Marry Me Again: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  “And then the rest of our lives,” she adds, making me grin like a fool.

  It only takes me about a hundred seconds to get hard again. Moving my hand to her ass, I cup one cheek and squeeze, pulling her on top of me.

  Despite being as young and horny as I should be, I'm grateful for the two minute rest. It's plenty of time to imagine the better days to come.

  The day when she says, “I do.”

  The day when she's coming home with a degree in her hands, and we take one more anniversary trip to the Armitage Lighthouse, before we leave Split Harbor for her immersion school in France. By then, I'll have the money and success to live like a king with her in Paris, God willing.

  Then there's the day when we're coming home, buying a big house on the shore outside Marquette, the first of many kids quickening inside her.

  I want it all. I'm going to have the whole package after the hell I've suffered. Family means more to me than the average twenty year old because I've never seen it up close and personal until the Lilydales brought me into their lives. They've given me a taste of what a normal, loving family should be.

  It's ambrosia to a starving man, and I'm grabbing life by the balls as soon as she's off to Ann Arbor so I can drink my fill.

  I'll die before I let her down, or abandon everything I've worked for. It's been leading up to this moment since the day she slid in the oil at Bart's Auto.

  No more games. No delays. No reminders.

  Every day, every night, every single second she's wearing my ring and sharing my bed, I see what's ahead. I know what I need to do to make it happen.

  When I tangle her blond locks in my fingers again and take her lips with mine, I'm seeing through time and space, straight through our very souls. And damn, I like what I see.

  Starting tonight, our future couldn't be more perfect.

  One Week Later

  It's Labor Day, roughly a week later, and I'm working overtime for a VIP. Well, the closet thing we have to a Very Important Person at the only auto shop in this podunk town. Nelson Drayton brought his custom Porsche in for a rush job, buffing out a few scratches.

  The sun is shining, and I'm alone with the big door open, Cold Play pipes through our sound system, spilling their rich melodies into the garage. It's an awesome contrast to the chill beginning to fill the air, the infamous lake effect blowing in, as it always does the instant the calendar flips to September.

  Yesterday, I finished helping load Kara's things into a big white moving truck. She took off with her old man, heading for college, dreams spilling out every inch of her sweet smile. Some of them were mine, the dreams we shared, and they caused me to grin like a goddamned fool.

  Her and Bart got a late start on the road. Two days later than they should've thanks to us celebrating our engagement.

  Nobody minded the delay. Hearing her parents hammer us with thanks and throw sample wedding plans at us like rocks brought out the truth in the promise we'd made to each other.

  This is really happening. I'm about to be the happiest man on God's green Earth because I'm marrying her.

  Once we set a wedding date, happiness is in reach. Permanently.

  I'll do my damnedest to move down to Ann Arbor while she finishes school, finding work at another shop if my business doesn't spike by then.

  I'm buffing the rough lines out of the Porsche when I hear footsteps behind me. “This is taking all day, kid. Are you almost finished, or should I call Bart to do a man's job?”

  How this asshole got by for decades in local politics by being a total prick, I have no clue.

  He'd been out back alone for the past hour. Smoking his imported cigars like a fucking chimney since the second he rolled up, he threw me his keys, and told me to “hurry the hell up.” For a man in his seventies, freshly retired from public life, there's no humility.

  Seems like he's missing sympathy, empathy, and mercy, too.

  Nelson Drayton walks, talks, and breathes like he's been chewing the silver spoon his entire life. He's also bitter about something, and ready to take it out on anyone who doesn't drop to their knees to make his worries disappear.

  I do a slow turn, forcing my lips to form a smile so it doesn't look like I'm baring my teeth. “Five or ten more minutes, Mr. Drayton. That's all I need. I'll have her good as new in no time, we're just wrapping up now.”

  He wrinkles his nose. His weathered face sticks out of his suit, making him look ten years older than he truly is. Or maybe it just makes him look like he's been marinated in a high end whiskey barrel for several years and then run over by the pretentious car I'm working my ass off for.

