Second Chance Hero (21 page)

            “You’ve seen my shops?”

            Of course that would be the part she
picked up on, instead of answering my proposition.

            “Yes. I’ve seen your shops. Google is
priceless.”

            “That’s not what you meant.” She narrows
her eyes, “Is it?”

            I close my eyes. She’s going to think
I’m crazy, or she’s going to
go
crazy.

            “I’ve been to your shops. The
butterscotch is my favourite.”

            “Why did you go to my shops?”

            “Why are you pissed that I went?”

            “Because you didn’t come and see me.”

            Shit.

            “I did see you. You were serving
someone. I was gonna wait, make sure I was served by you. But I wasn’t sure
you’d want me there, so your hippy friend served me and I bolted. I’m sorry.”

            “I would have wanted to see you.”

            I shrug. What else am I supposed to say?
We were both wrong all those years ago, me mainly, but she left. Made it
perfectly clear we weren’t friends anymore. But it didn’t stop the way I felt
about her and how protective I felt over her. So I went to her shops to make
sure she was doing okay.

            “It was hard on me, you know?” she says,
her bottom lip trembling, “I know it was horrible for you. I should’ve been
there and I was selfish, but there has not been one day in the last five years
that I haven’t thought about that night on the beach. About you.”

            “Why did you run then?”

            I know why she ran. It was the same
reason I did. Dad had offices in London before he died, in partnership with
someone he’d known for years. Ted, my dad’s silent partner offered to look
after the Folquay site until I graduated with my degree, but I declined his
offer. I ran too. I just never told anyone that it was because I was a coward;
I was scared Jenna would block me out and I’d have to watch her make other
friends, go out with other guys. We lived opposite each other and I was worried
I’d have to watch her bring people home or make the walk of shame morning after
morning. I don't know why I thought Jenna would sleep around, but it made
staying away easier, and I convinced myself it would block out the pain if I
did what I was convinced she was doing. It’s how the ‘trait girls’ started.

            I haven’t answered her, but she's
stopped waiting. She’s staring a hole in the table and chewing on the inside of
her cheek.

            “You okay?”

            “The tattoo I got,” She starts, but
chokes on her words.

            “The rose?” She nods, “What about it?”

            “I got it for you.” Come again? “I was
already with Kip when I got it. I was convinced if I carried your initial
around with me I wouldn’t worry about where in the world you were and if you
were doing okay.”

            All I can do is look at her, shocked. I
had no idea that rose had anything to with me, or that she really didn’t know I
haven’t left the area around Folquay since my dad died.

            “I asked Mum to stop talking about you,”
she continues, “she tried to get me to talk to you at the funeral but it was
the wrong time and place. I never found the right time after that to tell you I
messed up. So I asked Mum not to mention your name again. I didn’t want to
admit to her that I couldn't get over it. I didn’t know where your life had
taken you, but I knew if I got that tattoo I’d feel like you would always be a
part of mine.”

            “Jesus, Jen.” She purses her lips and
when I think she’s about to cry, I slide off my chair into a crouch in front of
her and pull her into my arms, “It’s okay. It’s the past. We’re both okay.”

            She doesn’t cry; she just holds on to me
and it feels so good but so wrong. She shouldn’t feel like this. She thinks
she’s a terrible person; it’s in her eyes whenever we’re together. But she’s
not. We were young, we were naive and we made mistakes. But we’ve got the second
chance most people don't get. Especially not when it’s your first love, with
your best friend. What we’ve got is special; we know each other,
really
know each other, from the very first chapter. We’ve skipped a few pages and
lost our grasp on each other but she’s here, I’m here. We’ve got a second
chance at first love.

            “Jen?” I ask, letting her go and looking
up at her, “Can I see it?”

            She nods and turns in her chair so her
back is to me and I rub the material of her vest between my fingers. I brush
the smooth skin at the bottom of her back with my fingertips as I lift the vest
and she shivers like she always does when I touch her; her reaction to my touch
is just another thing to add to the list of things I love about her.

I don't see it straight away; it’s hidden perfectly.
But Jenna lets me study it and I trace the outline of the petals with my
finger, and then the cursive ‘D’ in the middle. She’s wanted me with her the
whole time. Slowly I lean down and press my lips to the tattoo and a quiet moan
escapes her.

            “There’s no way you can get rid of me
now,” I smile against her skin.

            I’ve been with some crazy women in my
life; women, who have threatened to jump in front of a train, follow me to the
ends of the earth, and burn down my site. And normally wearing my clothes, or
my jewellery, or inking my name permanently into one’s skin would constitute as
crazy. But with Jenna it’s perfect; on the right side of insanity; just enough
to take me along for the ride and wish I had done that for her.

