Chance Encounters

by Jessica Prince

  She picked up the orange juice bottle, then proceeded to gulp down the entire contents. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she pointed at mine in question, so I pushed it in her direction. Once the second bottle was a quarter of the way empty, she finally started talking.

  “My mom is… not a nice person.”

  My stomach plummeted, more because of the look on her face when she said it than because of the words themselves. “What do you mean?”

  She cringed, unable to meet my eyes as she continued. “I mean… she’s kind of… well, not even kind of. She’s terrible. And I didn’t want you to meet her because I didn’t want you to think I was anything like her. Because I’m not! I’m nothing like her. She’s awful. Awful. But I didn’t want to take that chance because I like how you look at me and I didn’t want that to change, and—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I gave her arm a gentle squeeze, trying to get her attention and stop her nervous rambling. “Hey, calm down. Just relax. Breathe, honey.”

  She instantly stopped, her pulse beneath my thumb steadily beginning to settle. Something unfamiliar flittered across her eyes as she murmured, “I really like it when you call me that.”

  Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, I knew she hadn’t meant to say them out loud. But my body physically reacted to her soft melodic voice, my cock straining again the zipper of my jeans as my chest tightened, there was no way in hell was I letting her hide from her comment.

  When she tried to pull her hand from mine, I held tight, hunching low to keep eye contact. “And I love that you like that, sweetheart,” I said just as softly, clearly surprising her. “You deserve to feel special.”

  “Oh crap,” she grumbled. “I didn’t dream that, did I? I really said that to you last night?”

  “You did,” I told her with a pleased grin. “And I mean what I said. You deserve to feel that from someone.”

  “It’s a nice feeling. I haven’t had a lot of that in my life,” she said quietly. I realized she was beginning to open up to me about her past, and it warmed me from the inside out, even as the realization that she’d struggled even a day in her life killed me.

  “Tell me about it.” I tried to speak soothingly, but I knew the insistency in my voice came through.

  She inhaled through her nose and slowly blew it out through her plumped, puckered lips before starting. “My dad took off when I was five years old.” Sadness crept into her expression and tone as she told her story. “It’s not like I blame him, really. When I said my mom was terrible, I wasn’t kidding. He just couldn’t take it anymore. But the thing that hurt the most was the fact that, when he left her behind, he left me too. He never tried to reach out to me.” A slightly bitter laugh erupted from her throat. “I mean, I was only five. You’d think he’d want to see his daughter grow up, right? But obviously not.”

  Christ, I’d never had a woman’s emotions affect me so strongly in my life. She was visibly hurting, and my entire being physically ached to comfort her. The feelings that I’d started to feel for her were so much stronger than I’d initially thought, because if I could go back in time and beat her father to a bloody pulp, I gladly would.

  “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression,” she stated. “There are a lot of kids out there who had it worse off than I did. I mean, it wasn’t like my mom hit me or anything. She was just really unpleasant to be around. And… like I said, not very nice. So I learned that just staying quiet was the better alternative. If I didn’t talk much, then it was less likely I’d be noticed. But that didn’t necessarily make it easy for me to make friends.”

  “But you had Constance,” I indicated hopefully, wanting to confirm that she at least had someone.

  “Oh, I did!” She finally graced me with a sunny smile, and I felt some of the tension coiled tight in my gut loosen. “And I was so thankful for her! She was my only friend.” Then she did something that surprised the hell out of me. As if she needed to strengthen our connection, her hand turned beneath mine and she intertwined our fingers, the soft skin on her palm brushing against the roughness of mine.

  “I know it kind of makes me look a little antisocial, but it wasn’t like that. It was just that the longer I stayed quiet, the easier it became. I kind of created this world in my head that was a lot nicer than the one I lived in, and staying there was more fun.”

  “I get it,” I told her, wanting to soothe any worries she might have had in regards to how I thought of her.

  Almost unconsciously, her thumb began rubbing back and forth across my knuckles. The look on her face was thoughtful, distant, as she stared out at nothing. “Constance has always accepted me just as I was. She never tried to push me to be more outgoing if I was uncomfortable with it. There was only one time she tried to get me to open up when we were in high school.”

  Something told me I wasn’t going to like where she was going with that, but I still found myself asking, “What happened?”

  I hadn’t thought it possible, but her gaze grew even more distant as she talked. “I had a crush on this guy a few years older than me, and Constance convinced me to ask him to the Sadie Hawkins dance at school. I did, and he went and told all of his friends.” I had to stiffen every muscle in my body in order not to visibly wince. “They all thought it was hilarious. The girl I hadn’t realized he was dating at the time confronted me in the cafeteria in front of everybody. They all laughed, and I ran out, completely humiliated. At the end of school that day, I discovered they’d tagged my locker. The whole group spray painted loser and freak, and a bunch of other horrible names on it. It was…”

  She trailed off, the memory causing her visible pain. “The janitor tried to scrub it off, even paint over it, but it still showed through.”

  “Jesus,” I hissed, moving my free hand to wrap around our entwined ones. “Fuck, honey. I’m so sorry. Kids are assholes. You give me his name and I’ll hunt the little fucker down. You have my word.”

