Second Chance

by Willow Winters

  She wrinkles her nose and says, “I don’t like it when you do that.”

  “Do what?” I ask her.

  “When you call me Harlow.”

  “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know. It just sounds weird with you saying it,” she answers me, continuing to follow me as I walk past two groups of kids that are clogging up the entrance to the school. I walk down three steps and although I felt her hold onto my backpack as I shifted through the people, I don’t feel her anymore. I almost spin around to see if she’s still with me, but the second I cave into temptation, I feel her soft hand brush against mine. It’s like a spark of heat, a stroke of warmth and recognition flowing through me. I have to grip the straps at my shoulders to keep from taking her hand in mine.

  My eyes narrow as I take in her words as the crowd slowly dissipates, walking toward the school buses lined up in rows. I don’t get on mine and neither does she. She’s so different. She’s an odd girl, beautiful and naïve, but also alarmingly raw and genuine.

  The sun’s hotter than I thought it’d be; I’m already sweating, so I stop on the edge of the sidewalk that lines the asphalt road to the school to take off my t-shirt, displaying the plain white undershirt beneath. My eyes never leave her face though. I see how she looks at me and I love it.

  “I saw you like playing cards,” she says and tears her eyes away. Licking her lips, she starts walking again as I pick up my bookbag.

  “Is that right?” I ask her. I bet she doesn’t know shit about cards. I could teach her though.

  “You were playing poker in free period.” She’s not in my free period. I give her a side-eye and it makes her blush. She’s caught red-handed, but that doesn’t make her miss a beat in her stride. My steps slow as we round Second Street. The turning point between my way home and hers.

  “You gotta go home.” I almost say her name, but I don’t. I hate how it makes her flinch, but I do love the way it feels on my tongue.

  “I can go where I want to,” she bites back and looks up at me with a sharpness I didn’t see coming.

  I can tell her she doesn’t belong down here, but she already knows.

  I can tell her I don’t want to walk with her, but that’s a lie and I’m not sure she really gives a shit.

  I can tell her I want her to come back to my room and I’ll teach her how to play. But that’s just taking advantage of the sweet little thing she is. Isn’t it?

  “You just won’t quit, will you?” I ask her.

  A trace of a smile plays at her lips and then she slowly shakes her head, making her backpack sway along with her dirty blonde hair. “Nope.”

  My head shakes in frustration as I look back down my street. The city’s on a hill and the top, where we are now, isn’t so bad. There’s a nice park nearby and up the street are some pretty rich housing areas. But the closer you get to the bottom, to where the houses for the steel mill workers were first built, the houses aren’t the nicest, to say the least. That’s where I live. It’s littered with five-and-dimes and liquor stores. And nothing else but where we live.

  And I don’t want her there.

  The shame is something I didn’t expect.

  “Ha—Hally,” I give her a nickname on the spot. “Let’s go this way,” I tell her and splay my hand on her lower back, sliding it under her bookbag. At first, she looks like she’s going to protest, but she accepts it.

  She likes my hand on her. She likes the nickname I gave her. She likes me.

  There’s no cure for the sickness she gave me that day by letting me lead her away from where I grew up. If she’d listened to me, who knows where we’d be now. But Hally doesn’t listen and as much as she pushed me, I pushed her right back.

  * * *

  Knock! Knock! Knock! The obnoxious sound of repeated banging on my door pulls me back into the present.

  It pisses me off more than anything else.

  The door opens quickly, hurriedly, but I stay still in my seat, grinding my teeth with frustration. I watch as Julie opens the door, allowing the sounds of the set to flood into the small room before closing it quickly behind her.

  She doesn’t wait for me to turn around. She doesn’t wait for shit before saying, “Please tell me you aren’t doing it on purpose?” It’s not a question though.

  “Hello to you too,” I say as I turn in my seat to face her. I feel wound tightly, the memory begging me to come back to it.

  “I’m doing my best to believe that you aren’t completely sabotaging my role, but what happened today is complete horseshit, Hart.”

  A rough sigh leaves me as I run a hand through my hair and look at the mini fridge rather than at her. I already feel like shit, but the worst part is that I just can’t bring myself to care about the production. It makes me a dick, but again, I just don’t care.

  “You’re going to get fired--or worse, get me fired,” she says and it irritates me. “Don’t think I don’t know that you were the first choice. Stevens has a hardon for you but I’m replaceable. I’m not naïve, Nathan. If you wanted a different costar all you had to do was say so, but now we’re in production and it’s known that I’m on this project.”

  “You’re fine, Jules. No one’s firing you,” I tell her as I stand up to go to the door and let her out. I’m not interested in this shit.

  “I swear to God if you fuck me, I will fuck you back ten times harder.” It’s hard to look at her with a straight face. She’s angry, rightfully so. I’m not in the game, but none of this is about her and I don’t have time for this shit.

  “I have plenty of respect for you, Jules, and I can promise you I am not trying to … fuck you.” It’s awkward even saying that to her.

  “You need to get into the role,” Jules says, her tone completely changed. “Whatever needs to happen,” she says with a lack of conviction. “Whatever, just let me know how I can help you,” she says and her eyes flicker to the floor and then back to mine.