            “I don't want to get rid of you.” She
pulls her top down and turns around to face me, “You can have the job, I was
going to give it to you yesterday. Get the contract written up before I change
my mind.”

            She smiles, but I know I haven’t managed
to lift her mood. We’ve done nothing but to and fro between a perfectly normal
friendship, and something deeper teetering on the edge of a cliff, one step
from being shattered. For good this time.

            “You can't change your mind.”

            She shakes her head, trying to convince
me but unable to say the words. There’s no guarantee I won't screw up, and
she’ll take it away.

            “Want to help me strip?” she asks
raising her brows and I almost fall on my arse.

            “What?”

            “The walls,” she tries not to laugh as
she steps past me and grabs the scraper, “what did you think I meant?”

            “You sure you should be doing that?”

            “Yes. I can pull wallpaper off a wall.”

            I look away from her, close my eyes and
take a deep breath; I almost lost it. She can't know that I know. Not now.

            “Okay,” I grab my phone off the dock,
“let me tell the site manager I won't be there today.”

            “It’s alright. If you’ve got stuff to
do, go do it.”

            “Shut up,” I mock-glare at her, “I’m the
boss remember? Besides, I’ve got to go buy lunch, you can't go out like that.”

            If Jenna goes out in what is supposed to
be scruffy decorating clothes, she’ll put all other women to shame. And no man
other than me should see her looking so relaxed and sexy. I watch her climb the
step ladder and scrape her back into a ponytail, before tearing myself away
from her and going to buy us lunch.

            “What did you buy?” Jenna slips off the
step ladder when I walk back in the shop with bags of food and I flinch. I’m
going to lose it.

“Will you be careful?” I snap and watch her eyes
widen in shock. Shit.

She nods and looks anywhere but at me, but I kiss
her on the forehead and lead her towards the table.

            “I got sandwiches, chips, ice cream
and,” I put the bags down and dig in my pocket for another gift I found while I
was in the shop getting our drinks, “lollipops.”

            “Oh my god!” Jenna shrieks, grabbing one
from me, “they still make these?”

            “Apparently.”

            We used to buy these lollipops for each
other every Valentine’s Day; they’re shaped like hearts with bubblegum in the
middle and sherbet coating the bubblegum. They were in a pot on the counter in
the newsagents so I had to buy them. Jenna sits at the table where the bags of
food are and looks through them.

            “I’m glad you have a big appetite. I’m
starving.”

            “Jen, are you pregnant?”

            Fuck!

Jenna

I pause with the sandwich I picked mid-air. He
didn’t just ask me that did he? But then I look at him and see he’s frozen in
place too, a look of regret in his eyes. He really did just ask me if I‘m
pregnant.

“What?” I manage to ask, but I can’t move, “What?”

“What?” he says, looking to me and any expression
from his face is gone. He looks vacant.

If he thinks for one minute that I’m going to
pretend he didn’t just say that, he can think again.

“What did you just ask me?”

“Nothing.”

“Fuck off, Deacon.” I stand up, unable to sit and
process this information, “Don't treat me like I’m an idiot.”

I feel the nervous energy radiating off him,
colliding with the anger I’m trying desperately to contain. Deacon paces the
shop, gripping a handful of his hair and curling his other hand into a fist.

“Deacon!”

“I said.” he turns around, and in two quick strides
he’s in my personal space, “Are you pregnant?”

            “What?” I fold my arms protectively
across my body and take a step away from him.

Why would he think that? Shit. The night we slept
together; we didn’t use anything. He’s waiting for my answer, his eyes burning
with an expression I can’t describe.

“Is it mine?” He asks before I have a chance to say
anything.

“I don't think it works that quickly.”

“So it’s his.”

He says ‘his’ with utter disgust and a look of defeat
clouds his beautiful face and he walks towards the door. I’m running out of
time, but my voice won't work.

“Wait!” I scream as he opens the door and the moist
air sweeps into the shop, giving me some much needed oxygen, “Jesus, Deac.
Don't walk out on me.”

He hesitates at the door, his hand gripping the
door, his head bowed.

“Don't leave. Don't you think we’ve done enough
running?”

