One Chance

by Best, Victoria J.

  “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m emotional about this,” I said with a sniff.

  We laughed as she reminded me that she cries form Hallmark commercials. After hugging again, I asked if she was nervous. Her shoulders hitched up, but she replied, “A little,” as we made our way out to the kitchen. I reiterated again what I’d said to her earlier, just in case she hadn’t heard me before. Just in case, like me, she needed someone to remind her that she was more than what any man thought of her.

  “I’ll say it again, it’s clear you feel something for Jackson,” I began as she paced nervously, waiting for the buzzer to signal that he’d arrived. “But I want you to be careful, okay?”

  She nodded without answering me, her eyes wide.

  “I think he could have had this all taken care of today.” I held up my hands at her look of irritation because I was repeating myself like a broken record. “Guard your heart, babe. Guard your heart. Most men don’t care about how you turn out in the end.”

  Liza nodded at me just as the buzzer went off. She jumped, made a comment about not being ready, gave me a quick kiss to the cheek, and hurried off. I stared after her, realizing we never had that talk that I’d intended to have with her about what’s been going on with me. But at least I’d warned her to keep her eyes and ears open about Jackson. Maybe Liza wouldn’t make the same mistakes with men that I had been making for the last five years.

  Chapter 7

  Henry

  “I’m so glad you invited me to this event, Hankie,” Jineen, the budding model-slash-actress cooed at me as she slipped into the car.

  I tried to hide the wince at the pet name. My dad’s nickname was Hank, but I hated the name. And though I’d told her numerous times not to call me that, Jineen continued calling me that, likely to get a rise out of me. Not that I knew the woman very well. I met her at the club my family owned downtown just over a week ago, before I met Nicolette. The same club where Jackson and I’d spent most of our free time.

  At the thought of Nicolette, my gut tightened, the need to grab for the bottle of scotch on the limo’s makeshift bar pulling me. I’d made a promise, to Nicolette, to myself, to my parents, but still I wasn’t able to stop drinking. Before leaving the apartment just under a half hour ago, I’d already downed three shots of whiskey. Somehow, spending the night with Jineen instead of Nicolette made me want to drink more. I didn’t fault Nicolette for not wanting to be seen around town with me. By this point, everyone knew about my drinking and that I had been fired from my family’s own fucking company.

  No, of course, Nicolette didn’t want to be seen with me.

  Shaking my head at Jineen as she applied the thickest coat of dark red lipstick I had ever seen, I reached for the scotch, filling my glass almost to the brim with the amber liquid. I tossed it back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Jineen stared at me, a shadowed look of disgust on her face.

  “How much have you had to drink tonight, Hank?” Her blood-red lips curled with revulsion.

  “Why the hell do you care? How much coke have you done tonight, Jineen?” I asked her, the same revulsion she showed for me in my voice.

  She sneered, tossing her over-bleached hair over her shoulder. “Whatever. You know I need to keep my weight down for jobs.”

  I rolled my eyes, throwing back the rest of my scotch. “Right,” I barked at her with a snort. “And don’t fucking call me Hank.”

  Jineen smiled, but even that looked like a grimace with the lipstick smeared over her top lip. Why I was ever attracted to her in the first place I would never understand. I must have been pissed out of my mind when I met her.

  “Oh, excuse me. Too good for a nickname, Hankie?” She said the last word slowly and with emphasis, drawing the syllables out.

  I reached for the bottle of scotch again, refilling my glass. It was going to be a long night.

  * * *

  Jackson and Liza arrived ten minutes late, Liza’s face ashen as they entered the ballroom. I wondered how my cousin had managed to fuck up this early in the night, but ultimately it was none of my business, because, clearly, I didn’t have my shit together in any way. A quick glance to my left at my mother, who had been giving me looks of disdain all night, and Jineen who was scrolling through her phone, slouched in her seat like a bored teenager, and I jumped down off my soapbox. But when I looked back to my right for Jackson, he and Liza were gone. Either I was drunker than I thought, or something had happened.

