Second Chance Hero (20 page)

“I heard a little of it.”

“It’s fine. They’re on the way in; I’ll give them
the talk and they won't do it again,” he runs his hands through his hair,
“Everything okay?”

Why does he look nervous?

            “You mean why am I here?”

            “I’d like you to just turn up because
you want to, but I’m thinking there’s a reason you’re here.”

“There is.”

My turn to feel nervous. I look around, notice there
are no chairs around him for me to sit on, and realise I have to be brave. I
don't like standing while he’s sitting in his leather desk chair, surrounded by
computer screens and other office paraphernalia, it fills my mind with the kind
of ideas I’m trying to keep at bay. I feel the display of power; I love that
he’s the king of his world while I’m in a place I’ll never fit in, dressed in
shorts and a vest, while he looks like some sort of corporate god. I walk
slowly round to his side of the desk, and Deacon slides his chair back to allow
me to sit on the varnished wood in front of him.

“I got you something.” I confess, reaching behind me
to grab the rectangular box.

“Really?”

“Mmm hmm.” I rest the box on my lap, and Deac slides
his chair forward to grab it, inches away from my legs, and I’m fighting the
urge to open them and pull him into me.

“I haven’t been brought a present in a long time.” He
smiles a seductively crooked smile and I feel it everywhere.

“Open it.”

He rips open the blue paper with yellow JCBs on it
and slides the cardboard box out.

“I know what this is.” He opens the flap of the box,
pulling out the hammer, with his name designed on the handle, “I already have a
hammer.”

“I know,” I bite my bottom lip, “but now you can
bang with both hands.”

His eyes gleam wickedly, and I smile. Deacon edges
closer to me and runs the metal head of the hammer from the hem of my shorts to
my knee. My skin erupts with goose bumps and I shiver.

“It’s a very thoughtful gift, Jen,” he strokes the
hammer down my other leg, and I fight a moan, “thank you.”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry, “you’re welcome.”

I watch the hammer as Deacon sets it next to me and
mirrors its path on my legs with his hands; up from my knees to under the
material of my shorts, squeezing the sensitive skin, so close to where I crave
his touch.

A knock on the door startles us and I watch Deacon’s
throat work on a swallow, his eyes burning and his chest taking in deep
breaths.

“Come in.” He orders in the authoritative voice I
find such a turn on.

He has no intention of letting me move, and I look
over my shoulder to see three guys, not much younger than us file in, one
behind the other, all looking sheepish. They notice me instantly and I want to
run away, but Deacon has me caged inches from him, his hands gripping the edge
of the dark wood desk I’m sitting on, so close to my legs I can still feel his
arousal radiating off him.

“I’ve had to interrupt my day to deal with you.” He says,
his voice cold, but I know the anger is bubbling under the surface.

One of the scafolders snickers and Deacon narrows
his eyes at him and he visibly deflates; clearly Deacon is a man not to be
messed with. I try and get up, but he grabs my knee and squeezes to hold me in
place.

“Explain what happened.” He says. All I can do is
look at him; my neck is aching from looking at the workers behind me.

“We were just messing about, boss.”

“Messing about? On a site?” He waits for a response
and I’m guessing they nod, because there is no sound coming from the trio, “And
you think that’s an acceptable reason for not wearing your PPE?”

            Deacon slides his chair back, patting
the space he just vacated, and I scurry to obey. I love this take-no-shit man.
He steps round and leans on the front of his desk, his arms folded.

“If there was an inspection, do you know what would
have happened?”

The dark haired guy nods, “We would have been thrown
off the job.”

“No.” Deacon barks and I can tell he’s fuming. His
back muscles are tense and his fists twitch under his arms. I know he’s dying
to run them through his hair but he remains in control, “The company would have
been thrown off the job. And you boys would have lost us tens of thousands.”

“We’re sorry, boss.” One of the blonds shrugs,
before looking at me and blushing. He’s embarrassed.

Deacon looks at me, but notes my straight face and
seems satisfied enough to continue without making a scene.

            “I want you to go back to the site.” He
says, “Tomorrow. After losing a day’s pay today. If those hats are not glued to
your head from tomorrow on you’ll be pulled from the job and handed your P45’s.
Are we clear?”

They all nod, Blondie looking over at me again. He’s
either interested in me, or conjuring up rumours he can spread about the
mysterious women in his boss’s office.