He turns and looks at me, his teeth clenched, his
face so pained it cuts me to the core. I run to him, before I think about what
I’m doing and he catches me, lifting my feet off the ground and burying his
nose in my neck. We need to talk about this, but I can't think about anything
but being with him as he hoists me up and I wrap my legs around his waist.
Deacon carries me through the shop to the kitchen and crashes us into the
counter, knocking my ingredients to the floor. His lips are on mine with
ferocity, and heat courses through me. He launches me onto the counter, stepping
between my legs and devouring my mouth. I’m powerless to him as he grips my
hips making me cry out, and then applies the same pressure to my behind,
pulling me into his rock hard arousal. His hold is vice-like, his teeth pulling
as my bottom lip and travelling along my neck, his fingers digging into me in a
show of aggression. I’ve never seen this side to him before and my blood
ignites, setting every cell in my body on fire. And then I remember what Jonas
said. Deacon’s angry, he’s hurting and he’s dealing with it the only way he knows
how. He bites my neck hard and I moan because that’s the effect he has on me;
but this isn’t right. It isn’t my Deacon doing this.

I pull back breathless, but his hands continue to
roam my body as he nuzzles into my neck again, kissing and licking, biting and
sucking.

“Deac.” I need to get through to him, “Deac, stop.”

My body betrays me; I’m giving him every signal that
I want him; my breasts are heavy, my nipples aching against the lace of my bra,
I’m panting and tightening my legs around him. I grab his head with both hands
and push him away. I have to make him look at me.

“Red,” I breathe and finally he looks at me his, his
expression turning from something to primitive, as the shame washes through him,
“You don't have to do this with me.”

“Jenna, I-”

“It’s just sex.” I grip two handfuls of hair at the
back of his head, “We’re more than that. I’m not one of them.”

He says nothing; just looks at me as his breathing
slows and gradually he comes back to me.

“I’m not pregnant.” I pepper kisses on his cheek and
whisper in his ear, “I’m not pregnant.”

Deacon drops to the floor, and I tumble down after
him. I scramble to my knees and straddle him as he processing what I just told
him.

“But I saw you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were sick.” He frowns, “You looked so tired.
You didn’t drink at dinner. You're eating so much.”

Jesus, there’s a list?

            “I was sick because my recipe went
wrong; I didn’t drink because I didn’t want to get carried away with what turned
out to be a great night. I eat a lot because I spent four years not eating what
I wanted to eat,” I grab his t-shirt, frustrated that he let himself stew on
this paranoia, instead of talking to me, “I’m tired because I can't sleep.”

            “But I saw you at the hospital and I
didn’t use anything that night-”

“I didn’t know you were there.” I interrupt, “If
you’d have spoken to me at the hospital I would have told you I was there for
my contraception injection. You’ve been sitting on this since Monday?”

He climbs up off the floor and I’m left looking up
as he towers over me.

“I have to go,” he says, “I'm supposed to be at the
site.”

“Bullshit. You’re running.” I get up quickly and
follow him to the door, “You’re pissed at me and you’re running. You already
text to say you won't be there.”

Deacon stops at the door and turns to face me. The
look tears me apart; I don't know why he’s reacting like this. He assumed the
non-existent foetus was Kip’s. Why would he be angry that there is no
pregnancy?

“Don't let the ice cream melt.” He leans down and
kisses my forehead, holding his lips to my skin for long enough to leave me feeling
giddy when he frees me, “Bye.”

He turns and leaves, and I don't follow him; I know
I’m not supposed to. Why did that feel like goodbye?

~

“You know Mum will kill you.” Jonas says, leaning in
the doorway of my bedroom.

I pull clothes out of my wardrobe, fling the hangers
across my room and shove the garments in my weekend bag.

“I’ll be back,” I promise, “I have to go to and get
some stuff sorted.”

“Bullshit.”

“Don't call bullshit when you have no idea what
you’re talking about.”

I zip up my bag, grab my toiletry bag and push past
him, running down the stairs and grabbing my keys off of the ‘home is where the
heart is’ key hook. One look back sees Jonas standing cross-armed at the top of
the stairs, and my dad’s shocked expression as he walks in the back door. He
nods, letting me know he understands, and I leave.

~

“I need a friend.” I hold up our favourite DVD, two
bottles of rose and a pack of Maltesers when Carl opens the door to his house.

“And do you know why you chose me?”

He steps aside and lets me in, and I wave to Anthony
who’s curled on the sofa wrapped in a blanket and nursing a very obvious bout
of man flu.

“Why did I choose you?”

“Because I’m the coleslaw king of the world!” He
throws his arms in celebration, spins on the spot and grabs ‘Never Been Kissed’
off me before I have a chance to remember what that means.

I laugh as I kiss Anthony on the head and slide the
box of tissues closer to him as he reaches for them.

“What’s with the surprise visit?” Ant asks between
splutters.

“Well every girl needs a gay best friend. I have
been blessed with two and I need you.”