  “Go easy, Henry,” my mother whisper-hissed the words at me, leaning across Jineen, her eyes slamming into mine, their blue depths clear, gray, and icy with anger.

  “Right, Mother,” I said, setting the glass in my hand back on the table with a thud.

  Mother’s lips pursed but she didn’t respond to my insolence. I was tired of her telling me what to do as if I were a ten-year-old, even though on some level I knew she was also tired of me acting like one.

  “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” Jineen announced to the table. No one acknowledged her.

  As Jineen sashayed through the ballroom, a few old schmucks followed her with their eyes. I slipped my phone from my pocket. I desperately wanted to text Nicolette, to skip out of this thing early to see her. But there was a part of me that wondered if she’d meant what she’d said earlier. Did she really want to see me tomorrow or was she only being polite? Before my brain could connect properly with what my fingers were doing, I shot a text off to her.

  Me: I wish you were the one here with me instead of this brainless, cocaine-laced, wannabe I asked to come with me.

  I reread my words, wincing at how callous they sounded. The alcohol was beginning to cloud my judgment. I stared at my phone for a long time, willing it to vibrate in my hand with a response from her. Jineen returned to the table, smelling even more strongly of perfume, her eyes glassy. But I didn’t pay any attention to her. My focus was completely on the phone in my lap.

  Half an hour passed, the phone still silent, as they made presentations, speeches, and brought the food out. I had no appetite but forced myself to eat a little of the steak in front of me. Jineen didn’t eat at all, only pushed her food around the plate with her fork, cutting it into tiny pieces and rearranging it to look like she had eaten. My mother and father alternated between giving me looks of shame, pity, and worry, but I ignored them as well. I was becoming increasingly frustrated with the whole situation, which only made me consume way more alcohol than I had intended. Presently, I was on my third glass of champagne and unable to taste my dinner or feel my own face. And yet, I was solely focused on my phone, waiting for Nicolette to respond to me when I knew it was a lost cause. She didn’t want to talk to me, she didn’t want to see me, and I didn’t blame her one bit. I was a fucking disaster.

  Jackson and Liza chose that moment to waltz in. Something had changed between them—I could feel it even in my inebriated state—but I had no head space to worry about it at the moment. Jax gave me a cursory look as he sat down, and Liza glanced between Jineen and me, disapproval firmly on her face. I wanted to defend myself, to tell her I’d asked Nicolette to come but she’d declined my invitation, but I couldn’t manage to find the words.

  “How’s Nicolette?” I stupidly asked.

  I could tell Liza was trying not to roll her eyes at me. She gave me a curt answer, without too much detail, her eyes still flashing angrily between Jineen and me. My thoughts about Nicolette screamed at me, wanting to spill from my mouth in a drunken rant. I wanted to tell her that I liked Nicolette in a way I’d never liked another woman, especially the one next to me. My brain fought the urge to spill everything to Nicolette’s best friend as she frowned at me with disdain. I clamped my mouth shut tight, willing my drunk mind to stop spinning, to stop trying to ruin my life, and still it refused to quiet.

  “I asked her to come to the benefit with me before I met Nicolette,” I slurred, leaning over Jackson so that Liza could hear me.

  Liza only glared at me, rage flashing in her
hazel eyes. She was protective of Nicolette, just as Nicolette was of her. I admired their friendship, and a pang of jealously for a connection with someone that would care for me broke through my fog of alcohol for a moment.

  “Liza, Jackson hasn’t told me much about you. Are you from New York?” Everyone at the table turned to look at Liza, the attention squarely off of me.

  For once, my mother saved me from myself. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional or by accident, but I had never been more thankful that she’d decided to butt into a conversation than I was at that moment. I sagged against my seat with relief, wanting to flee the table, but not wanting to embarrass myself by stumbling. This was bad, really bad, in a black-out-as-soon-as-I-lie-down kind of way. But I was trapped. Trapped at a benefit with a woman I hated and a family who wished to disown me, and drunk off my ass.

