Love By Chance (Chance Series Book 1)

by Blake Allwood

  LOVE BY CHANCE

  Chance Series: Book One

  Blake Allwood

  Love By Chance. Copyright © 2020 by Blake Allwood. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Cate Ashwood

  cateashwooddesigns.com

  Text designed using graphic resources from Shutterstock.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Blake Allwood

  Visit my website at www.blakeallwood.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: June 2020

  Join Blake’s email list to get advance notice of new books and receive his occasional newsletter:

  www.blakeallwood.com

  Titles by Blake Allwood:

  Aiden Inspired

  Suzie Empowered

  Bobby Transformed

  Romantic Renovations

  By Chance Series

  |

  Love By Chance (Book 1)

  Another Chance With Love (Book 2)

  Coming in 2020:

  (Titles may change before publishing)

  Taking A Chance For Love (Book 3)

  Big Bend Series

  Thank you to the following people for their assistance:

  Jo Bird - Editor

  Kristopher Miller – Editor

  Aryl Shanti - Editor

  Julia Firlotte – Proof Reader

  Enid Broom – Alpha Reader

  Dani Grey – Alpha Reader

  Lisa Klein – Alpha Reader

  Ana Nimity – Alpha Reader

  A special thank you goes to all my friends and family who supported me, I couldn’t have done it without you.

  And finally, an extra special thanks to my Husband who continues to tolerate me no matter how many of these rabbit holes I keep going down (and I seem to keep going down them).

  Prologue

  Martin

  Peter was always acting silly, so I didn’t pay much attention when he crawled in front of me, blocking my view of the TV. We’d just gotten back from visiting his horrible mother and were cuddling in front of an old Christmas movie.

  “Martin, I’ve loved you since we first met. I don’t want to spend one more night without you being mine. Would you do me the honor of being my husband?”

  I stared at him for what must have seemed like ages because it appeared he was about to start panicking, as if he expected me to say no.

  “Martin?” he finally prompted.

  I stared at the ring and caught my breath. “Peter? You’re serious. You want to marry me?”

  Peter smiled, a tear leaking from his eye. “More than anything in the world, I want you to be my husband, Martin.”

  I drew in a deep breath. Was I ready at twenty-three to marry a man I’d met less than a year ago? I was overcome with how much he meant to me. “He makes me happy every day, he’s my best friend, and he gives a really good blowjob.” I only realized I’d been talking out loud when I saw Peter smile.

  “I do give a good blow job,” he said. “So, what do you say, wanna put claims on this mouth… so it belongs only to you?”

  “Oh, hell yeah! I really do,” I said and threw myself into his arms.

  The next morning, we rushed to my parents’ home to make the announcement. Both my parents pulled Peter into a bear hug, welcoming him to our family. I was so proud of them. They were conservative Texans, but their love for me overcame everything else. They were the definition of good people.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t go so well with Peter’s mom. I referred to her as Matilda the Hun because the woman was the epitome of hate. No, not against gay people, she loved them and would drone on and on for hours about her involvement with PFLAG. No, she didn’t hate gay people, she hated me.

  We didn’t get the chance to tell her until a week before Christmas. She’d been suffering from intense migraines that kept her locked in her room with the lights out for days on end. She refused to go to the doctor because, according to the beast, “That’s what ridiculous people do who don’t have anything better to do with their time or money.”

  His mom was still struggling with a headache when Peter decided we couldn’t put it off any longer. We stopped by her house one evening to announce our news. She smiled, but I could tell she wasn’t happy.

  She managed to kiss Peter and congratulate him, but when she kissed my cheek, she whispered, “We’ll see about this,” then leaned back and smiled like she hadn’t just threatened me.

  I just shook my head. I’d had enough of Matilda the Hun. If she wasn’t happy for us, then so be it.

  When I told Peter what she’d said, he laughed it off, as usual, dismissing it as ‘just her way.’ “The headache probably just made it sound harsher than she meant it to be.”

  Despite what Peter said, our engagement did nothing but raise the heat in that particular oven. What had previously been abuse, which had been bad enough, shifted to being downright evil.

  Christmas Eve had been Peter’s family day. He’d explained to me that his family usually celebrated on Christmas Eve, then they’d spend Christmas Day with Matilda’s sisters. I’d agreed to spend Christmas Eve with him at Matilda’s house, then I’d spend Christmas Day with mine. That night, well, let’s just say it was one for the history books.

  Matilda was clearly on the warpath from the minute we walked in. Throughout the evening, when Peter was around, she’d smile and say how nice it was that he’d found true love, but when she got me alone, she slammed into me with well-rehearsed venom.

  As things escalated, it took everything in me not to just walk out, but I was so surprised by the new level of hate, I wasn’t able to get my wits about me in time to stand up for myself.

  By the time the evening ended, the witch had called me every name she could think of. I’d been called a whore, slut, social climber, and an asswipe.

