Second Chance Hero (15 page)

“Will you give it a rest?!” I pull back to look at
Jade who is standing with her arms folded, swaying.

Jenna and I look at each other and she starts
giggling breathlessly, moving her hands from my hair to her forearms. I look
back at Jade and suppress a laugh.

“I mean it.” She slurs, blinking rapidly, “You’re
acting like children. Stop with the fucking games.”

Jenna stops laughing and I know that struck a chord;
game over. Jenna steps back and puts her hand to her mouth.

“I want to go home.” She says unsteady on her feet.
I reach for her but she shakes her head, before lunging off the dancefloor to
the first available chair.

I follow her to where she’s sat with Jonas and
Grace.

“Dude, she needs to go home.” I say referring to
Grace, ignoring the patch of sick on the floor next to her chair.

            “I think we’re all done.” Jade and the
other two join us.

“Cool.” Jonas says, “No need for taxis. I’ll take
Grace, Jade and Amber. Deac, you take Jen and Marie.”

“Jonas I’ll go with you.” Jenna mumbles with her
head between her legs. I move to stand next to her, convinced she’ll fall off
her chair.

“Don't be immature.” I scald. “Grace will spew so
you have to sit in the back. You’ll get car sick and if you don't get pelted
with Graces’ chunder, it’ll be your own.”

“Fine.” She sits up and pouts, reaches for the glass
of water Jade puts on the table and drinks it down in one wiping the back of
her mouth with her hand.

“Marie where do you live?”

“I can get a taxi-“

“Where do you live?” I repeat, losing my patience.

“It’s on the way, I live on Sun Street, before you
reach Folquay.”

“I know it. Come on.”

I lift Jenna up off her seat, noticing she’s falling
asleep at the table and she flops her head onto my chest as her legs dangle
from my arms and her hands grab my shirt. I never thought seeing a drunk girl
in an explicitly short dress with dirty white plimsolls could ever turn me on,
but having Jenna so close to me and snuggling into my warmth has me staggering
out of the club like I’ve had more than the half a bottle of beer I drank at
the table.

Marie pisses me off instantly. Maybe because she’s
the type of girl I would have taken home before Jenna came back and I hate that
I still bother looking, or maybe because she walks too close, brushing against
me and makes small talk in some sort of garbled intoxicated language. She’s
either blissfully unaware or completely ignorant to the fact it’s Jenna who has
all my attention. She stops us on the way to the car park, needing to take off
her sky-high heels, and all I want to do is get Jenna home and put her to bed.

“Here.” I hold my hand out for the shoes. If
anything else puts this girl off balance, she’ll face plant the pavement.

“Deacon, I can walk.” Jenna mumbles against my
shirt.

“No way, I’m playing superhero remember?”

We reach the car and I reluctantly put Jenna down.
She slumps against the bonnet of the M3 while I open the passenger door for
Marie. I pull the seat forward and she fumbles inside, catching her foot on the
seatbelt.

“Please tell me if you’re going to be sick.” I say
before turning back to Jenna.

She brushes me off and slides in the car, bumping
her head on the way down. I snort a laugh and race round to the driver’s side.

“I can walk to my door, Deacon.” Jenna groans as I
carry her up the path to her house. Jonas is already home after dropping the
girls off and I see the light on in his room. I kick the door open, knowing
he’d leave it unlocked, and take Jenna inside.

“Where do you want me to put you?”

“I need food.”

I carry her to the kitchen but she kicks her legs so
I lose grip and she falls to the floor. I reach out to help her up but she
grips the counter and heaves herself off the floor, reaching for the bread bin,
her feet slipping on the floor like it’s iced over.

“You can go home.” She says as she makes her way to
the fridge. I’ve missed watching Jenna crash all over the place in her drunken
state.

            “Stop your bossing. I’m looking after
you.”

She scoffs but continues to put together a sandwich.

“Want one?” She asks and she licks butter off the
knife.

            “No. You knock yourself out.” I step
back, smiling and shaking my head, “I’ll go get your room ready.”

I pull back the sheets for her and turn on the
nightlight, and notice her pyjamas are on the chair of her desk, where she
always leaves them. But when I get back to the kitchen, Jenna is sitting cross
legged on the floor and falling asleep, having only eaten half her sandwich.

