One Day After Never (The Second Time's the Charm Book 1)

by Whitney Walker

  “I’m more than okay,” I whisper.

  “Good. You always have to tell me if you aren’t. Promise?”

  I nod my head.

  “I need to cum, Peyton. I don’t want to yet but I need to.”

  He slows his thrusts into me and holds my hips firmly.

  “You feel so—”

  He seems at a loss for the right word. He lets out a long moan. Then he slides in and out with more force and speed. I am so pleased that I like it!

  “You’re so hot. And wet. And feel so—”

  He tries again, but this time his sentence is finished with a long growl through clenched teeth. I’m right on the edge and want to finish, elated that I want him despite being completely at his mercy with my legs over my head. I pull on the back of my legs so his softening erection can penetrate me further. It’s just enough to hit the deep spot inside. I lift my hips and clench down until forced to let go by more sensation of pleasure. I feel the powerful muscles of his glutes ripple under my grasp. Hold me tighter! He continues to try to satisfy me until my high pitch gasps tell him he has. My body involuntarily shakes from the intensity of the energy from my core to my toes. Amazing. Extraordinary. Remarkable. I can finish the sentence he couldn’t with a million different words.

  He slides out of me and lies on the bed next to me, holding my hand while we collect ourselves. I feel empty but couldn’t protest because I am spent. I couldn’t think of anything if I tried. It’s nice to feel so quiet and peaceful inside.

  “Well that was different,” he pushes out through his gasps. “And felt so good.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  “I think I finally just finished that sentence I left hanging.”

  “So good,” I coo, echoing his reply.

  He encircles my body, arm and leg, holding me close, and we lie wrapped limb in limb for a few more minutes before J.T. stirs. “It’s time to trade the bed for the train. As much as it sucks.”

  “Nooo,” I protest. “That’s not trading up.”

  “What’s just happened was trading up for me. Never expected that.”

  If he only knew.

  He can never know.

  CHAPTER 19 | J.T.

  T here is a void in my passenger seat. A pit in my stomach.

  I miss her smile already. Her laugh. The feel of her hand in mine.

  I’m screwed. For the third time today. The other two were so much better.

  No matter what happens from here on out, this girl is going to leave a mark.

  NOVEMBER 30

  CHAPTER 20 | Peyton

  I suck at the morning mad dash. I’m working the dinner shift at Conundrum, so I took the first flight out. Third-day hair messy ponytail on the top of my head and teeth brushed. All I got. I didn’t pack last night but, well, I never really unpacked either.

  Jack meets me in the doorway of the bedroom with a to-go cup of coffee. I muster a grateful smile. He takes my suitcase down the stairs and I follow behind. He loads my luggage into the car, closes my door, and even waits for me to have several sips of coffee under my belt before trying to start a conversation in the car to the airport.

  “So, how was Chicago?”

  Even not fully awake, a smile grows across my face.

  “I’ll take that smile as my answer,” Jack chuckles.

  “It was great, Jack, thanks for asking. We went bowling and to the hockey game, Blackhawks versus the Wings, no less, and that crazy sky-deck thing, and walked the Miracle Mile, and, yeah, it was great.”

  “Magnificent?”

  I find his choice of adjectives for my trip interesting, but yes, I suppose it was. “Yes, magnificent.” My voice sounds dreamy.

  He is laughing at me. I am not sure why.

  “Wow, you’ve got it bad. Do you always fall hard? Should I be expecting a phone call with tears soon? I don’t mind, just want to be prepared.”

  He turns his head to smile in my direction, “To be clear, it’s called the Magnificent Mile.”

  I startle to reality. “Oh, oops. Okay, yeah, that too. That mile. And you are right. I think I have it bad. And no, it’s not typical.”

  He sits up a little straighter behind the steering wheel. “Well then, I am glad that you went. I might not have let you, had I not known you would be in good hands.”

  He is admitting he knows J.T. before I’ve had the chance to ask.

  “It might have come up that you knew each other. I almost called you near midnight wanting answers.”

  He offers more information, “I recognized his face at the funeral home but couldn’t place him. I haven’t seen him in a long time, though I do remember him.”

  At least I wouldn’t have to tell Jack about his past. “Okay. I have more questions. At the funeral home, why were you hiding and why did you leave the funeral home like that?”

  “As upset as I was, there was no way that people, your family specifically, wouldn’t have suspected I was more than a casual visitor.”

  I should ask why that would matter but I need a different answer first, “J.T. said my mom put the fear of God in him that I would disown her if I found out about you. Why would she say that?”

  “Oh, Peyton. This is where it gets a little complicated. Nothing can change what has already happened, and I’d like to just go forward together from here.”

  “I need to know, Jack. Was the whole thing,” dare I ask, “my fault?”

  He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You can’t carry this burden. It was nobody’s fault, Peyton. Everybody does what they think is right at the time. I have no regrets.”

  “But I do, that’s the thing! I’ve been so angry that my mom denied me the chance to have a family, and now I think it was all my own doing, and I didn’t just do this to myself, but to my mom!” I want to cry but am too angry for being selfish and having no chance to mend all of what I’d broken. “And to you, Jack. Did I do this to you?”

