One Chance

by Best, Victoria J.

  I snatched my phone up, dialing Beatrice’s assistant from memory.

  “Angela, can you tell Beatrice that I’m headed out for the day, and if she has the notes on the spring line that we discussed, she can email them to me,” I said, shoving everything into my bag.

  Henry would be there any minute.

  “Sure, Miss Fowler, I’ll tell her. Have a good night.”

  “You, too,” I said, hanging up the phone with a bang I hadn’t meant. I winced, shaking my head.

  This was ridiculous, it was just Henry. Taking a deep breath, I headed downstairs to the lobby and outside to wait for Henry at the curb. I couldn’t stop glancing at my phone, checking to see if he texted me anything to follow up the last text that had let me know what time he would pick me up. We hadn’t talked much in the last few days. He’d texted me when he was home and we’d solidified our plans for dinner, but not much else.

  A black car pulled up to the curb and my stomach came alive with butterflies, jolting me from my thoughts. Henry stepped out from the backseat. He looked different but the same. I examined him. His dark hair, which was usually tousled and a little messy, had been trimmed neatly, though it still hung over his forehead on the right. He was clean shaven, wearing a gray dress shirt and black slacks. But what I focused on most were his eyes, their emerald depths clear and wide as he took me in.

  “Nicolette,” he said, his voice husky.

  Something I had been holding back until this moment gushed free like a broken dam at the sight of him, at the sound of his voice saying my name. I took a step back, away from him, away from the feeling. A small gasp escaped my lips.

  “Henry,” I said softly.

  He extended his hand to me, the natural draw between us making me move forward again, my body responding without my permission. I longed to lean into him, wrap my arms around his waist and bury my head in his chest. But I didn’t give in to the urge, only taking his hand as he led me into the car.

  “Where are we going?” I managed to ask as the car pulled away.

  “To my apartment,” he said, his eyes searching mine for a reaction.

  My stomach somersaulted. “Your place?”

  He nodded. “I ordered dinner. I figured it would be more private, so we could talk.”

  The icy dread that I’d felt a few days before came back, lodging itself deep into my stomach. He also wanted to talk.

  “Okay.”

  We didn’t say much on the drive to his apartment, only stealing furtive glances at each other, both lost in our own thoughts. Just before we reached his apartment, he took my hand again, tucking it into his. Our hands rested on the seat between us. I wasn’t sure what it meant, or where this night would lead us, but I did know that something had definitely shifted between us, though I wasn’t sure in which direction.

  Once we reached his apartment, I was wound tight, and hopped out of the car as soon as the driver opened the door. Henry jumped out after me and we headed into the building together. Anticipation grew in my chest as the elevator climbed to his floor, making me a little nauseated. By the time we entered his apartment, I knew all hope of eating dinner had gone out the window. My appetite was solidly gone.

  Henry busied himself in the kitchen, setting up plates at the small table in the corner, filling glasses with sparkling water, and laying out napkins. I watched him from the couch, perched on the edge, ready to run, though I wasn’t sure from what. The buzzer sounded and he held up a finger, hurrying to the door to let the delivery person up. He gathered the food and set it on the kitchen counter, opening all the containers to set them on the table.

  “We can eat family style,” he said, putting spoons in everything. “Ready?”

  I nodded, looking at all the food he bought and wished I felt like eating it.

  “I called Liza yesterday to ask what your favorite restaurant was. She told me you liked Luigi’s downtown, so I ordered the food from there,” he said, twisting the towel in his hands into a tight knot.

  Henry was nervous. It was cute.

  My heart expanded at the effort he went to with dinner, and despite my lack of appetite, I heaped salad and pasta on my plate. We ate in silence for a bit, not awkwardly, but without anything to say. When it became clear we were just about done, Henry set his fork down, giving me a pointed look.

  He smirked. “It’s weird, right?”

  I chuckled nervously. “A little. But I don’t know why.”

  Henry sighed, his eyes roaming my face as if he were searching for the right words. “I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t even understand it at first. We had only just met before I left, but while I was gone, you were the only person I could think about.”

  I held my breath, afraid to breathe or speak because I knew I would reciprocate. I knew I would say the opposite of what I should say.

  “Say something,” he finally said, his eyes meeting mine.

  The universe tilted with that one look, the room spinning. I felt off kilter, ready to fall over and give in to everything I wanted to say and do. But instead, I closed my eyes, breaking the spell, breaking the connection.

  “I missed you, too, Henry.” It was the only platitude I allowed myself. “But I’ve been talking to my therapist and doing some research. I know that in the first year of recovery you aren’t supposed to have a relationship.”

  The look on his face changed, the hope that had been in his eyes disappeared, replaced with something that resembled pain. Whatever it was, it quickly vanished and only indifference remained.

  This was not the Henry I knew.

  “You’re right, but there are exceptions. My counselor and I discussed it extensively. If you are already with someone, you work on the steps to recovery together.”

  I shook my head, sadness clogging my throat. “Henry, we weren’t together before. We had only just met, like you said. We can be friends but—”

  Henry jumped up, cutting me off and knocking into the table a little before he bolted to the other side of the room, pretending to clean up dinner.

