Second Chances

Second Chances

by Kathy Ivan

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Table of Contents

Copyright

This story would not have been possible without the help of a lot of talented people.  Writing is a solitary endeavor but there are many people along the way who lend their aid, support, and skills once the words are put on the page to help shape it into a compelling tale that hopefully touches and entertains you.

To my editor, Cathy McElhenay, who did a terrific job and found all those little glitches that escaped me even after reading the story a hundred times.

To Vicki Batman and Chris Keniston who helped whip the story (and me) into shape as I worked through the twists and turns.

To my sister, Mary Sullivan, for her unwavering faith in me and the gentle nudges each day to finish the book. 

To Kat Baldwin for her true friendship and her unflagging help with all my insane questions about formatting, covers and all the things needed to make this the book you have today. 

Without all these people, this story would never have seen the light of day.  Many thanks, my friends.

R
yan’s legs pumped, muscles straining as he increased his pace on the treadmill, adjusting the incline to level six.  He’d run full out for the last twenty minutes and still it wasn’t enough.  Sweat beaded his face and soaked his T-shirt.  He grabbed the towel draped around his neck, blotted his face and neck before tossing it over the handle of the treadmill.

Jake, his best friend, pounded out his own rhythm on the machine next to his.  They worked out at least five days a week, honing their bodies, determined to push their endurance to its limits. 

Jake worked with him at the fire station and kept in terrific shape, better than him, but Ryan knew Jake’s own personal demons constantly had him taking risks ordinary men would think twice about.

"Still having the dream?" Jake’s voice broke into his thoughts.

"Every damn night.  It gets more and more vivid each time."

"Have you talked to Rose about it?"

Ryan shook his head, continuing his paced rhythm, feet pounding on the moving tread.  "I can’t.  I know she’d understand, but—it’s crazy.  Not possible."

"Well, have you talked to
anybody
about the dream?  Besides me."

"And say what?  My dead brother visits me every night?  That he asks for something which can’t ever happen?"

"Well, when you put it like that. . ."

Ryan grabbed his water bottle, took a long swig and swallowed the lukewarm liquid.  He thought about the dream which haunted him damn near every night.  It had gotten to the point he almost didn’t want to go to sleep. 
Almost
.

He’d adored his brother, Terry.  Two years younger and the baby of the family, Terry had been the golden boy.  Everything he touched seemed too good to be true, miraculously perfect.  He’d had the perfect career, graduated from medical school at the top of his class and a gorgeous woman who loved him beyond reason.  Ryan hadn’t been jealous of his baby brother; he’d been proud. 

Then in one senseless moment, everything changed.  Gone. 

Nearly a year ago, Terry and his new bride, Sharon, had gone on their honeymoon at an exclusive lodge high in the Colorado Mountains.  Gorgeous and serene, the four-star hotel boasted some of the best winter skiing and snowboarding in the area.  They both loved sports, so it had been the perfect fit. 
Then in the blink of an eye, it was all gone
. 

A drunk driver, an icy, snow-slick roadway and his brother—his best friend—was dead. 

In the last couple of months he’d started dreaming about Terry.  Always the same dream.  The lodge.  The snow.  The honeymoon suite.  And Terry always asking him for the same impossible thing. 

Grief welled up inside Ryan nearly strangling in its intensity.  It overwhelmed and churned in his gut before turning to anger.  Fuel for the internal fire burning inside, a purpose for each step, one foot in front of the next.  Punching buttons on the treadmill, he ramped it up, ran faster.  Jake stopped his own machine and walked up next to Ryan’s, slapping the pause button.  The belt whined as it slowed down to a halt. 

"Tell Rose." 

 Ryan stood with his hands braced on the arms of the treadmill, lungs gasping for air as his heartbeat slowed.  He shook his head, grabbed the damp towel and stepped off the machine.   The rowing machine came next.   Handles gripped in white knuckled hands, he pulled toward his chest.  Repeated the movement over and over again.  Jake stood alongside him, arms crossed and legs spread slightly apart. 

"Buddy, I’m not a shrink but even I know your grief is eating you alive.  You have to talk to somebody.  Rose loves you.  She’ll understand."

"Drop it."

Jake sighed, staring at him long enough to make Ryan wince, but he couldn’t meet his best friend’s gaze.  He knew Jake wanted to help, but there was nothing he could do.  After a couple of months and a few beers, he’d broken down and told his best friend about
The Dream
.  That’s what he called it in his head.  Jake had pleaded, cajoled and pretty much bugged him relentlessly ever since to tell Rosie about it.  He just wasn’t ready. 
Not yet
.

With a shake of his head Jake turned away and headed toward the locker room.   Probably going to hit the showers, Ryan thought. 
Not a bad idea; I need to head in, too.  Need to get home to my wife.
 

# # #

Rose walked around the dining room, putting the final touches on table.  Flowers and candles, even a bottle of white wine.  Long stem crystal glasses next to the good china.  Dinner was ready.  She’d stopped at Ryan’s favorite Italian place on the way home, picked up all the foods he loved.   Though she was no slouch in the kitchen, the horrendous hours she had put in all week left little time or energy for cooking. And besides, she wanted everything to be extra special tonight

Soft music played in the background, the strains of the classical piano concerto wafted from the speakers.  Soothing and romantic music setting the stage for the evening to come.  The lights were dimmed and tall taper candles cast a warm glow across the dining room. 
Perfect
.  She’d done her best to set up a long-needed romantic evening with her husband. 