“Is there a problem?” Deacon asks, standing up
straight and stepping away from the desk. He looks back at me and I’m happy to
look him straight in the eye, knowing if this guy is interested in me, I’ve
given him no signal that the feeling is mutual. Surely he can't believe that
anything short of mythical could rival Deacon.

“I didn’t know you had a girl, Deacon.”

“Get out.”

The three men leave quickly, and there is no doubt
in my mind that they will keep their hard hats on in future.

            “Where were we?” Deac asks, sitting in
the spot where I sat earlier, while I have his managerial spot. It feels good.

“I think-” I pause, mid-thought when I spot the
easel I hadn’t noticed earlier, “What is that?”

Deac looks behind him and then stands from his
position, strides over to the easel and pulls a blank page over to hide the
drawings I saw.

“Deac.”

He walks back over to me and leans back on the desk.
I’m not going to let him pretend that I didn’t see that.

“Please, drop it.” He’s pleading with his eyes and I
want to drop it, but my curiosity is piqued and I hate that he hides things
from me.

            “What was that?” Deac isn’t one for
looking apprehensive, but I can see from the look in his eyes that he really doesn’t
want to talk about this, “Why are you embarrassed about your talent?”

“It’s not a talent, it’s a job.”

“I don't want you to keep things from me.”

“I’m not,” he holds my face in his hands and presses
a kiss to my forehead, “Please just trust that I have to do it right.”

“What are you talking about?”

He looks at his watch, then back at me.

“I have to go, I have a meeting. Are you busy
tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in the shop. I’ve started stripping it.”

“I’ll be there at ten.” He stands up and I follow. I
know I’m being kicked out, “It’s all part of my master plan Jen.”

His smile reassures me that whatever we made last
night hasn’t been broken by me finding something he isn’t ready to talk about.
I follow him out of the office and wait while he locks the door and then follow
him across the driveway to where his car is parked next to mine.

“What master plan?” I ask, because I wasn’t aware he
had one.

“To be the superhero.”

            That's what he said that night at the
club, but I don't get it. He chuckles at my confusion, and presses his lips to
mine, gently and with the reverence I’m beginning to count on him for. And then
he unlocks the doors of his pickup and climbs in.

“See you tomorrow, Jen,” he says, before shutting
the door and backing out of his space.

So Deacon has a master plan to be a super hero.
What?

Deacon

            I wipe the sweat off my head after the
workout aimed at abolishing my Jenna issues. I didn’t have a meeting, I had to
get out of my office or I would have taken her right there and then, boyfriend
and screwed up head or not. So I went to the hospital to help with the last
bits of the scaffolding and that reminded me that Jenna is pregnant. I hadn’t
forgotten about it, but with us not wanting to kill each other, it was washed
out by thoughts of having Jenna, officially. It’s like she’s dangling herself
in front of me, and what happened in my office today is testament to that. She
isn’t playing games, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t driving me crazy.

            I pick up my towel and take the kettle balls
back inside, as Bradley walks through my door.

            “Dude, you could have called.”

            “Yeah, I could. But I thought I’d
surprise my baby brother.” He grins and holds out a four-pack, “Pizza and
football?”

            “Won't say no to that,” I answer,
heading to the stairs, “order the pizza while I shower.”

            I’m not convinced that beer and a game
will cure the animosity I feel towards Brad. But I shower quickly and decide to
spend the night with my brother, and not to think about Jenna. I’m nervous as
hell about tomorrow, and on a high from today. There’s bound to be an almighty
low, but it won't be tonight.

            “You want that last bit?” Brad asks,
already picking up the last slice of pizza. I shake my head and crack open
another beer, “Are we cool?”

            “Yeah, we’re cool.” I smile and turn up
the match. We are cool because he’s my brother, but I don't want to talk about
it.

            “Good. So is now a good time to tell you
I sent a pretty little brunette away from your door on my way in tonight?”

            “What?” I scowl at him, “Who?”

            “Didn’t recognise her.”

            I let out a loud breath, “What did she
look like?”

            “Don't they all look the same?” He asks,
popping the cap off another beer. The coffee table is slowly filling with beer
bottles, “She was small, dark haired, seemed alright. Super hot.”

            “That doesn’t help.”

            Most of the girls I’ve slept with were
hot, because they were all Jenna surrogates. Fuck, there goes me not thinking
about her tonight.