  “What if that’s not what I want?” His voice was pained. “Are you going to just pretend that night didn’t happen? Like everything we felt that night before I left meant nothing?”

  Tears pooled in my eyes, blurring my vision. I didn’t stand up, and I didn’t go to him, because if I did, I knew I would take back everything I had said.

  I knew I would give in.

  “You know that’s not true, Henry. But you also know I’m right. We can’t start a new relationship, not when you’re freshly sober and I’m . . .”

  I let my words trail off, not willing to divulge anything else for the time being.

  “You’re what?” He narrowed his eyes at me, waiting for me to answer.

  I promised myself I would tell him, that I would tell him everything, but now that I was here, I couldn’t do it.

  I shook my head. “I just think that we should remain friends. Only friends.”

  Henry stopped the pacing he had been doing since he stood. The shock on his face made the tears I had been holding back spill down my cheeks.

  “You don’t mean that. Not after . . .” He shook his head instead of finishing his sentence.

  I nodded. “I do. For both of us. You know I’m right,” I repeated, hoping my words would sink in.

  Henry sighed, tipping his head back, eyes to the ceiling. When he looked back at me, his face was unreadable. He ran a hand over his face before dropping his hands at his side.

  “Okay, Nicolette. If that’s what you want.” He put his hands out to his sides before letting them flop back down again.

  “I do.”

  “Fine.” Anger dripped from his words.

  “Henry, I—”

  He held up a hand, stopping me. “Want me to get you a car?” he asked, his voice cold.

  “I–I don’t have to leave yet. We can catch up and talk,” I stuttered, trying to regain something, anything, of him.

  “I think we’ve ta
lked enough,” he snapped. “I have an interview in the morning and I’m sure you need some sleep.”

  “Henry,” I whispered as he walked away from me, snatching his phone from the counter.

  But he didn’t look at me or speak to me for the rest of the time I was there. The Uber car arrived quickly, too quickly, and I was inside it and heading home in record time. The entire way home I sobbed quietly in the back seat. It was no one’s fault but my own.

  I was in a hell of my own making, but if Henry had a chance to stay sober, I wasn’t going to take that away from him.

  Chapter 24

  Henry

  My reaction to Nicolette’s decision ashamed me. Four weeks of therapy, group counseling, and countless hours of anger management, and I’d acted like the world’s biggest asshole when she told me she only wanted to be friends. What had I expected? That she would wait a month for me to get my shit together and come running back to me the moment I was home? She had a new job, friends, and a life I hadn’t been a part of before and wouldn’t be a part of now.

  I deserved this.

  I shook my head, the therapist’s words echoing in my ears.

  We don’t self-blame. Addiction is a disease.

  Bullshit. This was my fault. If I hadn’t been an alcoholic when I met her, she wouldn’t be pushing me away now.

  A part of me, the part that knew Nicolette still felt something for me, wanted to fight for her, to make her see that because of her, not in spite of, I was becoming the man I was meant to be. It was her who had given me the courage to admit I had a problem. It was her who’d made me feel like I could be sober.

  But the other part of me knew that even sober, I was useless. No amount of therapy could change that.

  “Fuck!” I yelled into an empty apartment, tossing the contents of the plates and containers into the trash.

  I wanted to rip everything apart, tear it all to the ground so that it would match my mood, but knew I would only have to clean it up in the morning. And I hadn’t lied; I did have an interview.

  With a heavy heart and regret lodged like granite in my sternum, I cleaned up the rest of dinner, showered and went to bed.

  Maybe I would show Nicolette I was worthy of her one of these days. With that in mind, I vowed to get my shit together.

  * * *

  “Henry, Mr. Walters will see you now,” the receptionist in the front of Ted Walters’ office at Walters and Turner Financial called to me.

  I stood up, held the strap of my leather laptop briefcase tighter in my hand. Nerves assaulted my belly, but I swallowed them down. My father had arranged this interview before I went to rehab, and I wasn’t going to fuck it up and let him down. Right now, he was the only person on my side, and I needed it. I followed the dark-haired woman down the hall to a large office, the door propped open so that I could see Mr. Walters sitting in his chair, facing the window that overlooked all of Wall Street.

  Mr. Walters spun his chair to face me, his sizable girth inches from brushing against the desk, and his jowls shaking. “Mr. Radcliffe-Rogers, how nice to finally meet you. Your father has told me a lot about you.”

  He stood and we shook hands firmly before I sat down in the chair that faced his desk. Mr. Walters rearranged himself in his large brown leather chair. It creaked under his weight as he did so. I looked out the window behind him, taking in the bustle of the city, especially in the financial district. It made my heart rate kick up in a way that had me itching to get to work.

  “And he’s told me a lot about you, which is why I was delighted to hear from you.” I went over everything I had rehearsed for the interview in my head. These men liked having their egos stroked; they liked being the most important person in the room. I could work with that.

  “Wonderful.” His voice boomed over mine. It was a pissing contest. “Tell me why you think you would be beneficial to me at Walters and Turner? What can you bring to the finance world?”