  “Nothing,” I tell her before she’s even finished speaking. “I’ll get it right; I’m just not focused.” I need to talk to Hally. I need to settle this thing between us. Whatever the hell it is.

  “Do you need help …” she starts in again, and I’m quick to shut it down.

  “No.”

  “And what about that girl?”

  My body tenses and I hesitate to answer, but say, “What girl?”

  Julie’s eyes roll as she puts her hands on her hips. “Don’t give me that shit.”

  I let the anger simmer, not knowing what to say, but I settle on the truth. The bare truth. “She’s just someone I used to know,” I answer her.

  She opens her mouth to give me her opinion or something, I don’t know what, but I don’t care to hear what she has to say. “I need to be alone right now,” I say curtly. I’m basically telling her to get out.

  The anger comes back in response to my cold return as she snaps, “Well get it together, Hart. I don’t have time for this and I’m not going to be humiliated because you can’t play a role.”

  The sound of the door slamming barely registers as I sit down on the bed and think about what I’m going to say to her.

  The first question that comes to my mind is: What is there left to say?

  And that answer is easy: Everything.

  * * *

  September 30

  * * *

  “Tell me what’s wrong?” she keeps asking me over and over like she thinks I’m hiding something. If this is what being together entails, I’m good on my own. I don’t have to tell her what a shitbag my mother’s boyfriend is, or that we can’t afford rent this month because he wiped out my mom’s bank account. I don’t have to, and I won’t.

  “I told you,” I say as I slam the locker door shut and then face her. The wounded look in her eyes makes my anger wane. My words stay in the back of my throat, suffocating me as she visibly swallows.

  “I just want to know,” she tells me softly as her doe eyes gloss over
.

  I run a hand down my face and let out a sigh as I clench my fists and lean my forearms against the cold metal of the locker. I can almost see my reflection in it. Almost, but I can’t. I can see hers though. The way she looks at me like she’s hurt.

  “Is it because I told my friends you’re my boyfriend?” she asks me and then pushes the strap to her bookbag higher up on her shoulder.

  If only it was that easy. The thought makes the corner of my lip twitch up into a smile as I turn back to her.

  It’s stupid. Holding her hand and putting a label on us. I don’t get it. Anyone who looks at the two of us knows we’re not going to work out. So why put a title on it? Why fuss over the details of something that isn’t going to last?

  “It’s not that,” I tell her simply and she looks back at me like she doesn’t believe me. I’m on the verge of telling her. Of confessing. It’d be a relief to just tell someone, but not her. I don’t want her to know.

  “So, you’re my boyfriend then?” she asks me, cocking a brow.

  Fucking hell. I give in. “Sure,” I tell her with a forced smile and she kicks me in the shin.

  “Ow!” I mock yell at her and smile. “Yes, I’m your boyfriend,” I say jokingly.

  “Thank you, Nathan,” Hally says sweetly, getting onto her tiptoes to wrap her arms around me. She does it so easily. Like she doesn’t see everyone watching. And if she does, she doesn’t care. I keep my arms down, careful not to hug her back, but then it all changes. So suddenly, I almost don’t realize what she’s done.

  She plants a soft kiss on my neck. It’s wet, just a little, but it’s the sound and the way that her hair brushes against my chin that make me wrap my arms around her waist. She does it again on my jawline. A small kiss and I find myself tilting my chin down and hoping for one on the lips, but she doesn’t give it to me.

  Instead, she rests flat on her feet and then smiles as her cheeks turn bright red. Before I can even utter a word, she grabs my hand and says, “Good. I can tell you need me to be your girlfriend.” With a nod, she starts walking and I follow behind her.

  That’s the power she holds over me, but she wasn’t prepared for the harsh reality of what being my girlfriend meant.

  Neither of us were.

  Chapter 8

  Harlow

  * * *

  This is exactly what I needed, I think as my shoes click against the floor to the dressing rooms by Stage Three. My body is on fire with anger. And embarrassment, but I push that aspect aside. The anger is so much easier to hold onto. It fuels me to keep walking with purposeful strides.

  So many people turn to look at me as I storm up to his room, but I don’t give a single one of them any attention. They don’t know a damn thing other than the whispers going around the set.

  Everyone saw the way Nathan looked at me, as if he was silently accusing me for his shitty acting. And they all heard what Julie said and the implications.

  It is not my fault that Nathan isn’t focused.

  To top it off, Lydia let me know the “he said, she said” that’s going around now: Nathan told Julie you’re a former flame and it’s a problem you’re here at all.

  I haven’t had a soul even start a conversation with me before last night. Yet nearly a dozen people have come up to prod me about my relationship with Nathan. I get this anxious feeling in my gut every time … like he’s talking shit about me or trying to get me fired.

  And I’m not going to stand for this.

  My knuckles are white by the time I raise my hand to his door, but before I can get any satisfaction out by pounding my fist against it, the door swings open.

  At first, Nathan’s surprised, simply because someone happened to be right there when he opened the door. I’m a bit taken aback as well. But then recognition dawns on him and his eyes narrow. I don’t give him a chance to turn me away. I walk right in, brushing against his hard, hot body, ignoring how the heat races through me from just that little touch. My hair sways against my shoulders as I turn around to face him. I’m rocking back and forth from foot to foot slightly as the urge to fight wanes little by little.