Something was bothering him, kept him on edge for the past few months.  She hadn’t pressed.  He’d tell her whatever it was when the time was right.  Still she worried. 

Is he unhappy?  Am I not enough anymore?
  The insidious doubts niggled at the back of her mind, managed despite her best efforts to creep into her head each day.   She tried to ignore them, push them away, but the fear still managed to insinuate itself into her thoughts. 

I can’t lose him.  He’s my life.  I’ll do whatever it takes, fight whoever I have to fight.  I’m not giving up on Ryan.  On us.

The front door opened and Ryan strode through, paused a moment when the soft strains of Mozart floated across the air.  She watched him inhale deeply and a smile curled his lips as he dropped his gym bag by the console table in the entry hall.

"Honey, I’m home." 

Rose laughed as she always did.  He said the same words to her every single day when he came home. 

"Hey, stud."  There was a little extra sway in her walk and not just from the four-inch heels she wore.  The soft dove-gray dress nipped in at the waist before flaring out at the hips into a tulip skirt that swirled around her legs.  She met him halfway through the living room. 

Familiar hands slid around her waist, pulled her forward against his body.  Anxious to feel his strength beneath her fingers, her hands slid up his shoulders and around his neck.  Tilting her head up, she leaned in closer.  A flutter of excitement danced inside her at the spark in his eyes.  Maybe he still loved her.  Maybe she could win him back.  In almost painful slow motion, his head lowered.  Finally, their lips met.  Her mouth opened to deepen the kiss.  She loved the feel of his lips, the slide of his tongue, the tingle that shot straight through her core to the very heart of her at his touch.  Sighing she leaned further into the kiss. 
Heavens above, how she loved this man.
  Her hands threaded through his dark hair, still damp from his shower at the gym. 

He pulled back, breaking the kiss to stare deep into her eyes.  One brow quirked, a habit of his she loved. 
Sexy
.  "What’s going on, hon?"

"Does something have to be going on?  Maybe I just wanted to have a romantic dinner with my husband."

"So, I didn’t forget anything important—like your birthday or our anniversary?"  He laughed, wiping his brow in mock terror. 

She slapped him lightly on the chest.  "You better not be forgetting my birthday, bub." 

He inhaled again deeply followed by an appreciative growl.  "Something smells great.  Eddie’s?" 

"You bet." 

"Have I told you lately how much I adore you? You’re the best." 

Rose stared up into his face.  The doubts she’d had earlier crowded back into her mind. 
Did he mean it?

"I love you too, Ryan."  Her hand lifted to brush against his cheek, her thumb slid down curling against the pulse point in his throat, felt the rock steady beat beneath the pad. 

"Let’s eat.  I’m starving."  His voice broke the silence, and she started to lower her hand.  Grasping it, he raised her fingers to his lips, pressed a kiss into the palm and folded her fingers inward, as if catching it inside her closed fist. 

This can’t be over
, she thought. 
He still loves me
.  

Rose stared up into her husband’s face and a wave of something passed over her, sending a shiver down her spine. Chill bumps tingled across her skin and she remembered the old saying her granny used to tell her whenever that had happened as a child. 
Somebody from the other side just touched you, child.
 
They’ve sent their love.

"You know, I think dinner can wait a bit, don’t you?  I’m suddenly hungry—but not for food."  Ryan bent and nudged his shoulder into her midsection and swatted her on the backside as he swung her into a fireman’s carry.  Jogging toward the master suite, his laughter filled the hall.  Hung suspended over his back, her squeal of protest turned to laughter. 

You have to admire the view
, she thought, watching the sway of muscles as he carried her through to the bedroom.  Even hanging upside down over his shoulder, the man was magnificent.

Falling onto the bed in a tangle of passion and laughter, she vowed to find out what had stolen away her husband’s happiness and to bring it back. . . no matter what it took. 

T
he night sky began to dim, the vestiges of sunlight faded as twilight’s whisper of darkness spread across the shadowed landscape.  Faint sounds of swings swaying in the light breeze could be heard, a rusty squeak as the chains moved back and forth.  Autumn leaves blew across the rock-strewn ground of the playground as the streetlights clicked on one by one, casting a mix of shadow and light across the deserted space.

Ryan sat on the park bench across from the empty swings and waited.  He knew he was waiting, had been for a long time but wasn’t sure who or what he waited for.  Whatever it was, he felt the urgency, knew it was important. 

The park was one from his childhood; he recognized it.  He’d swung on those swings, built castles in the sandbox.  Played baseball in the field on the other side of the slides.  He’d loved coming here with his brother when they were little.  Mom sat on this very bench and watched them dare each other to swing higher and higher, their short legs pumping, their hands grasped around the chains attaching the worn leather seats to the metal.  There was no forgetting the bright light of challenge in his brother’s eyes when he dared him to jump off the swing while it was still high in the air.