Last First Kiss: A Second Chance Standalone Romance

by Jane Anthony

  His lips curl into a scowl as he stares daggers in my direction. “The day you left, I said a prayer. I thanked God for removing you from my daughter’s life. She was too close, too infatuated by whatever line of bullshit you fed her. I knew if you stuck around, you’d undo everything I worked for. She’d follow you right back to the ghetto. Suffice it to say, I was happy to see you go. Now here you are. My worst fucking nightmare sitting right in front of me.”

  “You did it. So can I.”

  “Most people will never be truly successful. The pull toward mediocrity is too strong. That’s all you’ll ever be, Jesse. A champion of mediocrity. The worst kind because you have dreams and no drive. You’ll drag her down into the mud, and now you’re bringing a child along with you.”

  Red rings darken Mr. Irwin’s eyes. He swallows hard, rubbing his forehead hard against his fist. “Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I failed as a parent, as a man. I gave her too much, and she took it for granted.”

  I drink down a swallow of scotch and let it rot in my belly the way Mr. Irwin’s words fester in my brain. I could blow up. I could lose my temper, yell and scream and start throwing shit. That’s what he wants. For me to lose my cool and show everyone here I’m the loose cannon everyone thinks I am, but for the sake of harmony, I hold my sarcasm and speak from the heart.

  “People only have to call you a loser so many times before you start to believe it. I’ve felt that way my entire life up until the moment Wren told me she loved me. I may not be rich, but love is more precious than gold, and with Wren by my side, I’m a wealthy man.”

  “Love doesn’t put food on the table.”

  “Neither does hate, Mr. Irwin.”

  He blows out a long-winded sigh. “If you care about my daughter at all, you’ll go back to where you came from and never return.”

  I choke out a humorless laugh. “Not gonna happen.”

  “Every man has his price.”

  Holding my head high, I push from the chair and stand. “I can’t be bought. You can threaten me all you want, but I suggest you get used to this face because it’s going to be around a long time.”

  Anger floods my veins. I turn on my heel and stomp from the den as fast as I can. If I don’t get out of this house soon, I’m going to Hulk out and destroy everything in my path. “Thank you for dinner, Paula. It was delicious.”

  “You’re very welcome,” she replies with a stiff hug.

  Heavy footsteps beat down the hall.

  “We aren’t finished.” Wren’s father holds his growl in check, but the vein popping in the forehead tells a cautionary tale. “Wren, wake up. Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s only with you for what he can gain,” Mr. Irwin grunts as he continues his accusatory walk in my direction.

  “I don’t want anything from you,” I seethe. The rage inside me bubbles like lava, threatening to spill across the mahogany planks.

  He locks his hysterical stare on me. “And you’re not going to get anything from me. Not one penny. You’re a loser. A succubus taking my daughter down a path to destitution.”

  “I’m not a loser.” Squaring my shoulders, I storm to the door.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, Mom. Thanks,” Wren adds, chasing after me, but her father grabs her arm and snaps her back.

  “Wren, listen to me. If you walk out that door. If you go after him, don’t bother coming back.”

  A flush seeps up her cheeks like a lethal threat. She furrows her brows, her mouth falling in a frown. “I’m going, Dad,” she bites, wrenching her arm free. “I love him, and I’m going.”

  But Mr. Irwin jumps between us. “If this is what you want, you’re choosing him over us.”

  “Collin!” Paula interjects, but her husband doesn’t react.

  “You won’t get a dime from us. If you walk out of his house, you’re on your own.”

  The pain etched across Wren’s face tears me open. Her beloved father, the man whose approval she’s chased her entire life, has played his final card. It’s him or me, and he’s forcing her to choose.

  Blood rushes in my ears. Red streaks across my field of vision as I hold my breath and wait for her answer.

  She touches her stomach, holding her head high. “Fine. I understand,” she says in a low, even tone before stepping around him and sidling under my arm.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this,” I plead one last time in an effort to remedy this situation, but Mr. Irwin stands tall.