  The most memorable moment was while I was warming up a casserole I’d brought. She snuck up behind me and said that if she’d been a man, she would’ve beaten my ass in the street.

  Finally, I’d had enough. I was going to have to leave or, at least, get away from her. I sat in a chair in the living room, pretending to watch a football game. Luckily, other guests were in there, and the bitch couldn’t get me alone, which saved me from any more of her verbal abuse.

  After we left, Peter was obviously upset I had disappeared. He laid into me for leaving the table and not helping with clean up.

  “Peter,” I replied. “Did you not hear all the crap your mother said to me tonight?”

  He turned his gaze on me momentarily as he drove us home. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Peter, your mother pulled out all the stops. I’ve never been insulted like that before. She even told me I smell like ass.”

  Peter laughed. “No, that’s just her odd sense of humor.”

  “No, this was not her sense of humor, Peter. This was a series of vicious attacks against me. The fact that she did it so you couldn’t hear means she didn’t want you to know. That isn’t humor. That’s deliberate hatred.”

  Peter immediately became defensive. “My mother doesn’t hate anyone; she’s the most supportive woman I know.”

  “Yeah, to you,
she is, but not to me.” As the conversation went on, and I told Peter more and more of what Matilda had said, he became angrier, but not at his mother. He grew angrier with me.

  When we arrived home, Peter marched straight into the house. As I walked in behind him, he turned to me with the same derision I’d seen in his mother’s face earlier that night. “I won’t be forced to choose between my mother, a loving and caring woman who’d do anything for me, and you, who clearly has some strange agenda going on.”

  It was impossible to describe how, at that moment, all hope, happiness and joy that I’d associated with loving Peter Reed began to crumble. I stared at his face, which expressed all the bias I had heard in his words. I wanted to scream at him, tell him that if he loved me, he wouldn’t let his mother win this stupid war she was waging against me. Instead, I saw Peter for what he really was. He was not someone who would love me unconditionally. He was not the man I’d agreed to marry.

  As my broken-hearted tears cascaded down my face, I stared at the man I was engaged to. “I love you, Peter, with all my heart, but I won’t allow you, your mother, or anyone for that matter, to treat me this way.”

  Peter, still angry, replied, “Thankfully, I got to see you for what you are before we get married.”

  The comment crushed what little hope I had left. I gathered a few of my things, got into my car, and drove to my own family’s house.

  Managing to call them on my way to let them know I was coming, I was met at the door by my ever-solid father and mother. They both held me while I cried.

  We sat in the fancy living room they’d decorated for Christmas, and I told them everything. Although it was clear my parents were shocked, they didn’t question me, and when I was done, they both hugged me again.

  “I will not be insulted and ridiculed,” I said at last.

  My mother kissed me on the forehead. “No, honey. You were taught that you are valuable and worthwhile. You were taught to love yourself.”

  “I loved him, too,” I said, and then cried even more. After the final bout of tears had fallen, I stood up and kissed my dad and mom on the cheek. “I think he was right. It is better that we found this out before we got married.” Then, twisting the commitment ring off my finger, I went up to my old bedroom, leaving my parents downstairs.

  As I lay in my childhood bed, I thought about all that had happened, how much I’d loved Peter, and how much I was going to miss him. By the time I finally drifted to sleep, I had assured myself I’d rather be alone than with someone who wouldn’t stand up for me. I hadn’t offended his mother or put her in a situation where she felt uncomfortable. That’s what she’d done to me, and instead of Peter standing up and holding his mother accountable, he’d taken her side. That was something I’d never be able to forgive, even if he showed up and begged for it.

  The next morning, I got up early. I knew Peter planned to go to a friend’s house to see their kids unwrap Santa’s presents. I drove to the apartment we rented together, packed up as many of my belongings as I could, and piled them into my old Subaru.

  I left a note on the table that simply read, You were right. It is best to know now. I left my key, as well as the commitment ring on the table next to the letter.

  I knew I’d always remember Peter as my first love, but that wasn’t enough. I needed my spouse to support me. As I drove, the pain became so intense I had to stop several times on the way back to my parent’s house in Smithville and take long deep breaths to compose myself. When I got back, however, something had shifted inside me. A spark of life had reignited in my core, a spark that indicated that I’d survive this.

  At the end of the day, I’d been confronted with a vicious and unfounded hatred. And I’d chosen to stand up for myself. I vowed that from that day forward, I’d never allow anyone to speak to me the way Matilda the Hun had. I’d be my own champion. I’d never again expect a man to be that for me.

  __________

  It was all hands on deck the week after Christmas. My best friend, Janice all but moved in with my parents as I processed being single again. Even my sister Trish was uncharacteristically nice to me as I wallowed in self-pity.

  Janice eventually forced me out on the town for New Year’s Eve. We already had plans to attend a ball being held by the newspaper I wrote restaurant reviews for.