  She gave a little laugh, her fingers tensing around mine. “You going to threaten to beat up every guy who embarrassed me?”

  “There were more?” I asked in bewilderment, unable to understand how anyone could meet this amazing woman and not instantly fall for her. Were people blind? How could they not see what I saw every time I looked at her?

  Her face crinkled into an adorable frown as she snorted derisively. “I like to say my hesitation when it comes to men is a result of the three-strikes rule. First strike was my dad. The second that jerk in high school.”

  “And the third?”

  “The frat asshole who took my virginity on a bet. I had to sneak out of his window in the middle of the night to avoid the walk of shame. And when I say that, I mean literally. They were all waiting for me in the hallway.”

  Jesus fucking Christ! A film of red coated my vision as I pictured her climbing through a window to avoid humiliation. I wanted to murder the pricks who’d hurt her so badly. No wonder she’d chosen to become an introvert.

  My voice came out as an angered growl when I stated, “I need names.”

  To my surprise, she laughed. Not a small chuckle, but a full-blown belly laugh. After the story she’d just told me, I couldn’t imagine she’d be able to find anything to laugh about. It just proved how resilient she truly was. I was in awe of her. I sat silent as she finally got a hold of herself.

  I suddenly had the need to touch her more than just holding her hand. I wanted her close to me. I wanted to be able to hold her. Using the grip on her fingers, I pulled, forcing her to stand and walk around the table that separated us. She watched me curiously as I turned to straddle the bench, never breaking my hold on her hand as I pulled her to sit down next to me.

  “You’re amazing, you know that?” I asked, my tone full of wonder at her incredible strength.

  Her entire face softened. Her eyes shone brightly as she smiled up at me. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “I wish you never had to deal with any of that shit. And as
long as I’m around, I swear to God, you’ll never have to deal with it again.”

  Those light brown eyes closed as she pulled in a steadying breath and leaned into me, letting me absorb all her weight. I wrapped my arms firmly around her waist, holding her tight, never wanting to let go. She fit against me so perfectly, like she was made to be in my arms. “That means a lot to me, Chance. I’m glad I met you,” she whispered against my chest.

  “I’m glad too, honey.” I pulled her even closer, then stated in all seriousness, “But I’m still going to need names.”

  Once again, she burst into laughter. And it was one of the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard.

  Chapter 14

  Melany

  CHANCE WAS… WONDERFUL. I hadn’t experienced being around someone who made me feel so special since I first met Constance. It was practically impossible to let the memories of my past get me down when I was around him. When he spoke, when he looked at me, it was so genuine that I was starting to believe I was worthy.

  I felt beautiful when I was around him, cherished, important. But the most significant thing of all was that I felt brave. And it was all because of him. I began seeing that I deserved to be treated with respect.

  As it turned out, I had the chance to stand up for myself the moment I walked through the door after returning home from the park.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  I stopped just inside the doorway, closing my eyes and sucking in a fortifying breath. The last person I wanted to deal with after a lovely breakfast with Chance was my mother.

  “I was out,” I responded vaguely, as I stepped into the living room to allow her to get a full look at me.

  “I’m out of smokes. Go to the store and— Dear God,” she gasped, looking downright offended as her face crumpled into a weathered sneer. “What did you do to your hair? And are you wearing makeup? Go wash your face. You look like a whore,” she spat hatefully.

  Well, if that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black. It was apparent she’d just come off a bender. And from the looks at the heavy, streaked makeup that was crusted on her face, she’d spent the prior evening trolling for a man. My mother had made hypocrisy an art form.

  That unexpected sense of courage that Chance helped instill in me made me capable of taking my mother on in that very moment. I wasn’t going to sit back and accept her abuse any longer.

  “You’re one to talk,” I grumbled under my breath.

  She stood from the couch, her expression morphing into bitter ugliness. “What did you just say to me, girl?”

  I steeled my spine and lifted my chin as I repeated, louder, “I said you’re one to talk. You’ve got red lipstick smeared across your cheek and you’re calling me a whore?”

  “Why, you little bi—”

  I cut her off. “I don’t look like a whore, or a slut, or a skank like you so lovingly like to tell me all the damn time. I like my hair and the makeup, and so do my friends.”

  “Friends?” she scoffed, laughing hysterically. “What friends? Who’d want to be friends with a pathetic loser like you?”

  “Stop!” I shouted as my blood began to heat and anger took over. “I’m sick and tired of dealing with your shit! Just because you’re a miserable, hateful bitch no one wants anything to do with doesn’t give you the right to take it out on me. I’m done putting up with your abuse. It ends now.”

  She moved quickly for someone on disability who abused her body on a daily basis. The slap took me by surprise. I sucked air in between my teeth as I lifted my hand to my stinging cheek and looked at my mother in disbelief. She was an awful person, but until today, she’d never laid a hand on me.

  “Who do you think you are?” she shouted, her face turning red with rage. “You stupid, useless little girl, you’d be nothing without me! You should be kissing my feet for putting up with you for all these years.”

  “Putting up with me?” I laughed incredulously, doing my best to ignore the pain her slap caused. “I’m your daughter, not some bum you allowed in off the streets, Mom!”