  “On your own,” he growls again, his dark eyes showing no signs of remorse. Only hate and prejudice as he stares me down with daggers in his gaze.

  “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Wren

  THE LIGHT FILTERING through my eyelids is a knife slicing into my skull. Tiny moans of sheer agony roll across my tongue. They sound like quarry blasts inside my head. I drape my arm over my closed eyelids in a futile attempt to gain some relief, but the pressure only serves to heighten the pain.

  It started at work. A low thud that slowly built into a jack hammer as time went on. My vision blurred. My pulse pounded in my temple with every heartbeat. White light surrounded everything in a dizzying aura. Outlines grew fuzzy, and nausea slammed into me like a Mack truck.

  I can’t believe I made it home.

  I’m cold. I’m hot. It hurts to be.

  The front door opens, but I don’t make a move as Jesse shuffles in the door. I hear his boots shuffle on the tile entryway, then stop abruptly. “Bird?” he mutters under his breath. “You okay?”

  Another meager whimper is all I can muster. He shucks his boots and pads across the room to kneel at the edge of the couch.

  “Morning sickness?”

  “Migraine.” The word leaks from my lips like a barely there rain, yet it echoes in my brain as if I’ve shouted.

  Jesse rests his palm on my shoulder. “Can you take anything for it?” The velvety timbre of his voice washes over me like a blanket of warmth. Deep and rich, with a low dulcet tone that soothes the throbbing ache inside.

  “Tylenol. Didn’t stay down long.”

  “Aww, babe.”

  I mumble some sort of response, but he’s already shifting to his feet. Soft footsteps move away, followed by the sound of rushing water. Too sick to be mortified, I lie like a slug and pray for death as Jesse cleans my puke off the bathroom tile.

  I left my uniform lying in a heap on the floor, my skin too sensitive for the thick polyester. I hear him start the washer and gently close the closet door to muffle the sound, but the violent spray of water doesn’t quit. It rushes through the house, the sound threatening to drown me where I lay.

  Then just as abruptly, it goes silent.

  Warm hands slide under my body and lift. The scents of laundry and spackle tickle my nose. I curl my face into Jesse’s neck, shielding my eyes from the light.

  “I got ya, Bird. Hold on to me,” he croons while he carries me away, but the destination isn’t the bed as I assumed.

  Wet heat swallows me whole. It soaks into my bra and panties as he sets me in the tub with a towel under my head and the blinds drawn shut. The only light comes from a candle sitting on the sink.

  A gasp hits my lungs as cold spreads across my forehead. I raise my hand to feel the chilled washcloth resting across my eyes.

  “How’s that?”

  “Better,” I mumble.

  He says nothing else, but I feel him beside me. When the compress grows warm, he cools it in the sink and brings it back. Again and again until the blinding pain wanes to a dull ache in the center of my forehead.

  When I adjust my seat, the compress falls into the lukewarm water with a plop. Flickering light illuminates Jesse’s strong profile in the darkened room. Long lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones. My eyes trace the line of his forehead and the straight slope of his nose, then roll over his succulent lips and angular jaw. He’s a beautiful man, flawed and fierce, yet perfect in his way.

  “You’re still here.”


  His profile disappears as he turns his head. “Of course. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He drapes over the edge of the tub, his fingers drifting into the water, and his chin resting on his forearm. “Are you warm enough?”

  “Yeah.”

  He reaches up to finger the damp tips of my hair. It glides between his fingertips as it waterfalls in a subtle wave back to my shoulder. “Anything else you need?”

  “Just keep talking to me like this. Your quiet voice is really soothing.”

  He grins against the glowing backdrop. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Anything.” I shrug, dropping my head to my fist. “You can recite the Gettysburg Address . . . the ‘I Have a Dream’ speech, perhaps.” A small smile is all I can muster.

  His sparkling eyes appear dark as they search my face. “Wait here.” He shuffles to his feet and disappears through the doorway. Yellow light filters in from the hall seconds later. “That too bright?” he calls quietly from the other room.