            “She was driving a bug. Silver with
eyelash things on the headlights.”

            “That I can use.”

Brad laughs, but I’m wondering why April turned up
at my house when I haven’t spoken to her since the day I blew her off.

            “So I didn’t cock block?”

            “No way.” I shake my head, “You did me a
favour.”

            It’s Thursday morning and I pull my
truck into the harbour car park, having wait ten minutes for a space. I take my
kit out of the car, shove everything under my arm and go in the florist on the
way to Jenna’s shop to pick up my order.

            “Who’s the lucky girl?” Rachel asks. The
same red headed Rachel that used to date my brother. The same Rachel who splits
dog-custody with my brother.

            The same Rachel who begged me to take
her last Christmas. But ‘The Bloom Room’ is the only florist in town and I was
hoping she wasn’t working today. Her parents run the shop, and I placed my
order with her dad yesterday afternoon.

            “No one.” I hold out the exact money for
the arrangement, but she doesn’t take it.

            “So you’ve got pink phoenix, black
poppies, pink roses-”

            “I don't care what’s in it. I just asked
for pink and black.”

            Rachel frowns and turns behind her to
put the flowers in the black vase I ordered.

            “People don't buy no one headbands.” She
slams the vase on the counter and slides the headband into a paper bag, “Sixty
pounds.”

            “Your customer service is second to none,
Rachel.”

            I hand her the money, balance everything
in my hand and fight my way through the flowers to the exit.

            I kick the bottom of the shop door,
cursing because I can't find a way to open it myself. Jenna appears at the door
confused, but smiles when she sees me. I love that smile.

            “Hi.” She beams, “Need some help?”

            “Nope. Part of the plan.”

            She holds the door open to let me in and
when I’ve dropped my paper work and bag on the table I turn to her with the
flowers.

            “More flowers?”

            “Yeah. But you won't have to lie about
who got you these,” she takes them and admires them before looking back at me.

            “I wouldn’t.”

            “You did.”

            “I won't.”

            “Good.” I hold out the paper bag, “don't
look at it now, you’ll need it in a minute.”

            Jenna smiles wickedly at me, takes the
bag and feels around the paper, trying to find out what’s inside. I laugh when
she pouts and frowns in defeat.   

            “What’s all this for?” she asks.

            I shake my head and tell her to put the
kettle on. When she disappears in the back, leaving the flowers and the bag on
the counter, I get to work. I’ve got three huge sheets of paper to stick to the
wall, and a bag of smaller sheets of different ideas I had. I’m nervous; it’s
not a talent, but it’s not just a job. It’s a passion; one I shared with my dad
and it’s one I've not shared with anyone else until now. I draw buildings, four
walls and a roof, but this is different.

            “Oh my god.”

            Jenna is behind me when I tack the final
sheet to the wall, with two steaming cups of tea in her hand. When I turn
around I get a good look at her while she’s staring at the wall in shock. She
looks tired, really tired. And she’s been stripping the shop by herself.
Shouldn’t she be taking it easy and relaxing?

            “Deac.”

            She looks at me once she can peel her
eyes away from the wall, wondering why I haven’t said anything. Because images
of Jenna with the cutest little bump, barefoot and sunbathing in my garden are
swimming round my head.

            “There’s a presentation,” I say when I
clear my throat and can focus on the here and now, “I want to do something
before I talk to you about the pictures.”

            I take the cups of tea from her and put
them on a table that isn’t covered with my drawings. She’s standing in front of
them, scanning every picture when I leave her, but I pause by the doorway to
the kitchen.

            “You should sit down.” I say and she
turns her head to look at me, “You should rest.”

            I rush to the back and grab her iPod
dock, scrolling through my songs on the way back out front. I manage to plug it
in and set up my phone on the system before she notices I’m back.

            “What are you doing?” she asks. But
she’s done as I asked; she’s sitting down at the table, leaning back in the
chair with her hands knotted on her stomach. God.

“Deacon?” She asks as I close my eyes and bring my
fist to my mouth.

I can’t make her get up. She should be at home on
the sofa with her feet up, looking through baby magazines.

“Deac, what’s wrong?”

“I changed my mind.” I say, fighting the sudden urge
to run.

“Hey,” I look away at where my phone is lit up on
the dock, and Jenna stands up, walking towards me and stops inches away,
“Please don’t bail. I’m here.”