  I cleared my throat, propped one ankle on the opposite knee, and told him about my business degree, the ways I had changed the portfolio at my mother’s company, and passed him my résumé.

  He looked it over quietly, making little “hmm” noises every so often. When he looked up, my heart was racing for a whole new reason.

  “Well, looks like everything checks out here. Hank vouched for you, along with the Judge and Ray Howard. That means something. I think you’ll make a good addition to our team. You’ll start at entry level, of course, to learn the ropes, but I think with your drive and experience you should move up pretty quickly.”

  He stood with a grunt, and I followed suit, gripping his hand in another firm handshake to close the deal.

  “See Wendy on the way out and she’ll set you up. Can’t wait to see what Hank Rogers’ boy can do!”

  I ignored that last comment, which I guessed was better than being called “Beatrice Radcliffe-Rogers’ son,” thanked him again, and stepped from the office. After getting all the forms filled out, social security, finger printing, and signing my life away, I headed out of the building into the cold afternoon. My fingers hovered over my phone, itching to dial Nicolette and tell her about my new job, but after last night, I was afraid she would hang up on me. Before I did anything, I had to apologize—the right way.

  If all she could offer was friendship, I would give her friendship.

  Chapter 25

  Nicolette

  I looked in the mirror again, not really seeing my reflection but going through the motions. It had been a few days since that disastrous dinner with Henry. The dinner where I had lied to him about my feelings.

  “What do you think?” Liza asked, as she spun around behind me, blissfully unaware that my insides were in turmoil and the synapses in my brain were firing at rapid speed.

  “What?” I asked, turning to look at her.

  She was wearing a long, emerald-green dress in velvet, her red curls springing around her like a halo as she spun. When she’d called to invite me to go shopping this morning, I’d accepted for two reasons: I was lonely, and I needed a distraction.

  “The dress. What do you think?” She spun again, the hem flaring out a bit at her ankles as she did.

  “That color is beautiful on you.”

  “Really? You don’t think it’s too dressy?” She frowned at her reflection.

  I shook my head. “No. I think it’s perfect for the trip. You and Jackson are going to have so much fun in Italy.”

  A flush rose to her pale cheeks, and she looked away a moment. I could tell she was thinking about Jackson and their upcoming vacation to Italy—the reason for our shopping spree. A pang of jealousy gripped my stomach, not because I wasn’t happy for her, but because I longed for someone to share experiences with the way she and Jackson were. I longed to be as happy as Liza and Jackson were together.

  “Did you hear about Jackson’s ex?” Liza asked as she slipped the dress down her shoulders and replacing it on the hanger.

  I looked at myself in the mirror again, seeing the black lace dress I was wearing for the first time as I thought about how to answer her. It was too long and made me look like a toddler in her big sister’s clothing. Reaching around to unzip, I turned to Liza as she slipped another dress over her head. This one was a white sundress.

  “Natalie? No, I haven’t heard,” I answered carefully. Liza was still very sensitive about Jackson’s past with the woman.

  She turned, eyeing the dress from the back with furrowed brows. “Remember she had the baby early?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, he’s been in the NICU for a long time. She still won’t tell anyone who the father is.” She ended the sentence with a shrug, but I could tell that the baby’s unknown paternity bothered her. On some level, she still wondered about Jackson.

  “He’s not Jackson’s, Liza. You already figured that out.”

  She shrugged again. “I know, but I can’t help but doubt it, especially since he never did the paternity test.”


  I sighed. We had the same conversation every time she brought up Natalie, which was why I was so reluctant to get into it with her.

  “Do you trust Jackson?” I asked her, point blank.

  She stopped scrutinizing the dress, her eyes meeting mine. “Yes,” she answered without skipping a beat.

  “Then that’s your answer. The baby’s paternity will come out in time, but it’s not something you and Jackson should worry about.”

  Liza nodded. “You’re right. I don’t know why I let that woman get in my head.”

  “How did you hear about the baby anyway?” I asked as I slipped a similar sundress wore over my head.

  “Jackson’s aunt. She loves to gossip, and Natalie’s disgrace has been her favorite topic of family dinners.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Really?” I asked conversationally, immediately thinking of Henry as she mentioned Jackson’s family dinners, wondering if he was involved.

  “Do you think I will be too cold in this?” she asked, back to examining the dress again.

  I shook my head. “Nope. It’s warm in Southern Italy right now.”

  “Oh good! I’m gonna get this one, too.” She pulled the dress off, hung it up and slipped her dusty rose sweater back over her head.

  I changed back into my original clothes, discarding the idea of getting any of the dresses I’d tried. My head wasn’t in shopping and I had more than enough dresses at home. We exited the dressing room, me hanging up all of the dresses I’d brought in with me on the return rack while Liza folded hers over her arm and went back into the store.

  “You’re not getting anything?” Confusion furrowed her brow.

  I shook my head again. “Nah, I have enough spring dresses.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, but continued to stare at me for a moment. “Is everything all right? You’ve been in your own world all afternoon.”