Second
by Chantal Fernando
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Epilogue
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CHANTAL FERNANDO
Published September 2016
Cover design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs
Edited by Hot Tree Editing
SECOND is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Please do not take offense to the content, as it is FICTION.
Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders, The authors acknowledges the trademarked status in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Copyright © 2016 Chantal Fernando
All rights reserved.
Dedication
To the FMR Book Grind team:
Thank you so much for everything you do for me! I appreciate each and every one of you so much. And Rose—you know you’re stuck with me forever, right? Love you.
Acknowledgements
A big thank you to Arijana Karcic at Cover It! Designs for your amazing talent and friendship. I kind of love you. You’re seriously the best.
To Rose Tawil—Thank you so much for everything. I wouldn’t be able to function without you! You are one of the best souls I’ve ever come across.
My beta readers Leeann Wright and Kara Brown—thank you so much for your help. I appreciate you both!
Hot Tree Editing—Thank you for being so wonderful to work with.
To my bestie Natalie Ram—Thank you for being the ultimate proof reader, and helping me whenever I need it, even though you’re super busy being your own girl boss. Love you, Mami.
To my family—my parents, my sisters and my sons—I love you all.
To my readers—I hope you love this book as much as I did writing it.
“One's first love is always perfect until one meets one's second love”
―Elizabeth Aston
Prologue
I glance around the reception, smiling and hugging everyone who comes near me. While I never expected to get married so young, and to my first boyfriend, I don’t think I could be happier.
“You look beautiful, Sabina,” Dean says as he approaches, green eyes soft on me.
“Thank you, Dean,” I say, smiling and touching his forearm. I feel beautiful in my lace gown, as every bride should on her wedding. “You were amazing up there.”
I look to the stage where he’d just performed, singing on my special day. He just got signed, and is about to make it big. I know it. I feel it in my gut. Dean’s talent is something else, and he deserves to be up amongst the big names in the industry. I asked him to sing John Legend “All of me” and the way he sung it was amazing, filled with so much emotion.
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Is everything okay?” I ask him, watching as he brings his glass to his lips and takes a sip.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
I glance over at my group of bridesmaids, all sitting together at a table. “I think they’re all hoping you take one of them home tonight.”
He glances at them, suddenly looking extremely uncomfortable, then downs the rest of his glass. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Saving it for the celebrities, hey?” I tease, playfully nudging him with my elbow. Dean was known in high school for being a bit of a ladies man, and I never let him live it down. “I’m going to miss you, you know.”
“I’ll miss you too, Sabina,” he says, ducking his head. He looks into his empty glass.
“Do you want a refill? I think I’m going to have a drink, too.”
He lifts his head. “What do you want? I’ll go and get it for you.”
I smile and say, “A vodka orange, please.”
His lip twitches. “No champagne?”
“I’m not fancy,” I tell him, making him laugh.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, heading for the bar.
I glance across the room at Ben, who is dancing with his mother. They always say that the way a man treats his mum is how he’ll treat you, and if that’s true, I think I’m going to be a lucky woman indeed.
Dean returns to my side and hands me my glass. “Thanks.”
“Since the groom is occupied,” he says, offering me his hand. “Would you like to dance with me?”
I take a mouthful of vodka then put my glass down on the table, offering him my hand. “I’d love to.”
He grins and does the same, putting his drink down then taking my hand and leading me to the dance floor. As we move slowly to the music, I ask, “So when do you leave?”
“Next week,” he rumbles, clearing his throat. “How is uni going?”
I’m about to reply when Ben cuts in, smiling at his cousin and slapping him on the shoulder. Dean congratulates him, glancing at me once more before reclaiming his drink and heading back to the bar.
“Hello, husband,” I say to Ben, smiling widely.
“Wife,” he says, kissing my lips softly. “I can’t wait to rip this dress off you.”
I smirk at him. “Don’t think I’m easy now just because we’re married.”
Ben throws his head back and laughs. “I won’t make that mistake, Bina.”
We dance to two songs, then I head to the bar for another drink, since mine seemed to have gone missing.
Dean is still there, now doing shots.
“Hey, how are you doing?” I ask him, eyebrows rising in amusement.
He cuts his eyes at me, then looks away, licking his lips. “Do you believe in fate, Sabina?”
I sit down on the stool and consider his question. “I think you make your own fate. Why?”
“No reason,” he murmurs, ordering another drink.
He soon gets cut off from the bar, and Ben escorts him to his hotel room to make sure he gets into bed safely, while I say goodbye and thank you as everyone starts to leave.