  It was like living a nightmare.

  For the next forty-five minutes I downed ice water, trying to come out of my drunken haze. But it was too little, too late. The best thing would be to wait until dinner was over and get the hell out of there. My phone suddenly vibrated on my lap and I jumped, looking down.

  Nicolette: Haha. I’m sorry I couldn’t come. I’ll try to explain it all another time. I promise. But I’m looking forward to brunch tomorrow.

  My eyes read and reread her words. They were sincere, honest, and once again I felt like the devil trying to corrupt an angel. Nicolette was too good for me, too kind, sweet, and innocent. Did I really want to drag her into my life of drinking, family drama, and turmoil?

  The crazy part was that even though I knew I would hurt her in the end, I couldn’t make myself stop what came next.

  Me: I’m glad you’re still able to make it. This benefit is a shit show.

  I waited, the bubble appearing and disappearing at the bottom of the screen to indicate she was responding.

  Nicolette: I wouldn’t miss it. I’m sorry you’re not having a good time.

  I replied without hesitation, the alcohol making me bold.

  Me: It would have been better with you. I miss you.

  The bubble appeared again before quickly disappearing. It didn’t return but I stared at the phone anyway, willing her to respond. Willing the words that I’d just typed to disappear from the universe. But neither of those things happened.

  I flagged the waiter down for another glass of champagne after twenty minutes passed and Nicolette still hadn’t answer me. After that, the night was a blur, just the way I’d hoped it would be.

  Chapter 8

  Nicolette

  A shrill ring pulled me from sleep, and I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding as I tried to make out where the sound came from or what it was. My gaze searched the room, until my eyes landed on the bedside table and my ringing cell phone. I released a breath, my heart rate slowing as I reached for it without seeing who was calling.

  “Hello?” Worry for Liza started to take over before I remembered that she came home hours ago and we’d talked before we went to bed.

  The wine we’d shared before bed came back to me, along with the hook-up that almost was, pressing against my forehead with a throb. It made sense why I was so confused.

  “Nicolette.” Henry’s voice came over the line, desperate and quiet.

  “Henry? What’s wrong?” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, pushing the duvet back as I did. My eyes swept the room for the clock I knew was mounted above my desk, but it was too dark to see. I leaned over, switching on the lamp on the nightstand before my eyes shifted back to the clock. It was three a.m.

  “Nothing. Nothing. I had to talk to you. I made a mistake,” he muttered the words, almost so low I couldn’t hear him.

  I wondered what he meant by a mistake.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, slipping my feet in the slippers I kept just under my bed before standing.

  “I, uh, sent you a text earlier.” He sighed loudly.

  The text. The one that terrified and thrilled me all at once. He had said he missed me and wished I was with him. I didn’t respond, not because of what he said, but because I’d almost replied that I missed him, too. It was too soon for these things, wasn’t it? One night of deep conversation and already I was missing him when he wasn’t near me. None of this made any sense.

  “I got the text, Henry. I’m sorry I didn’t respond.” It was my turn to sigh.

  I made my way across the room, pulling on a hoodie over my t-shirt before yanking on a pair of black leggings I’d discarded over the desk chair. Tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder, I opened the door quietly, so as not to wake Liza, and slipped from my room.

  “Look,” he finally said after a long pause. “I probably shouldn’t have said what I did. I was drunk and—”

  I cut him off before he could apologize for something he had no business apologizing for. “No, it was fine. Really. I was just afraid to respond. But I’m glad you called so we could sort it out.”

  “What were you afraid of?” he asked me.

  The question made me pause. He’d said he was drunk earlier but he didn’t sound drunk anymore. Lucid Henry scared me more.

  “I, uh, well,” I stuttered because this wasn’t a topic I wanted to talk about over the phone. “Can I come over to talk?” I blurted the question out without much thought. Maybe I was still a little drunk from the wine.