  “If we're going to waste the entire evening, why don't you clean my interior too?” he says. It isn't really a question.

  I nod politely, anger churning in my guts when I see him put another big stogie between his lips and fish out his gold plated lighter. “Absolutely, sir. My pleasure. We have a rule about smoking in the garages,” I tell him, motioning to the safety sign on the wall, several feet from where he's standing.

  He doesn't say a word. Just looks at me, narrows his eyes, and brings a flame to his cigar, drawing in a long pull of rich tobacco before he turns.

  “I'll be back in an hour. You better be done with this shit by then.”

  I bite my tongue, grateful he's going for a walk. Last thing I need is the town's most entitled prick eyeballing me while I give his baby the sweetest skin she's had since the day she rolled off the lot.

  I'm serious. Bart wouldn't have called me in today over Mickey, Jack, and the other guys if I weren't the best. I put my pride, sweat, and soul into this because it's given me everything.

  No, I won't be a mechanic forever. It's good, honest work that's given me a whole hell of a lot, brought me my woman and introduced me to the Lilydales, the only folks who say they're family, and mean it.

  I grit my teeth while I lean over the car, moving my hands across its sleek body with precision. I'm going to be as rich as Nelson someday, and I'll never be a prick about it. I'll have earned it, and I'll be grateful, too happy and fulfilled to stomp around with the sour scowl permanently plastered to his face.

  It takes a little longer than I told him to finish the body work. Then I grab a vacuum and some polish for the leather seats, eager to wrap up this job.

  I want to get out of here, maybe lay down some code at home this evening for a few hours before Kara calls to tell me how she's settling into her dorm. Lately, I've been studying auto components, searching for opportunities in the only field I know.

  One minute, working on his car, the future seems like it can't get any brighter.

  In the years ahead, I'll wish like hell I never opened the Porsche's door, reached under the driver's seat, and ruined my life.

  Sweet, merciful Christ. If only I'd known what would happen as soon as I climbed in that car, I would have dropped my tools and ran, as far from this crazy town as my boots could carry me.

  If I hadn't found that bastard's dirty little secret, I never would've blown my life to shit.

  3

  Red on White (Kara)

  Ryan doesn't answer when I call him that night. He isn't responding to my texts either. He said daddy needed him for a special job today. It must be stressful, so I figure he's working late.

  No big deal. I'm busy setting everything up in my dorm room, making new friends with my roommates, eagerly prepping for my first week of classes.

  French V: Pre-Immersion is going to be my first official college class, bright and early in the morning. I've heard the professor likes to grill her students for fluency before she even passes out the syllabus. Joy.

  It's a beautiful evening, my first full one in town. After a few hours walking the little college bars and stores around campus, Split Harbor seems like it's a million miles away.

  I'm thankful for the last present Ryan gave me before we kissed for the last time and I climbed into the moving truck with daddy. The little silver locket clings to my neck, tuck
ed neatly between my breasts, his tiny smiling photo nestled inside.

  Every time something around school reminds me of him, I laugh and play with the necklace, gently warming it my palm. It's like he's right here with me. I'm grateful for that, knowing I'll get through anything the professors throw my way as long as I have a loving fiance to come home to.

  The next morning, before I head to class, I check my phone and see...nothing.

  Okay, things are getting a little weird. It's odd that he hasn't texted me yet.

  I go to class and survive my first real test from the French Professor.

  I'm not worried until I check the Split Harbor news site over lunch. Hell, I don't need to dig deep, because there's articles from my hometown media lighting up my college Facebook feed.

  Nelson Drayton Dead! Michigan Mourns Historic Industrialist, Mayor, and Philanthropist.

  The headline hits me between the eyes. It's shocking enough to know a living piece of history is gone, but the bigger jolt comes when my eyes search the details.