“Can you eat any more?” I ask, crouching down to
her.

She shakes her head and pushes the plate across the
stone flooring, “No more food.”

So I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder; she
squeals but covers her mouth, realising her parents are asleep upstairs.

When we reach her room I sit her on the edge of the
bed, and she rolls her eyes to the back of her head, lolling her head from side
to side.

“I’m not being an arse, but I’m gonna help you into
your pyjamas.”

“I’d much rather you helped me out of them.”

“I’d love nothing more, Jen. But not tonight.”

She pouts but sighs, evidence she didn’t know what
she wanted my response to be. I pull at the hem of her dress so she lifts
herself off the bed and raises her arms, helping me take it off. I reach for
her vest on the chair, but she grabs my shoulders. I still at the contact,
summoning the willpower to reject her.

“Can I sleep in yours?”

I hesitate, wondering if I really want to go outside
shirtless, but knowing I can't say no to her I pull it over my head and then
over hers. There is no greater turn on than seeing her wearing my clothes; the
shirt swarms her and makes her look vulnerable and I reach for her make-up
wipes to afford me a few seconds to compose myself. I crouch down in front of
her and wipe away the black stuff off her eyes, until I can see her glowing
skin again.

“There.” I say wiping my thumbs under her eyes, “Do
you want some water?”

“Will you come lay with me?” She asks, struggling
with the bed sheets.

I don't know if Esteban and Mindy will be happy with
me lying in their daughter’s bed, but I just can't resist her. I empty my
pockets on her bedside cabinet and lay next to her, pulling the sheets over us.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, stroking my hand
through her brown waves.

Jenna

            Shit. I feel like shit. My head hurts,
swimming in an alcoholic daze, and my stomach is growling. I’m hungry but too
tired to eat.

            “Fine.” I lie, shivering as Deacon
strokes his hand through my hair. It feels like we’re back at university, “I
feel fine.”

            He gives me the all knowing smile, and I
know he sees straight through my attempted cover up.

            “Why did you call me?”

            I hesitate, can I be honest with him and
pass it off as being drunk? It’s worth a shot.

            “I didn’t want to think about you
tonight, last night. Whatever. But the more I made myself not think, the more I
thought, until I had stolen Amber’s phone and I was dialling your number. I
didn’t even know I knew it.”

            He laughs...at me?

            “Why are you laughing at me?” I have to
blink with more effort; he’s too close for me to focus on.

            “I’m not. I’m remembering your reaction
when I called you out. I didn’t know you were such a tigress.”

            My mouth opens involuntarily, his words
hitting like a punch in the stomach, and I sit up on my knees, steadying myself
on what I know are granite abs under my duvet.

            “Why
would
you know?” I ask about
to tell him he’d know all about it if he didn’t ruin everything that night on
the beach; but the anger has already gone as I look down at him, desperate to
take him here on my bed and release this tension, “I know what I’m doing.”

            “I don't doubt that. Lie down before I
break my own rules.” His voice is hesitant and I watch him swallow hard before
I move my hands and lie back down.

            “What rules?” I ask, laying my head on
his chest and listening to his heart beat in time with mine.

            “Don't sleep with drunk girls. It
doesn’t make for good sex, and it’s embarrassing when they don't remember it
the next day.”

            He purses his lips, obviously wishing he
hadn’t revealed that much information.

            “Well,” I stutter, knowing I should be
repulsed, but feeling warm between my legs, “It’s nice to know you have enough
experience to make it a rule.”

            He doesn’t answer, and the way his lips
are pressed tightly together means he doesn’t want to dig himself a bigger
hole. I let the silence accompany us for a while, as we both look out of the
window at the sea, but I can feel my mind and body drifting to sleep.

            “I’m not messing you around,” I whisper,
“I promise. I’m confused and I can't think about anything when I’m around you,
but I’m not playing games and I’m not getting the kick that everyone thinks I’m
getting out of it.”

            “I know.” He hugs me tightly, and my
eyes close, “It’s complicated, but we’ll figure it out.”