  “I’m taking him out,” she announced to everyone in the house, pointing her finger at me when I moaned. “And you are gonna like it!” she added. My mother was zero help and just giggled as she walked away.

  “Janice, I’m really not into it.”

  “That’s because you’ve become a hermit, and enough is enough,” she proclaimed.

  I didn’t have the energy to argue with her. Besides, I did want to get out again. I was sick of feeling sorry for myself.

  “OK, but I’m driving myself. If I don’t feel like staying until the clock strikes twelve, then I want to be able to leave without ruining your night.”

  Janice glared at me like she was going to argue but thought better of it. “OK, deal. Now, let’s go get ready. I can’t wait to show you off as the city’s newest, most eligible bachelor.”

  I groaned as she pushed me up the stairs.

  I was shocked at how much better I felt being out of the house. My heart still felt like it was broken into several pieces, but the fact I wasn’t sitting in my parent’s house moping was a definite improvement.

  The party was a hoot, and it made me happy to see my coworkers laughing and cutting-up with one another.

  Around nine, my boss, Elizabeth, introduced me to her college roommate, Kristine Diaz, who’d come in from Fort Lauderdale for a visit. She and I began talking, and when she heard what I did for a living, she laughed. “Elizabeth has sent me some of your work to read. You’re funny and respectful of the restaurants at the same time. Have you ever considered a move to South Florida?” she asked.

  I looked at her blankly. “I haven’t really, no. I grew up in Texas, I’ve never considered moving anywhere else.”

  Kristine was drunk but smiled at me and gave me her card. I looked down at it. Kristine Diaz. Assignment Editor, Fort Lauderdale Press. “If you change your mind, all you need to do is email me,” she said before she drifted away into the crowd.

  I honestly didn’t think much about it, especially when eleven-thirty came and went, and I realized I was still at the party. I’d barely thought about Peter—OK, so that was probably a lie, but I hadn’t thought about him as much as I had the previous week. Midnight came, and Janice gave me a huge kiss right on the smacker, giggling when I made gagging noises.

  “You are the worst straight man in the world, Martin Williams,” she said with a flourish.

  “Um, I’m not a straight man, chica. You need to get your gaydar fixed again!”

  This was an ongoing joke between us, and she pulled me into a warm hug. “I’m so glad you came. It feels good to see you back on your feet. Even if you are a little wobbly.”

  I smiled at her and hugged her back. “You’re the best friend on the planet, even if you are evil.”

  Janice chuckled. She knew she was a handful and made no apologies for it.

  By the time January third came, I found myself more than a little intrigued by the idea of moving to a different town. Yeah, it was kind of like running away, but I knew that and was comfortable with it. I’d followed up Kristine’s suggestion and looked up the paper in Fort Lauderdale. It was large enough to have a department with more than one restaurant critic.

  There was—for real—an ad in the paper seeking another critic full time. The salary was almost double what I made here in Austin. All that aside, the thought of a fresh start felt right, or as right as anything could at the moment.

  I sent the assignment editor, Kristine Diaz, an email along with my resume telling her that if she was serious about the offer, I’d be interested in an interview.

  She called me literally ten minutes after I pushed send.

  “Martin. Hi, thi
s is Kristine Diaz with the Fort Lauderdale Press. Are you free now?” she asked as soon as I’d said hello.

  I chuckled. “I can be, maybe in a couple of hours.”

  “Oh, my plane leaves in three hours. Can you meet me at the airport?” she asked.

  “Sure, say, in an hour?” I asked, surprised at the speed of it all.

  “Perfect,” she replied. “I’ll text you where I’m at. I can get checked in, then I’ll meet you at one of the restaurants outside the security gate.”

  I rushed to get ready and made it to Austin airport with just enough time to park and get to the restaurant. I detested being late, especially to an interview.

  Kristine was waiting for me when I arrived.

  “Hello, Mrs. Diaz,” I said, trying to sound professional.

  She chuckled. “Oh, honey, I was drunk off my ass at the party when I last spoke to you. You can just call me Kristine.”

  I nodded and smiled.

  “I’ve looked over some of your work since the party, and it’s impressive. I especially like your critiques. They are the right blend of wit and professionalism. That’s important in our region.”

  I nodded again. “Is the position only doing restaurant critiques?”

  She smiled. “Yes, this is a full-time restaurant critic position. It’s a lot of work, though, not like what you’ve done here in Austin. You’ll be given an area of the city. Your job will be to visit each restaurant and put a critique on our site for each one. It’s something new we’re doing this year. We want to combine the paper and our presence online and ensure we give Google and TripAdvisor a bit of local competition.”

  “Sounds like my dream job,” I admitted. “When would you want me to start?”

  She laughed again. “Are you that confident I’m going to offer you the job then?”

  I smiled. “No, not confident, just hopeful.”