  My heart skips several beats. I try to remember what Ryan said about what he was doing yesterday.

  Didn't he say he was working on Nelson's car? Jesus.

  No, it's got to be a twisted coincidence. My stomach drops into an open pit when I scan through the articles, forcing myself to read the ugly truth. Every word makes me pull angrily on the little locket, twining the chain around my fingers.

  Violent murder. Foul play. One suspect.

  Three nightmare phrases so strange and out of place for Split Harbor they don't seem real. Neither do the next few sentences I read, the ones that make my hands shake so bad they cause me to drop my phone. A few students across from me lounging in the commons look up when it bangs on tile. I smile uneasily, reaching to pick it up.

  It's either smile at this point, or fall down to the ground and vomit.

  I don't want to read it a second time. But I need to take another look, just to make sure this isn't a fever dream.

  Bart's Auto is closed indefinitely while police examine the scene, the piece reads. No suspects have been publicly identified at this time, though Sheriff Dixon says this could change quickly. Another press conference will be held as soon as local law enforcement have finished investigating their only lead.

  Only lead. Fuck, only.

  Ryan, where are you?

  I want to curl up and die. There's no way he's responsible for this. None.

  Worse, I finally get why I haven't heard from him, my parents, or anybody else in town. Knowing the truth hurts.

  The urge to call them and scream, demanding answers, forces the phone to my ear. I try to ring Ryan about four times. It goes straight to his voice mail. My parents won't pick up either, no matter what number I try. I don't dare ring the auto shop while it's under lockdown.

  My evening classes are just a blur. The next time I check my phone, anxiously eating Ritz crackers with Sprite to ease the queasiness in my stomach, I see a message from Matt.

  Call me whenever you get this. It's serious.

  I'm grateful he's able to talk to me. He's in the middle of tactical training at some base in Pakistan, away from the combat zone he's normally stationed at near Kandahar. But seeing him write serious turns every vertebrae in my spine to ice cubes.

  I wait until I'm back in my dorm, done for the day, before I call. He picks up instantly, breathing heavily on the end of the line.

  “Kara?”

  “Thank God. Matt, what's going on? I saw the news.”

  “Then you know about Drayton and dad's garage.” He pauses, a brutal second so long it feels like it's going to make me suffocate. “Everybody's fine with them. I heard from mom this morning. Dad was just coming home from dropping you off when he got the call. Police told him to come to the shop right away. He's been with them all day, filling out forms and talking to investigators.”

  “Jesus.” My heart dives, relieved my parents are okay. It pulls back in my throat when I come to my next question. “What about Ryan?”

  “Kara...” This time, the pregnant pause after my name lasts so long it has triplets.

  There's bad news coming. I'm about to throw up all over my desk, but only after I realize how pissed I am.

  Enraged, actually, because I know he's hiding something. I'm won't stand being patronized.

  “Matt, just tell me what happened. Where is he? Is he okay?”

  “Kara...he's gone.”

  Gone? Just...gone?

  What the hell does that mean? I'm having visions of a serial killer storming into the garage, murdering Nelson Drayton with a chainsaw, and then coming after Ryan.

  “Don't tell me,” I whisper, the terror in my throat so thick and hot I can barely speak. “He's dead, isn't he?”

  “No. Not exactly,” Matt growls, pauses, and lets out a sigh. “Look, you had to hear it from somebody, and I'm the best one to deliver the news. Nobody's seen him since he left his apartment to go to work yesterday morning. A big storm blew in from the lake last night, flooded everything, and a couple boats disappeared. Right around the time they think Nelson was killed. They found one washed up near Marquette. The other's still missing.”

  “Wait!” I close my eyes, wishing I could will this insanity away. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. You're saying he stole a boat and skipped town? Just vanished the same day Drayton dies? Matt, I –“

  “Fuck. Sis, I'm not gonna pretend I know what you're feeling,” he says, anger and sympathy mingling in his tone. “You're a smart girl. You can put two and two together. You don't need me to tell you what everybody believes, word by word...right?”