When Ben returns, he picks me up in his arms, and looks into my eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Ben.”
I don’t want this moment to end.
C
hapter One
Four Years Later
I feel a hand on my shoulder, but I don’t acknowledge it. He’s dead. Gone. I don’t know how I’m meant to process this. I look at his gravestone and feel numb. Everyone is watching me. Waiting for me to break down and cry, maybe, but all I’m doing is sitting here with a blank expression on my face. Never did I think I’d become a widow at the tender age of twenty-four, but here I am with my husband six feet under.
“Hey, how are you holding up?” someone asks me from my right. I wish they’d leave me alone. It would make my life much easier; can’t they see that I don’t want to talk right now? I don’t want to do anything, I just want to sit here and feel sorry for myself, wondering how exactly I’m meant to handle the loss of the one and only man I’ve ever been with. Sure, our relationship was far from perfect, but Ben was my husband, the only man I’ve ever loved. I absently rub below my collarbone with my palm, wondering how long it will take for the tightness in my chest to subside. Maybe it’s just going to be something I’m going to have to live with forever. When they say time heals all, does that include having someone ripped out of your life by a car accident? I don’t know, but I guess I’ll find out. Why did he get behind the wheel instead of calling me to pick him up? How could he have been so stupid to drink drive? I mumble my thanks to everyone who approaches me, offering me their apologies and their sympathy, but I’m still standing at the gravestone, alone, long after everyone leaves. My best friend Tara wanted to stay, but I told her that I wanted to be alone with him for a little while, without the crowd of people. I feel like walking away from here means walking away from Ben, even though he’s the one who has left me. I touch the cold stone, running my fingers along it.
“I guess this is it, Ben,” I whisper, licking my dry lips. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to say goodbye to you, so maybe I won’t. I’ll still come and visit you. I’ll still love you, and I’ll still think of you. I’ll always have our memories.” I close my eyes and picture his face. Flashbacks hit me. The day we first made love. When he proposed. When we got married. The day we bought our first house together and moved in. He’s been the biggest part of my life, and now I don’t know how I’m meant to move forward. When loving and being with a certain person is all you know, all you want, what do you do when that person is taken away? How do you mourn and try and live at the same time? I can’t imagine my life without him. I don’t know how to live without him. Where do I go from here? He has always been my one constant. The person I turned to. My anchor. I’m adrift without him.
How do I survive this?
I remove my hand and use it to wipe the tears dripping down my cheeks. When I hear a deep voice say my name from behind me, I turn and look into familiar green eyes.
“Dean,” I say, eyes widening. I try and force a smile but fail. “You made it.”
“Course I did,” he murmurs, giving me a quick once-over, then closing the space between us and pulling me into his arms. “Fuck, Sabina. I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t mean anything, or change anything… but I’m so fucking sorry.”
For the first time since I heard the news that my husband was dead, I allow myself to cry properly. Why I break down now, in front of him, I don’t know, but it’s like with his strength here I finally don’t have to rely on my own. Maybe it’s because he said exactly what I needed to hear. As I sob into his leather jacket, the pain seeps through my pores. Dean rubs my back patiently, letting me have my moment of weakness. I’m not usually a crier. I’m the type who bottles emotions until I’m about to explode. I don’t really know how to process them well, and Dean probably will never know how big of a deal it is that he’s seeing me cry right now.
I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. I cry, and he lets me.
That’s all that matters.
It’s the best thing someone can do for me right now.
*****
I rub my eyes, groaning as the light turns on in what was my pitch-black bedroom. “What?” I snap, rolling over and burying my face into my pillow. I can’t remember the last time I left my room, and I don’t even want to talk about the last time I had a shower. All I’ve done in the last month is stay in bed in my pyjamas, listening to sad music playing on repeat. I created a Ben playlist and each song on it makes me slip further into depression, but I feel like I need this. I deserve this after the hell I’ve gone through. I need to mourn, and I get to choose which way I want to do that. I know that everyone grieves differently. My best friend, Tara, has been here trying to get me out of bed several times, and I know she’s worried about me, but right now, I just want to be alone. I don’t want to feel better. The pain is all I have right now, and it’s comforting me. It’s making me feel, and I’d rather that than feeling nothing at all. I just need some time, and I wish that they’d give me that, instead of coming to my room every day, trying to cheer me up. I don’t want to be rude to them, but I just lost my husband. How do they expect me to bounce back from that? There will be no bouncing. Just sleeping, listening to Babyface, Ed Sheeran, Sam Smith, and James Morrison, and wondering why this had to happen to me.