  “And you’ve been ruining my life for the past thirty-one years!” she yelled in my face. My heart squeezed painfully at the realization that the woman who gave birth to me never really wanted me. “It’s your fault your father left. He couldn’t stand that you were his daughter! You’re nothing but a waste of air. You think you’ll land a man because you started doing yourself up like a slut? Think again, honey. No man is ever gonna want you.”

  I didn’t want to cry in front of her; I hated giving her that power. But as my eyes filled with tears, there was nothing I could do to stop them from falling, because the truth was, despite her years of verbal abuse and neglect, she was still my mother. I wanted her to love me. I craved her approval, and the reality that she’d never be able to see past her own bitterness long enough to give me that was a pain too acute to ignore.

  “What did I ever do to you?” I asked on a broken whisper. “What did I do to make you hate me so much?”

  Her face blanched, and for the first time ever, I saw what looked like guilt flash across her expression. But it was too late. I was done. I wasn’t going to allow her to put me down for one more second.

  You deserve to feel special. I kept repeating Chance’s words over and over as I turned and left the room, not bothering to wait for her response.

  “Where are you going?” Mom yelled as I ran up the stairs. “Melany! Don’t you walk away from me!”

  I slammed my bedroom door and pulled my cell phone from my back pocket and began to scroll through my contacts. I was determined to get out of there, and I wasn’t coming back. I could have called Constance. She’d have been at my side in a heartbeat, but she had her hands full with her own family. She didn’t need the stress of me dumping my baggage on her. So I called the only other person I trusted implicitly, the one person I knew I could count on no matter what.

  He answered on the second ring. “Hey, honey. Miss me already?”

  “Ch-chance.” I sniffled, wiping at the tears falling down my cheeks.

  At that one word, all the humor fled from his tone. “What’s wrong?”

  I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder as I moved to my closet, pulling my two large suitcases from the shelf and throwing them on top of my bed. “I-I need your help. Can you come back?”

  I heard him talking to someone else. I could only assume it was a cab driver as he blurted out my address and told the guy to turn around. “I’m on my way, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

  I released a shaky exhale as I began yanking my clothes off their hangers and throwing them into the luggage haphazardly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just done. I can’t stay in this house with my mother anymore. I don’t know where I’m going to go, but I can’t stay here. I’ve had enough. If I have to get a hotel room, I will. I—”

  “Okay, calm down,” he spoke up, interrupting me midrant. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, and we’ll get you sorted.”

  He rang off, and I spent the next several minutes squeezing everything I could into those damn suitcases. Luckily, I didn’t have much. I’d just finished emptying my last drawer when I got a text from him saying the cab just pulled up.

  By the time I opened the door, he was already standing on the front stoop. “Thank you so much,” I breathed, having moved faster in the past ten minutes than I had in months. I was seriously out of shape and needed to consider exercise if packing and one flight of stairs took it out of me.

  There was no other way to describe his expression than thunderous. “What the fuck happened to your face?” he growled menacingly.

  Until that very second, I’d forgotten all about my mother slapping me. I sucked in a sharp inhale and placed my palm against my skin, still hot from the impression her hand made.

  “Uh…”

  I’d never seen him so mad. It was almost frightening. The laidback, easygoing demeanor I’d come to know so well over the past two weeks was nowhere in sight
as he asked, “She hit you?”

  “Um…”

  Without another word, he shoved past me and into the house. I quickly followed him, hoping and praying that whatever was about to take place wouldn’t involve blood, hiding bodies, or going on the lam. I didn’t think I’d do well on the run from the law.

  “Who the hell are you?” my mother’s biting voice asked as she moved from the living room into the entryway.

  “Melany,” Chance said, drawing my attention to his still furious profile. He was staring Mom down as he spoke to me. “You get your shit packed?”

  “Um, y-yeah. My bags are upstairs.”

  “Go get them, honey.”

  “Excuse me?” Mom shrieked. “Just who do you think you are?”

  My whole body shook in fear as he took a threatening step closer to her. “You want to know who I am?” he asked ominously. “I’m the man who has the money and the means to make your miserable excuse of a life a living hell. I already knew you were a bitch, but seeing that you put your hands on Melany, I now know you aren’t just a bitch, you’re a fucking piece of trash.”

  Her entire frame rocked back like she’d just been hit as her face grew red with fury and embarrassment. “How dare—” she started on a shriek, but Chance was having none of it.

  “I don’t think that’s a question you want to finish,” he hissed. “The only reason I’m standing here right now, dealing with your bullshit, is out of courtesy for your daughter. Because I care about her and know she’s a good person, I know she wouldn’t want me to make the calls I’m capable of making to ruin your goddamned life.” His voice lowered as he issued his kill shot. “But trust me, woman. I find out you do one more thing to cause her pain, you so much as fucking breathe in her direction, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”

  I had to bite my cheek against the laugh that wanted to escape as Mom sputtered unintelligibly, unable to come up with a decent comeback to the threat Chance had just laid down. It was clear he was finished with her when he turned back to me and, in a much softer tone of voice, said, “Babe. Your bags.”