  There's about five seconds before the time bomb inside me explodes. The full horror hits me, the sick realization I'm engaged to a man they think is a killer, and a thief.

  I'm gutted. My brain can't process why they're turning on Ryan like this, going along with the first insane possibility that explains what happened – the one I'll never believe in a million years.

  I'm on my feet, shaking and screaming into the speaker.

  “How can you even think that's what happened? Christ, how can mom or dad? He's your best friend, Matt.” I have to remember to breathe, or I'm going to pass out. “I don't know what happened, but Ryan isn't a fucking murderer!”

  “I don't know what he is anymore,” Matt says coldly. “Let's leave this to the experts. Shit, maybe I can take an emergency leave to come home for awhile, or something, if my CO allows it. I'm sorry you're starting school like this, sis. We were all wrong about him, so fucking wrong. Maybe it's been building up for years from whatever happened to him in those orphanages and foster homes. It's a goddamned shame, I get it. I just heard about the engagement yesterday.”

  I don't care what he's heard. I've had enough.

  My finger barely taps the key to end the call before I throw the phone on the floor. My roommate, Courtney, is an absolute angel when she comes home, and finds me curled up and rocking myself on the bottom bunk, face down in the pillow. She offers about a million things, trying to help. All I'll accept is time alone – and I think she's glad because I'm really creeping her out.

  I could care less about anyone's sympathy. I refuse to pity myself.

  I want Ryan to come home. I want this fixed. And I want to go back to the happy, hopeful future I left behind in Split Harbor, before what's left of my heart pulverizes into dust.

  Six Months Later

  I can't believe I'm home, instead of Paris.

  Can't believe I told mom to take my locket several weeks ago and hide it, destroy it, just get it away from me. My fingers still reach for the tiny piece of him that's no longer there.

  It's the same with grandmom's ring. It's back in her drawer, slowly collecting dust, buried like my dying heart.

  I never believed I could learn to hate a man I used to love – but I have.

  I'm sulking around the office, back in daddy's shop, feeling more like a failure than ever today. It isn't like there's much else to do
. Business hasn't been great since we turned into the place where a hometown hero died under mysterious circumstances.

  “Pack it in for the evening, peanut.” I don't even hear my father come in until he speaks. His reassuring hand comes down on my shoulder. “The boys went home early, and we'd might as well follow them. Not a lot of work going on with a winter this mild.”

  “Don't call me peanut. How many times do I have to ask?” I spin around in my chair, giving him a savage look.

  Of course, I'm instantly reminded what a bitch I am when I see the smile on his face melt away. I'll never understand how he can be so positive after we've lost so much.

  It isn't the mild winter that's reduced our usual lineup of body work, oil changes, and frozen starters. It's people's willingness to drive the extra twenty miles into Marquette. They'd rather have their vehicles towed there than deal with the outcasts running this tomb. They act like Nelson's ghost is going to come through the walls and howl in their faces for patronizing the place where he died.

  “No rush, Kara,” daddy says softly. “Take as much time as you need. I'll be out front, warming up the truck.”

  I drag my feet, sitting at the greasy computer, trying not to cry. It's taken hours to organize the week's meager receipts – work I used to fly through just a couple years ago.

  I'm trying not to cry. It's never done me any good, and more tears aren't going to make my issues disappear now.

  Outside, through the open door, I hear him coughing. Daddy's been trying to shake a nasty cold or something for the better part of the month, one more thing our family doesn't need after karma went scorched Earth on us.

  It's times like this when I wish Ryan could see us, wherever he is. I want him to see what he's done to our business, to daddy, to me. I can't remember the last time I rolled over the possibilities in my mind, thinking he's innocent, imagining the terrible ways he could've gotten himself mixed up in killing Nelson Drayton without actually pulling the trigger.