  “Peyton, nothing will change with this conversation. And nothing will change the fact that I want you to be my family now.”

  No denial, but he isn’t angry or blaming, offering the only chance I have to make amends. I think of J.T.’s story of Ellie’s forgiveness. I fight the urge to question further and quietly accept his offer, resigned by my truth: “I want to be your family too.”

  “I need the truth, Jack. I ran away to chase a new dream because I never thought I would have a family. I had a chance to have a family with you, Jack? We could have been a family a long time ago. That was everything I wanted. Then I spent the last four years trying to find my father to get back at my mother. I’m so confused. I don’t understand why she would keep you and my father from me. I need to know, Jack!”

  I sound adamant. I am adamant. How can I face my future without understanding my past?

  “I shouldn’t be the one telling you this. Any of this. It should have been your mother. God, I miss her.”

  “Please, Jack!” I feel impatience rising. “You have to tell me. I have so many unanswered questions!”

  I need to know but do I really want to know what he knows? What if in this case ignorance is bliss?

  I can read Jack’s anguish in his frown. “Okay. This is going to be hard for you to hear. But you should know, Peyton. You should know how much she sacrificed for you. She loved you more than anything.”

  Guilt. Saddle me. Overwhelm me. Drown me.

  “Do you remember anything about your father?” He asks the question cautiously.

  “No.” I purposefully keep my answer short so he will keep talking.

  “Caroline loved your father desperately. Maybe too desperately. He was rescuing her from her overbearing parents who had high expectations for the rest of her life. You were about eighteen months old when she had to leave him. Did you know that?”

  “Yes.”

  He looks away, then back to me. “It was because he tried to do something. Something awful. To you, Peyton. She caught him nearly doing something horrible to you. S
he walked into your room and he—”

  I can tell he doesn’t want to continue. He is forcing the words over an invisible lump in his throat.

  “He had his pants off. And he was over you, holding you down. She thanked God every day that she came home sick early that day. She threw him out. He was charismatic and convinced her parents that she’d gone off the deep end. She told her parents what had taken place and they didn’t believe her. Isn’t that un-fucking believable?”

  I’ve never heard him swear. Fury pulses in the veins bulging up and down his neck.

  “Your father was the shining star executive at their company. He had turned the company around and they needed him. They didn’t want to let him go. Her parents thought she was exaggerating. She tried to go to the authorities but no one else would serve as a witness against his character. It’s nearly impossible to prove in a he-said-she-said situation with no proof. She left him. He made her parents think she was nuts for leaving. He appeared devastated and heartbreak, though your mother thought it may have been an act. He convinced them he would need to move and start another business because she was pushing him away. They gave him $250,000 and told her that her money was gone and that if she ever had another relationship, they would take your inheritance away too. She wanted to make sure you were taken care of with the money to make up for what she thought she'd denied you by not having a real family, so she never introduced me to you. It was as simple as that. She never questioned for a minute it was the right thing to do.

  “Everything was going to change when you were twenty-five. It’s only a few months away. I’m sorry she wasn’t able to tell you, Peyton, I really am.”

  I swallow hard, lightheaded, the landscape outside the window swirling into a blur as the details of my life stitch into a suffocating, perverse tapestry. Egregious acts by disgusting people and no amount of money can make my mother’s sacrifice worthy. And to think of all the time, and emotions—anger and frustration among others—wasted pining for my father!

  I had cyber-stalked the common name of Michael Jennings over the past four years and made calls to every phone number I could find. When a woman answered the phone, I couldn’t bring myself to ask any questions. How could I potentially destroy someone else’s life with news of a child she may or may know about?

  “If only I had known, I would have told her to forget the money.” I’m angry I didn’t get to make the choice myself.

  “That’s easy to say now, Peyton. You have to make the best choice at the time and hope your best is good enough.”

  “What did you mean that everything was going to be different at twenty-five?”

  “Your trust. I don’t know much about it, but I know it’s yours when you turn twenty-five. I know this is a lot to process. I’m here if you want to talk about it. I know we can’t have the time or Caroline back, but we have each other now.”

  “You both sacrificed a lot for me, Jack. I haven’t been worthy.”

  “That wasn’t your choice to make. Just like we were doing our best, so were you.”

  He covers my hand on the console of the car. A conflicting cocktail of emotion mixes in my head and heart.

  His voice is soft and comforting when he asks, “Is it too early to ask your plans for Christmas?”

  Of course. Family to holiday is an easy leap. Unless you are me. He is undeterred by the absence of an answer.

  “I’d love to celebrate together. I’m not sure if and when the crew will be in town, but you can definitely count on us.”

  “I think I would like that. Thank you. The only thing that could keep me from coming back is—” I can barely hold in the excitement as I squeal uninhibited, “I start a real acting job tomorrow!”

  “Well, congratulations! I couldn’t be more happy or proud of you!”

  He seems genuinely excited. We ride the rest of the way in comfortable silence, my mind slipping to memories of being with J.T. the day before. Jack offers a long and warm embrace as I depart, and I know that everything that needed to be said between us, at least for the time being, has been said.