She reaches past me to the paper bag on the counter
top and I nod that she can open it. Today took some help from Mindy; I couldn't
remember the song and she helped me find a good quality recording of it. But
not before I had to explain everything to her. And then to Esteban, because
Mindy thought he’d love to hear it.

            “Are you ready?” I ask, taking off my
jumper and holding my hand out for the head band.

            “For what?” She smiles but hands me the
band and I slide the pink and black accessory through her hair. I had it made
with artificial flowers so she can keep it.

            “I want you to stand there with your
hands behind your back. You remember the side step?” She nods slowly, “Do
that.”

            She giggles in anticipation and holds
her hands behind her back. She’s wearing grey tracksuit bottoms and a vest so
loose around the arms I can see her red bra, and her usual white plimsolls.
With a girly flower piece in her hair. I don't think she’s ever looked more
beautiful. I take a deep breath and press play on my phone. The music springs
to life and I watch Jenna’s eye light up before she remembers and plays her
part. I play mine by leaning on the counter and clicking my fingers to Bill
Haley’s ‘Rock Around The Clock’. Mindy had to show me the video yesterday while
Jen was at the shop, so I remembered the dance. We danced to this song for our
school play when we were twelve. The kind where you weren’t allowed to opt out
or ask to do lighting.

            Jenna remembers the dance, and holds her
hands out for me without missing a beat, as I step towards her and hold her
hands in mine. We swing our arms to the music and step in the right places. The
dance was simple. A few steps, some swinging arms and a few twirls. But Jenna’s
dancing like a pro, while I slip up on a few steps but manage to wing it. She
twirls under my arm and grips my shoulder as I hold her close and move our
bodies. My leg is between hers as I step us and I don't remember it being this
sexy in school. Her hand fits in mine perfectly, the reach up to my shoulder
just enough to keep her frame tight and my eyes the perfect height to catch a
glimpse of her chest bouncing in time to the beat.

            The song ends and I pull off a turn and
lean down with her so her hair touches the floor. Her grip on me tightens and
she giggles. When I let her stand up she combs her fingers through her hair,
the smile never leaving her flushed face.

            “That was part one.”

            “That was brilliant. I’d forgotten about
that dance.”

            I smile, because that’s all I want to do
around Jenna. I’m tired of acting like a macho man in front of girls and my
family. I like beer, I like to box and I like to have sex. But I love spending
time with this girl, watching her smile, and love being the one who puts it on
her face. It’s crazy.

            I sit at the table and drink my tea,
with Jenna opposite me drinking hers and playing with the flowers in her hair.

            “Why the headband?” she asks,
distracting from the nerves that are beginning to take over.

            “Because the flowers will die. I wanted
you to be able to keep something.”

            “Thank you,” she takes a sip of tea, and
lingers the cup on her lips, drawing my attention to them, glistening and
perfectly pink and plunk. I want to kiss her so much it hurts. A kiss from her
would calm the nerves, “you’re quite the romantic.”

            “Only since you got back to town.”

            That’s completely true. I used to stand
girls up, speak to them like shit, and make it quite clear I wasn’t really interested
in conversation; I preferred to replay old conversations between Jenna and me
in my head while they were talking. And I used to buy flowers from the petrol
garage near my house, or the local supermarket. I still can't cook, so there’ll
be little chance of romantic dinners; but I find things that remind me of Jenna
everywhere, and buying her gifts shows her I’m thinking about her. Constantly.
I watch her for long seconds, feeling myself slip away as the nerves take over
my control. I see Jenna’s lips moving but I can’t hear the words; all I can
hear are her soft moans, her breathless whispers and her ecstatic screams. She
stops talking but I continue to stare, edging forward so our lips are almost
touching.

            “So are you going to tell me what this
is about? This is a crazy presentation.”

            “I want your refurb.”

            “Deac-”

            “For reasons beyond what you think.”

            I can't turn back now. I’ve thrown it
out there, she’s going to question it, and I’ll have to tell her.

            “Why do you want it so badly?”

            I take a deep breath.

            “Hear everything before you react,
okay?” She nods, “I’ve seen your shops. I know you inside out, Jen. I know
everything about you, about your life, your passions. I went on your baking
journey with you our entire childhood. Nobody is more qualified to give you
this shop than me. Besides the house I designed with my dad, I haven’t put
pencil to paper and designed an entire build for anyone. But I want to do this
for you. Please, let me do it, Jen.”