            He continues to talk but his words are
lost in the hangover that is already creeping into my system and the sleep
that’s taking over.

~

            “Jenna?” My mum calls through the door
and I bolt upright in bed.

            I rub my eyes and then groan as the
pounding in my head reminds me of last night. Deacon has gone, but I’m still
wearing his black shirt and my room smells of him.

            “I’m awake.” I moan, barely above a
whisper, my voice like gravel from singing at the top of my lungs last night.

            The door clicks open and she walks in
with a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of buttered toast.

            “Did you have a good night?” She asks as
I pull the covers up to my neck to hide my attire.

            “If my hangover is anything to go by, I
did.”

            She hands me a pack of paracetamol and I
wash two tablets down with a glass of water Deacon must have left on my bedside
cabinet.

            “Shall I help you pick out a dress?”

            “For what?”

            “The country club. I told you about it
on Monday.”

~

“Mum, do I have to go to this thing? I’ve got stuff
to do at the shop.”

“Yes. It’s the last Sunday of the month and we
always go. Jade is joining us for brunch, because she has to pick Pip up from a
party at half three.”

Mum is sitting on the edge of my bed handing me
summer dress after summer dress. She has forbidden me from wearing what she
calls ‘London Clothes’ to go to the country club today. Apparently it’s a
family thing that happens once a month and I wonder how my parents afford the
membership. My mum is a retired writer; and Dad retired early from his job as a
fisherman because of his back, although he still goes fishing a few times a
week and sells his catch to Franc at Blue Ray’s. Mum never mentioned this
family tradition during our weekly phone conversations when I was living in
London, and I can't help but wonder if this is just another family trap to get
Deacon and me to spend time together.

“I like the yellow one. Your grandmother always
looked good in yellow too, I think it was the Spanish skin.”

“Yeah, I like the yellow one.”

I don't, not really. I’ve recently become more of a
shade kind of girl; white, black, grey. But whether this is a family tradition
or a setup, my mum is excited about getting out of town and having some girl
time, so I’ll wear the yellow dress for her.

~

We arrive at the Halliwell Country Club in two
separate cabs with Jonas pulling up behind us in his car. Emma insists on
paying for our cab while I’m sure Deacon has insisted on paying for the boys’.
Steve couldn't get out of work to join us, and I start to wish I’d said the
same the minute I see Deacon step out of the cab, wearing grey suit trousers
and a white shirt, the top of that beautiful chest on show. He instantly looks
for me, but I sink in my seat while Emma fumbles in her purse for the money.
When we finally get out, the men have disappeared to hire their golf clubs, and
Jade, Grace and I pull on our sunglasses, all hanging beyond explanation. Emma
and Mum bounce off towards the cafe as we trail behind them, feeling sorry for
ourselves.

“What happened last night?” Grace asks slurring, and
I’m sure she’s still drunk as she bumps into me as we walk.

“Nothing. Deacon took me home and put me to bed.”

“Ooh!” She shrieks, and the mothers look over their
shoulders at us.

“Not like that. I was a mess. He just helped me get
in bed so I didn’t hurt myself.”

“Hair of the dog, girls?” Emma says sitting down and
beckoning a nearby waiter.

My stomach churns and I shake my head, sitting down
and slumping my shoulders. My wish was to get drunk enough last night to sleep
today away, but here I am, looking and feeling like I’ve been pulled through a
hedge backwards.

“Jenna,” Mum says, “I know you think we’re all nosey
and shouldn’t be butting into your business.”

She’s got that right.

“But we thought we could just have a chat, just
between us girls.”

“Why do you need to talk about it? Doesn’t it feel
like incest to you guys?”

“Definitely not!” Emma shrieks, earning some
disapproving looks from fellow country-club goers, “You were our babies and we
loved the idea of you having your soul mate your whole life. We wanted to watch
our babies grow up together and have their own.”

That cuts me to the core and I choke on the surge of
emotions.

“But why do you need to know? Can't we just figure
out whatever this is on our own? Too many cooks and all.”

            “What’s going through your head?” Mum
asks as I thank the waiter for my orange juice and take a huge mouthful.

            “Where are they?” I ask looking around.