  At the exit door of the airport stands a uniformed man with a sign. Handwritten, in black magic marker. I stop dead in my tracks. “That’s my name on your sign. I’m Peyton Jennings. You are my driver?”

  He tips his head toward me, then reaches for my suitcase. “Today, yes, I am.” He opens the door and motions for me to step through. “Right this way, miss.”

  I follow him toward a row of cars, where he stops to open the door of an enormously long, especially for one, black limousine. Why am I sliding across a luscious leather seat looking at the expanse between me and the front of a vehicle?

  I take in my surroundings, eyes landing on an envelope propped against a small shelf holding four crystal bar glasses. Nothing is written on the envelope, but I assume it is for me. I pick up the card and slide my finger under the edge of the glued corner to open it. On the cover is a large doghouse, with a very small, and very cute, yellow lab puppy. The inscription inside reads, The doghouse is a lonely place without you. Below it, with neat penmanship, the initials K.N. On the left inside page of the card he has written, ‘I’m going to make this up to you. Life isn’t life without you in it.’

  My phone buzzes. J.T.! Sorry, Kyle Nixon, your initials can’t compete with my favorite ones.

  home safe & sound??? missing you….

  A second message appears. The word ‘already’, followed by a sad emoji.

  I reply:

  right back at ya…but yes, back in L.A…..sigh

  He returns:

  Skype later, right?

  Me:

  will be counting the minutes… 7 pm!!!

  This time his response is a line of emojis, varying faces of the happy variety. One more buzz and his text says to check Instagram. His updated bio says TAKEN. I update my profile and send a screenshot. ME TOO @jt4africa.

  I smile out the window, watching the Hollywood hills pass by, each bold white letter dangling above the city, just a bit crooked, an imperfect but characteristic welcome. Skype and text a relationship will not make. I need to see him again. And soon.

  DECEMBER 6th

  CHAPTER 21 | Peyton

  S aturday morning eye-opening marks my sixth day of happy wake-ups. It’s easy to start a day happy when your head and heart are swooning over a boy and you have somewhere exciting to go. Today is extra happy because we aren’t shooting and I have slept in until nearly 11:00 a.m. I didn’t mind getting up at the crack of dawn all week, or spending sixty-five long hours on the set this week. I love pulling up to the Burbank gates and telling the guard on duty, “Peyton Jennings reporting to Studio 34B.”

  There is a lot of waiting around during filming, but the thrill of thinking I am “working in show business” overshadows any boredom. Star sightings, hair, makeup! I enjoy learning the secret language spoken between directors and cast for each scene to come to life.

  Two people fell in love in front of my very eyes this week, chemistry and sexual tension building. I don’t know how ‘The Next Time I Go’ will end, but if I have to guess, despair will be act two, with their love being ripped apart. I am hopeful they will overcome seemingly insurmountable odds and ride off into the sunset. Yep, I’m a hopeless romantic like that.

  I hope my own romance skips act two.

  My falling for J.T. this week isn’t written into a script. It’s very real. During our down time, we spent over three hours talking and probably near double that texting. One night we even fell asleep together on the phone. It was only 9:00 p.m. for me but I was getting up well before the sun.

  I roll over to check my phone. He leaves for Africa this morning. There is a text from six hours ago:

  Hope I don’t wake you…had to say goodbye, will miss u more than u know! Zoo

  We already have our own language. You must be ready to move when they call you to film. Once this week, as I hurried to my place, I had typed zoo instead of xo. It is our new inside joke.r />
  I reply back just in case.

  Miss you already! Please get back to me safely! Zoo

  It’s going to be a long nine days. But at least today yoga is on the schedule, and then, a red-carpet movie premiere I’d scored an invite to for me and three of my closest friends.

  We are picture-worthy tonight. My dress is a Tory Burch toss-aside from Meredith, because she opted for short and sassy, as did the others. They called me Grandma upon leaving but I didn’t care. The only outside opinion that would matter to me is J.T.’s, and he isn’t here to judge. But dare I say that tonight I feel sophisticated? The dress drapes just right from my shoulders to the floor, in just a shade deeper, and more golden, than my flesh. Neckline plunging in a low “v” shape, it parts my uncovered breasts. I’ve Band-Aid-flowered the nipples, of course. The top is plain, as I like it, but interwoven silver threads from my hip to the floor shimmer as the skirt flows. Small groupings of black metal beads form six spiky-petaled flowers with stems and catch the light occasionally. Quick flashes of sparkle are like a firefly lighting up.

  With the VIP tickets I’d scored—a little too easily, from one of the production assistants on the set—we are in the makeshift, yet fancy, bar area reserved for rubbing elbows with the rich and famous and red-carpet photo ops.

  The champagne is never-ending. Servers with trays gracefully sway between people like a ballroom dance. The trays, and our glasses, always seem magically full. Hayden and Meredith are competing for the attention of a man across the room, dark-eyed, with more hair product than the four of us combined. There are plenty of well-groomed, well-off, tuxedo-clad suitors here, but my mind is preoccupied with the one who is somewhere halfway across the world.