  Inside the tub, I’m still cloaked in darkness, but the shallow light adds an easy glow on the plain white tile. He comes to reclaim his seat beside me before I answer, “No.”

  He brings the candle to the floor, then thumbs through my library book to the chapter where I left off. The depth of his voice twines around me like silk. Slow and deliberate, he enunciates each syllable in a low, honeyed tone that drags me into the story.

  I close my eyes. I’ve never been read to. Not like this. Surrounded by the whisper of light competing with shadows and the cooling water kissing my skin, his voice is an erotic symphony to my ears. Every sensation heightens in the dark. Each turn of the page is another tug on my heart; the words slipping from his lips steal my breath. Through the malaise, he controls my body. It beats to the tempo of the prose rolling off his tongue, making me fall harder and deeper with every word uttered from his lips.

  I stay and listen long after my headache subsides and the tub turns cold. He glances my way as he finishes the chapter, allowing the pages to close around his thumb.

  “You still with me?”

  Reaching out, I sweep my fingertips over the rough stubble on his jaw. “Always.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Wren

  WATERCOLOR SHADES of pink and purple slash across the graying sky. I pull into the spot near my complex and step from my car with a sigh. My body feels like it’s about to give out. The Christmas Eve rush at The Grind was killer. Bodies flooded the tiny diner without end. After working a double shift, all I want to do is collapse on my bed.

  Pulling my coat tighter around me, I huddle into the collar for warmth as I scurry to my door, hoping my mom secretly got me that maternity coat I asked for for Christmas. At this point, I can barely raise the zipper over my stomach. I’m certain I hear the tiny teeth cry out for mercy.

  The space is dark as I enter, save for the twinkling lights on the tree. Red, blue, green, and white, thousands of colorful specks blinking against the alabaster corner of my living room, the scent of pine inviting me home.

  I kick my shoes off and drop my coat on the rack near the door. “Jesse?” I call, wandering through the small apartment, but the light from the spare room calls me in. Holiday music drifts from the space. I pad down the hall in my socks but stop before reaching the open doorway when a second voice floats from inside.

  Jesse’s out of tune warbling twists with George Michael as they each belt out the lyrics to “Last Christmas.” My smile stretches ear to ear. I stand for a beat, listening to the deep baritone of his voice, falling in love with him just a little bit more, but my curiosity gets the best of me.

  I peek around the doorframe, planning to croon the tune alongside him, but the sight of dancing monkeys steals my breath. Once crisp white, the walls are now a sweet, buttery yellow. A stately tree grows from the corner. Its bright green branches straining across the ceiling. And between the foliage and a hungry giraffe is Jesse.

  He mindlessly sings as he paints the dots on the animal’s elongated neck, taking great care to avoid the monkey riding its back.

  Mouth agape, I step farther inside. “Oh my God, Jesse!”

  He does a double take when he sees me. “You aren’t supposed to be home yet!” He jumps from the ladder and smacks the radio knob. The room goes silent, save for the sound of my heartbeat whooshing in my ears.

  “They closed early for the holiday.” Dumbstruck, I stand there like a moron, taking it all in. The animals, the leaves, and that incredible tree.

  But Jesse moves about the room like an excited child. “I thought we could put the crib here, under this limb, and the changing table over there so he can watch the monkeys as we get him dressed.”

  “You did all this today?”

  He stuffs his hands in his paint-smeared pockets, his shoulders coming up just a tad. He dips his head with a sheepish grin. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  I move toward the tree, my fingertips grazing the expert brushstrokes that look like bark. Every piece is jagged and old, its thick trunk appearing so lifelike I need to touch it. A heart-shaped carving catches my eye. The initials WI + JD etched inside. My fingers pass over it. Paint, just like everything else.

  “Are you surprised?” He scratches at the yellow streak that cuts across his jaw, a perfect complement to his bright blue eyes.