  No, not drunk, just feeling bold.

  “Really?” Hope filled Henry’s voice for the first time since I’d been at his apartment.

  “Yeah. Let me get dressed and I’ll be over soon. I’m going to order an Uber.”

  “Wait! I’m not at home,” he blurted.

  My heart sank. Was he with the model? Liza had told me all about the woman he’d taken with him. Thin, blonde, and intimidating. I had to pretend I was offended because I couldn’t bring myself to tell Liza that I’d turned down his invite.

  “Where are you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “Jax’s. I’ll text you his address.”

  I blew out a breath of relief. “Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

  We hung up and immediately a text with Jackson’s address came through. I opened my Uber app, ordered a car and went back to my room to make myself look a little more presentable. In the harsh white light of the bathroom, I winced at my reflection. I had dark circles under my eyes, the always-pale skin of my face appealing even paler, though I wasn’t sure how that was possible. My hair was in a lopsided messy bun, strands of hair escaping the scrunchie and framing my face.

  Last night came flooding back again and I covered my face. I’d almost slept with a guy I met in a bar down the street, running out at the last minute when we shared an awkward kiss. When Liza came home, I was more than willing to drown my almost-mistake with a bottle of wine. But today, I felt like I was hit by a truck.

  And I looked like it, too.

  I took a few minutes to wrestle my hair into a slightly less messy bun, brushed my teeth, smudged a little concealer under my eyes, and swapped my sleep shirt for a clean white t-shirt and a bra. I checked my reflection once more in the full-length mirror in my room. It wasn’t fabulous, but it was better. After all it was three o’clock in the morning.

  My phone notified me that my Uber was waiting downstairs. I texted Henry that I was on my way before grabbing my purse and a Sherpa hoodie, slipped my feet into a pair of tan, fur-lined Uggs and locked the door behind me. Butterflies swarmed my stomach as I descended in the elevator. Why was I so nervous?

  Because I was afraid that I would go back on my promise not to sleep with Henry.

  Because I was afraid I would ruin everything.

  I took a deep breath before I stepped outside. Once on the curb, the crisp November air helped clear my nerves. I slid into the back of the car and sat back against the seat. A silent plea repeated over and over in the back of my head the entire way to Jackson’s apartment.

  Don’t have sex with Henry. Don’t have sex with Henry.

 
; I only hoped I could have as much self-control as my inner voice did.

  * * *

  “This is it,” the Uber driver said as the car stopped.

  I opened my eyes and lifted my head. I’d been so deep in thought, I hadn’t noticed the car pulling over to the curb.

  “Thanks,” I said as I paid him and hopped out of the car.

  I looked up at the building, the butterflies building again, doubling in size and activity in my belly. I pressed a hand to my abdomen, hoping to calm the nervous sensation. I took a deep breath, pulling my hoodie tighter as I walked up to the double doors. A doorman opened the door for me, stepping back to let me walk in. I waited, expecting him to ask who I was there to see. This was a very expensive building and I was sure they’d just let people walk in at will.

  “Go ahead, Miss Fowler,” he said.

  I raised my eyebrows, surprised he knew my name. Henry must have called down to let him know I was coming. With a nod, I walked past him to the elevator. Liza and I lived in a pretty nice building, but it looked like a slum compared to this one. Jackson was wealthier than I’d thought. I stepped into the elevator, my hand still pressed firmly to my belly. My brain was whirring faster than the car, and when the doors slid opened with a ding, I started even though I had been expecting it. I was on edge, tired, and worried, but underneath it all I was really excited to spend time with Henry. Smoothing my hands down my clothes nervously, I stepped out of the elevator and looked in both directions for Jackson’s door. Turning left, I stopped just in front of it, my hand poised to knock. The door opened inward just as I moved my hand to knock. I lost my balance, falling into the open doorway and right into Henry’s arms.

  “Oh!” I said louder than I should have at four in the morning.

  “Are you okay?” he asked me as I righted myself, feeling foolish.