  I hold on to the fire, clenching my teeth, and focusing on exactly how I was going to start.

  His motions are slow, deliberately so. He takes his time closing the door, even taking a moment to glance out and see who’s watching. My self-consciousness gets the best of me for only a second. Maybe a split second. Until the door closes, leaving us alone and I remember exactly what happened.

  “What’s going on?” I ask him evenly, although I’m sure he can tell I’m pissed. “You can ignore me all you want, but fucking up your takes and blaming it on me is not okay.” My throat feels hoarse as I finally get the words out.

  His brow rises slightly and he cracks his neck to the left, seemingly unaffected. Bastard.

  “I didn’t come to the set to disturb you or,” I raise my hands in the air dramatically, “or throw you off your game.”

  He’s quiet. He’s always done this to me. He leaves me to be the one to carry the conversation. He likes to see me squirm, but I’m not willing to play his game right now.

  “I didn’t even know you’d seen me!” I screech and the rawness of my voice hurts my throat as the words escape.

  Nathan stands there, so much taller than me, muscular and brooding in a way that should intimidate me. Maybe even threaten me, but all it does is make me angry.

  He wanted to hurt me.

  My teeth grind against one another as I take two steps forward and shove my palms against him. His muscles are firm and unmoving; the shove doesn’t make his hard body move in the least. But it provokes him. It accomplishes exactly what I knew it would.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, looking down at me as his body sways with the need to move. His feet are solidly planted though. He’s only giving me the tiniest bit. And it hurts.

  “I didn’t know you’d be here,” I say and my throat closes. My fight is practically gone.

  I loved him. He’s the first man I loved. My first in every way.

  “I find it hard to believe,” he says.

  “Fuck you,” I spit at him and take half a step back. “If I wanted to see you …” I start to say, but he interrupts me.

  “You’d have come days ago. I know.” His eyes heat and his expression morphs from disinterest to pissed off. “Yet you didn’t, and now you’re here. Why is that?”

  He’s angry I didn’t come see him? He’s got to be kidding me.

  “You knew I was here. Didn’t you?”

  His eyes flash, and he tries to play it off but I saw.

  “This isn’t on me. This is on you,” I say and push my pointer finger into his chest. “You’re the one who ended it and said to stay away.” You’re the one who left me when I needed you. The memory comes back and I practically choke on the words. “This is on you,” I repeat and try to make the words come out strong, but I’ve never sounded so weak in my life. I’m back to being the frightened girl I was that night. Left alone and abandoned and with no one to help me.

  I hate what he does to me. I hate how much I crave it too. He’s silent and that’s what makes me shove him again.

  It destroys his last bit of restraint.

  “Is this what you wanted, Harlow?” he says as he lowers his head and closes the space between us, grabbing my hips and pushing me backward. If I wanted to, I could let him do it. I could let him push me onto the bed. But I don’t. I smack his hands away, my heart racing wildly. Yes, it’s what I want. But he’ll never know that. I won’t let him know what he does to me.

  “Why are you such a dick?” I sneer at him. “I didn’t do shit to you,” I tell him as tears prick my eyes. I won’t cry though, I never do. I just bury things deep down, right where the memories of us belong.

  His brows raise in feigned shock. Me?” he asks, pointing to his chest. “What the hell did I do to deserve that, Harlow?”

  It shouldn’t get to me like it does. I pictured
this happening in so many ways. I didn’t think he’d still hate me though. I thought maybe time would ease some of the tension, but it’s so raw and right in front of us. It won’t be ignored.

  “You told me to stay away and I did,” I tell him.

  “But now you’re back.”

  “Some would say you’re back.”

  “So, now I need to stay away from the entire East Coast?” he says sarcastically, decreasing the space between us by taking another large step. It’s not lost on me that I’m nearly backed into a corner. And that’s exactly how I feel.

  All because of one night that I so desperately wish I could take back.

  “It’s been ten years, Nathan.” There’s a softness in my voice I didn’t intend to have. “I wish I could change the past. Even if you hate me, could you just …”

  I can’t finish, although I want to. I want to plead with him and try to get on some neutral ground. But he beats me to it and silences me in a way I can’t refuse.

  He crashes his lips against mine and it’s more than I can bear. My body goes weak, each nerve ending on fire and acutely aware of the heat of his body. His hands travel down to my waist, his blunt fingernails scraping against my skin and making my back arch.

  I’m breathless when he pulls away, a flurry of emotions consuming me and taking me back to when I was his and he could make everything better.

  “Hally,” he whispers in the space between our lips, his hot breath overwhelming me, leaving my head spinning with nothing but want and gratitude. My fingernails run up his shirt along his back, up to his broad shoulders. It’s like I’m home. His warmth, his touch, the reverence when he says my name.

  I hold onto him with everything I have, holding him close to me like I wanted to do that night. And he does the same. Soothing me and cradling my body against his.

  This is crazy. We’re crazy. I guess some things don’t change.