  “Surprised? Jesse, I’m flabbergasted!” Tears spill across my lashes. I tear my gaze away from the brilliant work of art and settle on the man who did it. “You amaze me.”

  He offers up a dismissive wave. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “No. It’s incredible. I’m blown away.”

  Jesse scoops me in arms with a smoldering grin, the crease across his nose dotting my skin with goose bumps. “Merry Christmas, Bird.”

  “Merry Christmas, baby.”

  He drops a kiss to my forehead. “I have something else for you,” he croons, walking me backward through the door.

  “Oh, yeah?” I match his smile with one of my own. “Does it include a hot shower and a sexy artist with no clothes on?”

  “Later.” His fingers travel down my arm and thread with mine. He pulls me into the living room and lowers us to the floor in front of the tree.

  My stomach flips. “I thought we agreed on no gifts?”

  The corner of his mouth curls in a wry, lopsided grin. “You agreed. I never said anything.”

  Miniature snowflakes dance across the small gift box in his hand. I take it and gingerly peel back the shiny paper, letting it fall off my lap as I pop open the lid and brush aside the layer of tissue. A sharp breath hits my lungs. Reaching in, I pull out the notebook as if it’s a priceless work of art.

  To me, it is.

  Delicate black lines curve along the cover. I trace them with my eyes. The intense stare, the furrowed brow, the subtle white highlighting across the slender face. My face. My laptop perched on my crisscrossed legs; my hair tied in a wild knot.

  “Don’t just follow your dreams. Chase them,” I mutter aloud, touching the words penned into the cover. The occasional doodle decorates the empty pages.

  A little bird, a tribal sun, a slice of pizza, a kid on a skateboard . . .

  I look up from the book and lock eyes with a set of blues that steal the words sitting on my tongue.

  “It’s not the new laptop I wanted to buy you, but I hope you like it anyway.”

  “I love it,” I tell him honestly.

  “Put your ideas in there, no matter how crazy. Even if you don’t think they’ll ever amount to anything, write them down anyway. There’s a story in you, Bird. I see you every night pounding on the keys, then deleting them the next morning. Stop going back. Write them all, and when you’re done, turn the page, and do it again.”

  The hope in his stare brings tears to my eyes. “Why do you do this to me? I’m far too hormonal for this.”

  He chuckles and moves my hands from my face. “I just want you to see what I see when I look at you.”

 
“And what’s that?”

  His gaze scans my tearstained face. “A brilliant writer who only has to stop doubting herself to flourish. The only person standing in your way is you.” He taps his finger in my forehead.

  “Well, this is going to seem silly now, by comparison.” I reach out and steal a wrapped gift from behind the tree and hold it out.

  “You cheated.”

  “You cheated first.”

  He brings it to his ear and lightly shakes the box. “I hope it’s that million dollars I asked for.”

  “Sorry. Guess again.”

  “Keys to a BMW?”

  “Just open it!” I order through a soggy mix of laughter and leftover emotion. Even when I’m crying, he knows how to make me smile.

  With bated breath, I watch as he tears it open and releases the album from inside. Pages and pages of glued in photos. Jesse in his pookah-shell necklace and tie-dyed shirt. Me in my torn-up jeans and sneakers. Snapshot images of the life we shared for so many years.

  “Wow,” he whispers. “Where did you get all these pictures?”

  I shrug. “I found a whole box at my parents’ house right before I moved out. I know it’s not a great gift or anything.”

  His gaze leaves the scrapbook and snaps to mine. “It’s a perfect gift. I love it.”

  A shy smile hits my lips. “You do?”

  “Yes. Come here.” He beckons me over with two paint-splattered fingers. I inch forward until I’m close enough for him to twine his arms around my neck. “Thank you,” he says before pressing his mouth to mine. “Now, how about that shower?” He rocks on his knees and stands before pulling me to my feet.

  Arousal tickles my spine and slithers up my legs, but a swift thump from deep inside pushes a gasp from my chest.