before I grab my fishing stuff and head out to meet Esteban
at the quay.

“Fuck off.”

“Watch your language, son.”

I've arrived at the harbour to find Esteban and Brad
waiting for me, fishing gear in hand.

“Deac,” Brad starts, but I raise my hand and shake
my head. I’m amused when he flinches.

His face looks like shit. He’s got a nick on the
bridge of his nose where he fell into the table, a split lip and a bruise on
his cheek. I’m glad I only got a black eye; at least I can pass mine off as an
accident. I wonder how many people he’ll tell his little brother kicked his
arse.

“Don't even think about it. You can't even let me
calm down before you worm your way in.”

“Deacon. You and Bradley need to talk. I know what
happened, and I think you should hear Brad out.”

I roll my eyes, knowing full well I’ll get on the
boat. Because my dad’s best friend, and the man who has been like a second
father to me my whole life, the man I’ve neglected for over five years and the
father of the woman I love, said so.

“Fine.” I throw my bag in the boat and jump in,
heading straight for the cabin to start up the engine.

When we’re out to sea and the rods are cast, Esteban
leans over to his cool box and hands us a bottle of beer. Brad and I pull our
caps off with our teeth as we watch Esteban shudder. A lesson learnt from years
of underage drinking, stealing the odd bottle of beer out of Dad’s fridge, but
always forgetting an opener.

“So, what happened?” Esteban asks, popping his cap
off with his Swiss army.

“You said you know what happened.”

“I think,” Brad says, about to seriously brown-nose
as always, “that was Mr. R’s way of starting the talk.”

“I don't even know why you're on his boat. You were
the one talking shit about his daughter.”

“I don't want to know what was said.” Esteban raises
his hands and shakes them before we can go any further, “But I know you’re
young men.
Estás hermanos
,
you will sort this out.”

And with that he steps to the other side of the
boat, keeping his eye on the rods.

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.”

Brad holds out the carrier bag for me to throw my
empty bottle in and hands me another beer. I frown and snatch it away; an act
of immature I’ve both proud and embarrassed of.

“You don't come out with us anymore. I can't hold my
drink like I used to, I should have pre-warned you that I can be an arsehole.”

“Brad I don't care. You took the world’s best truth
serum. If that’s what you think of Jenna and you think I’m in some sort of
battle with you for her attention, you can fuck off. I meant what I said, I
don't want you near her.”

“Deac, you can't call that. She’s not yours to make
the rules over.”

“Dude, this is the exact reason I don't want to talk
about it. You’re sorry but you don't think you were wrong.”

“I was. I know I messed up. I guess I was testing
you, and then I got carried away.”

“What are you talking about?” Bottle number two is
thrown in the bag and I hand him number three.

“You’ve never been so protective over a girl. You
want Jenna, you’ve practically owned each other since we were kids. I wanted
you to get riled up, admit it. I just didn’t realise I’d be so flagged and
you’d go MMA on me.”

“It was a punch. A warning one. I want you to stay
away from her.”

“So you keep saying. But she’s family. I can't stay
away from her, but I can give you my word that I won't pull any of that shit
again.”

“Fine.”

The line jerks and it saves me from having to
verbally forgive him. I won’t; not until he proves he can keep his head out of
the gutter where Jenna is concerned. She’s mine.

~

“Deacon.” Esteban calls as we step off the boat,
“Can you help me sell these?”

“Sure.” Brad hands me a bucket and I heave it over
the edge, before he bends down for the second; Esteban is tying the rope to the
cleat.

“Are we cool?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Mate-”

“Can you just leave it?! I said we’re cool, just
drop it.”

“Cool. I’ve got to get to work.”

He reaches out to shake my hand and I suck in a deep
breath before I take it. He calls out a goodbye to Esteban and walks through
the harbour.

Esteban holds out his hand and I grab his forearm to
help him out of the boat. It’s then that I notice how old he’s looking; I’ve
never watched a man grow old before. Dad died the year he turned fifty, still
energetic, still building houses and enjoying life. The thought unsettles me.
Esteban used to carry us around on his back on all fours pretending to be a
horse, and now he can barely pull himself out of his own boat. He’s limping and
there’s an arch to his back, betraying his attempts to hide back pain.

I pull my bag over my head and pick up both buckets
of fish.

“Dame un cubo, Deacon.” He reaches for the handle of
one of the buckets.

“No way, old man. Let’s take these to Blue Ray’s and
then we’ll go eat.”

He’s a stubborn man, always offering his help
without ever asking for any, but he admits this is a battle he can't win and we
walk to the restaurant in silence.

Blue Ray’s is an incredible fish restaurant just
along the harbour. They have their own fisherman and serve whatever they’ve
caught during the day. If anyone was to take a dirty bucket of random fish into
their restaurant they’d be kicked out by the posh French chef who runs it. But
Esteban Rivera is a well respected man in this town, walking out with one
hundred and fifty smackers for a couple of hours fishing.

“Here,” He says, holding out a fifty, “Three ways.”