            “Probably already on the golf course,
Jonas couldn't wait to play.” Grace takes a sip of her Bloody Mary and I wince
watching her gag.

            “I’ve agreed to do the cake stall at the
fete.” I say trying to change the subject, but they all look at me with raised
eyebrows, “What do you want me to say?!”

            My turn to earn get unappreciative looks
from the people sitting at the tables around us. I want to talk to them; I’ve
spent the last five and a half years keeping everything bottled up, telling
Abbie, Carl and Anthony the bare minimum to dwindle their curiosity as to why I
won't fully commit to someone as charming and successful as Kip. It’s wrong. I
shouldn’t be talking to my family about Deacon when I’m with someone else, but
if I don't give them something they’ll never stop asking. They continue looking
at me, knowing I’m going to crack, so I take a deep breath and prepare myself
to confide.

            “Deacon’s been the one for as long as I
can remember.” Shit, that’s too honest, but I can't stop as the words roll off
my tongue, “I’ve read in books that when you find that person no one will ever
compare, everyone else is just second best. But I can't help feeling like we
missed our chance to do it right.”

            “There’s no way to do it right, Jen.”
Jade says and rubs her eyes under her glasses, “I met Steve two years before we
got together. Saw him once and didn’t see him again for exactly seven hundred
and thirty days. We could have missed our chance.”

            “But you guys are everything. Deacon
will get bored, lose interest. I’ve seen it happen and I’ve come back from his
rejection once, I can't do it again. All I wanted from him that night was a
different reaction, but it shattered me that he had no intention of us even
being in the same country. I’m afraid, like I’m standing on a precipice and a
tiny step could send me over the edge. I’m terrified. We lost our friendship,
the bond that could have overcome anything and I’d rather we argued all the
time and I lived with the guilt of lying to Kip, than risk losing him again. He’s
my everything, and I can't lose him.”

            They are all crying, not all out
bawling, but there are tears in their eyes and I know they’re shocked by my
honesty; to be honest, so am I. That speech wasn’t what I had when I took a
lungful of air to plan what I was going to say.

            “Is that really how you feel?” Mum asks.

            I feel the tears sting my eyes, and I
stand as a tear runs down my cheek. Jade stands to come with me but I shake my
head as I feel my lip trembling. I leave the table and stumble through the cafe
to the toilets. I throw myself into a cubicle and sit on the closed lid. The
weight of holding that for so long has left me breathless and I struggle for
air as sobs spasm through my body. I’m shocked by my ability to bear most of my
feelings to the women sitting outside who are bound to be sharing their opinion
on what just went down. I hide behind my baking and my business and have always
had the ability to shut things out when I lose control of them; but inside I’m
just a lonely girl tiptoeing around the life-consuming love I feel for Deacon
Reid. Because that’s what it is. I can dress it up with lust, and frustration,
and a hatred for him only spurred by my need for him, but he makes me feel
alive, sets me on fire and I would give anything to be the only girl he does
that to.

            I leave the cubicle and clean my face,
preparing to go and answer the questions everyone’s bound to have; I can't
blame them when I’ve compared my feelings for Deacon to those the literary
greats created.

            But I see him as I reach the exit,
standing at our table, his hands shoved in his pockets and in deep conversation
with my mother. Oh god, she wouldn’t tell him. I lift my hand to my throat,
suppressing the urge to scream across the garden and either protect my
feelings, or humiliate myself further.

            “Wanna get out of here?” I turn to find
Jonas leaned up against a pillar, his arms crossed. Jesus, my brother needs a
shave.

            “You know you're my favourite brother
right?”

            He smirks and I follow him back through
the cafe, to the front of the club and out into the car park.

            “I’m not gonna ask you about it. And I
see that look on your face.” He flings his arm around my shoulders, “I don't
wanna know. Hasn’t hanging out with us boys for years taught you to never cry
over us?”

            “Does he talk to you?” I ask, curling my
arm around his waist. I didn’t realise there was so much muscle under my
brothers excessive facial hair and scruffy clothes.

            “Deacon doesn’t talk to anyone. He
drinks and fu-”

            “Yes. He fucks.” I smile the best I can.

            “I’m sorry.”