“I made you some soup,” a deep voice says, getting a reaction out of me for the first time in days.
I turn to look at Dean, standing there in my bedroom holding a bowl in his hands. “What are you doing here?”
I haven’t seen him since the funeral. He drove me home, helped me get into bed, and then disappeared. I assumed he went back on tour; I know he’s a busy man. He can’t exactly disappoint his fans no matter what the emergency is, which is why I wasn’t upset by his sudden disappearance. Plus, he owes me nothing. I was his cousin’s wife, and that’s it. Sure, we’ve spent time together over the years as a family, and I know him well enough, but we’re not super close. In fact, he’s never even been inside my house before, so why the hell is he here now?
“And how did you get in?”
“Tara let me in,” he says, placing the bowl down gently on the side table next to my bed. “She said you haven’t been eating, haven’t even left your room.” His knees hit the cream carpet as he looks over me. Pushing my hair off my face, he murmurs, “Eat, Sabina, now. I won’t leave the room until you do.”
I narrow my hazel eyes on him. “Why are you here, Dean?”
He looks away for a moment, then says, “He was my family too, Sabina.”
All the anger instantly fades away. I’m not the only one mourning Ben, and I shouldn’t act like I am. The whole world doesn’t revolve around me. Ben had lots of people in his life who cared about him. I sit up and take the bowl of soup in my hands, lifting the spoon and scooping a mouthful. He watches me intently, staying silent the whole time as I eat. When I get halfway and can’t possibly have any more, I put the bowl down. He nods, as if satisfied.
“Aren’t you meant to be on tour?” I ask him, knowing that his music is his life.
“Family comes first,” is his reply as he stands, walks to the windows, and opens the curtains. I wince as the bright sun hits me harder than the overhead light did. “It’s a beautiful day outside.”
“Good for everyone else,” I mumble, pulling my sheet up further. “Where is Tara?”
“She had to go to work,” Dean explains, sitting down on the corner of my bed. “Are you going to get up?”
“No,” I say, looking out the window. “I have two months off work, so I don’t see why I have to. I just want to stay in bed.”
“And what? Listen to depressing music and feel sorry for yourself?”
“Is that so bad?” I fire back, running my hands through my tangled hair. I must look like total crap, while he stands there in jeans and a black t-shirt, his hair falling over his forehead like he just came here from a photo shoot. Hell, maybe he did. “How long are you going to stay for?”
“A couple of days,” he says, green eyes darting around my room. “And no, it’s not so bad, but your month of feeling sorry for yourself ends now.” His eyes lock with mine. “You have every right
to feel what you’re feeling, but life goes on. You need to push through. The pain might not leave you, ever, but I can promise you that it will fade in time.”
I purse my lips. “Are you going to write a song about this now?”
Maybe he should. His lyrics are always amazing. I’m sure he can express what I’m feeling way better than I can. He’ll turn it into art.
His lip twitches, and his head shakes. “What am I going to write about? A pretty girl who hasn’t showered in days?”
“Hey,” I say, lifting my arm up and smelling myself. “I smell just fine.”
He lifts a brow in an “are you kidding me” kind of way, which makes me want to throw a pillow at him. “Under the circumstances, I get a fucking pass.”
“A shower pass?” he asks, amusement flashing in his eyes. “No one gets a hygiene pass, Sabina, no matter what happens. Now get your ass in the shower. I’m going to burn those sheets while you’re in there.” When I don’t move, he adds, “Don’t make me carry you in there, because I’ll do it.”
I get out of bed and walk into my bathroom, slamming the door behind me for effect.
I turn on the hot water, undress, and then step into the shower.
It feels amazing.
Not that I’d admit that.
Chapter Two
“It’s only been a month,” I growl, storming through the kitchen, cleaning up as I go. “Can you get off my arse?”
He’s been here just a few hours, and I already want to murder him. I didn’t realise how messy my house had gotten, although I don’t know how considering I haven’t even left my room. Actually, I do. Tara’s the only other person who has been here, and she’s a little on the messy side, and that’s putting it politely. Cursing her under my breath, I wipe down the countertop while Dean watches, beer in hand, from the dining table. Even though I’m not in the best of moods, I get the feeling that he’s happy I’m out of bed and doing things. It’s like I can actually feel his silent approval. He doesn’t offer to help, just watches my movements as I try and sort my life out after a month of being out of it.
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