            “Check you out, getting all soppy.” Carl
joins me and hands me a spoon to share his Phish Food with him. Just what I
need, “What happened?”

“He thought I was pregnant. Panicked in case it was
his, but assumed it was Kip’s... I’m not pregnant!” I reassure them, because if
looks could kill I’d be in the morgue, “And then he went all
spaced-out-sex-monster on me. I managed to calm him down and tell him he’d got
it wrong. Then he up and left. Again.”

“Honey.”

“Don't,” I put my hand up and grab a spoonful of ice
cream, “not until I’ve had half of this tub and copious amounts of Blossom Hill.”

I’m soon tipsy from the wine, full of ice cream and
chocolate, and reciting every line of my all time favourite movie.

“Hey, Merkin ain't jerkin', he's workin'” I repeat
when the credits come up at the end and giggle.

Anthony left halfway through to go to bed, because
we couldn't hear above his coughing and sneezing.

“Seriously, Jen. Are you okay?”

I follow Carl through the house to the back garden,
grabbing his jumper off the back of his kitchen stool on the way. I pull it
over my head as we sit on one of the steps on the decking and Carl lights up a
cigarette.

“Yeah, I’m not a victim. It’s just hard to deal
with.” I lay my head back and look to the stars, “He’s all I have ever wanted.
I know I’ll never feel this way again and things have been incredible. To the
point where I was just going to do what needed to be done to stop being the guilty
party. But now? How can we go any further than this if he won't talk to me, and
runs when I tell him something he doesn’t like?”

“But isn’t that what you’ve done by coming here? I’m
glad you're here and all, but won't he notice you’re gone?”

I hadn’t thought about that. I ran before and he
didn’t chase me, I didn’t want him to. And I don't this time. I don't think.

“I just had to get out of town to clear my head.” I
look down at my watch, “I should call a cab.”

“Stay here.” Carl flicks his ash into a plant pot at
the bottom of the steps, “We can make up the spare room, and you can-”

Carl stops talking when he hears Anthony step out
onto the decking, and we turn around to see him approaching us, wrapped in an
old teal dressing gown. He hands me my phone.

“It keeps ringing. As soon as it stops it starts
again.”

He gives my shoulder a squeeze, kisses Carl
goodnight again and heads back to bed.

“Is it him?” Carl asks as I scroll through the eight
missed calls. I nod, “Answer.”

“It’s rude.”

“No it’s not. I plan to listen in.”

I scoff, but tap the screen to connect the call.

“Deac.”

“You ran!” He shouts, and I know he’s pacing. I can
hear his heavy work boots on the floor, “You fed me the bullshit about walking
away and you jump in your car and get a hundred miles away from me.”

“I didn’t run.” I lie, “I came to see my friends,
and terminate my tenancy. You left. You halted any plans I had for a
conversation.”

“Jen you ran! You thought I did, so why not even up
the score?”

“Don't start, Deac. What the hell did I say to make
you walk out anyway? You wanted me to be pregnant with another man’s baby?” I
notice Carl stub out his cigarette and stand up. He kisses the top of my head
and goes inside. I instantly hear the kettle spring to life.

“Obviously not.” He growls.

“What then?”

“I don't know, Jen! I was confused. I didn’t lie, I
went to the site; I've only just got in. Went to your parents to talk to you.
Your mum’s going crazy, your dad’s trying to convince her you’ll be back,
although we’re all wondering if you will be.”

Of course they are. I did run again, and I knew my
mother would go out of her mind. But I had to leave; I was terrified it was
over for Deacon and me again. After over five years of being apart and growing
as individuals, we found each other again. How many people can say they left
their love and returned to find every feeling intensified? We had a second
chance and I thought we’d blown it. So I left.

            “I really did just come to see my
friends.”

“Can we talk about it?” I hear the tell tale his off
a cap being taken off a bottle.

“Now? You want to talk about it now?” I ask,
accepting a cup of tea from Carl.

I give him an apologetic smile but his grin tells me
he’s secretly enjoying this. I wonder what his neighbours think. Everyone is on
top of each other here; it’s why I didn’t like the city when I first came here
as a freshman. But it’s why I loved it when I moved back here a broken senior;
there were so many people everywhere, that me and my problems didn’t stand out.
No one ever questioned why I stopped going to parties, stopped hanging out with
our old friends. I just got lost in the crowd.

            “No, Jenna. I thought we’d wait another five
fucking years to have an honest conversation.”

“I’m not talking to you about anything when you're behaving
like a child. I will be home because I’ve got a business to try and set up.”