Second Chance Hero

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “So you’ll be back at your flat at the weekend? I can come and stay and we can go to dinner.” he says, closing the boot and meeting me at the pavement.

  “If I’ve got everything sorted, I will be.” I lie.

  “I don’t understand what there is to sort, Jenna.”

  “Just some stuff. I haven’t been back here for so long, and there are people I haven’t caught up with and things I need to do.”

  “Okay.” He eyes me suspiciously and holds his arms out. I step into them and hug him goodbye. I stretch up and kiss him quickly on the lips but he wraps his arms around me and deepens the embrace and I know he’s annoyed that he missed out on morning sex.

  “I miss having you to myself.” He groans against my lips as I pull back.

  “It won't be long.”

  He looks at me strangely again and climbs in the car, shutting the door and winding down the window.

  “Saturday?” He says again, looking at me with his dark hazel eyes.

  “I’ll try. I’ll call you later.”

  I shut the door and wave at him as I watch him drive off, before heading inside.

  “I’m just going upstairs, Mum.” I call out as I make my way up the staircase and back into the bathroom to finish what I started this morning.

  I take the carrier bag back out of the cabinet and open up the box inside with shaky, nervous hands.

  I go downstairs an hour later, and Grace has joined everyone in the living room. A light breeze is blowing through the open window, and I’m suddenly nervous as I walk in the room.

  “Jenna!” My mum shrieks in surprise as I take my old spot on the sofa. It’s been so hectic since I came back that I haven’t managed to sit here and look out at the view I used to adore.

  Jonas and Grace turn to look at me as Dad walks through the front door. For the last hour, I’ve been dying my hair. Brown, like it used to be.

  “What?” I ask, as everyone stares.

  “You look like my Jenna again.” Mum starts to well up, and I want to laugh at her for being silly; and I want to tear up with her because something as small as my hair colour has made me feel more like my old self again.

  “Princesa.” My dad cries, “You look muy bonita. Like my Spanish rose.”

  “It’s just hair,” I say as I run my fingers through my soft locks, “What did you catch?”

  “Just some plaice and black bream. Bradley caught a huge Dover sole. Took it home for dinner.”

  I help him with his buckets of fish and we take them to the freezer near the back of the garden.

  “Kip wasn’t happy that he wasn’t up to go with you.”

  Dad stops, leaning over the freezer with a fish in mid-air.

  “I didn’t invite him.”

  Ouch.

  “I know, but he would have liked to have gone.”

  He takes a deep breath, throws the rest of the fish in the freezer and turns to me.

  “Come.”

  Dad beckons me to follow him and we go further down into the garden where the bench sits nestled between some wild flowers.

  “We need una charla.”

  I sit next to him on the bench and he pulls a cigar out of his pocket; I give him the mum-won't-be-impressed look, but he smiles and puts his finger to his mouth. Our little secret.

  “If you get caught, I’m throwing you under the bus.” I joke.

  Dad laughs, but then his face drops; his serious face. It’s so hard to stay serious – my dad’s eyes are always laughing, and the little tuft of grey hair on the top of his head is blowing in the breeze.

  “Shoot.”

  “I don’t think this Kip is right for you. What kind of name is Kip anyway?”

  “What kind of name is Esteban?”

  “Touche,” He laughs, “But I’m serious. He’s not one of us.”

  “What does that mean? You’re a Spaniard living in Folquay, Mum is Welsh and I’m caught somewhere between the two.”

  “He doesn’t get the life down here. Is he from the city?” I nod, “See, I thought as much. He can't sit still for five minutes and enjoy the life around him. He’s always got to be making a plan, or doing something he planned days ago. That’s not the kind of life we have here.”

  I hesitate, before I answer. I don’t know what to say.

  “I don’t think you’re happy.” He says solemnly.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s in your eyes. You are my baby and I have watched you grow and blossom your entire life. But the last five years you’ve become a stranger and I can see in your eyes that your life isn’t where you want it to be.” He stops to think, “Deacon, however-“

  “Dad, no. You know what things are like with me and him.”

  “I think you know what you want from life, encanta. Only you can make it happen.”

  He taps me on the knee, chops off the end of his cigar before putting it in his pocket and going inside.

  ~

  We catch a cab to Deacon’s house. I tried with all I had to get out of going. Apparently I’ve been sick, come on my period, banged my head, and put on too much weight to fit into my dress, all in one day. But my parents wouldn’t back down. Needless to say, the black dress Mum bought me at the weekend fits perfectly. It falls just above my knee and hugs my body. I don’t have a headache, don’t have periods, and haven’t been sick in months - since the last time I was horribly drunk, when Jonas came to visit. Jonas decided he didn’t want to see the drama of tonight and is staying home with Grace. Bradley is cooking his sole and pulled out of Deacon’s dinner. So it’s just me, Mum and Dad, Emma and Deacon. Great.

  The cab pulls up at the end of his gravel driveway and we all get out. I’m glad I chose to wear flats, as I watch Mum and Emma struggle on the tiny stones in their heels and holding on to each other for dear life.

  Emma doesn’t wait for us to be let in; she pushes the door with a gentle nudge and it opens on a fairy lit, dark wood and brown living area, surrounded by glass walls and a beautiful view behind them. He designed this place, I know it.

  “In the kitchen!” Deacon calls and Mum and Emma hand me the bottles of wine they brought. I sigh and head to the kitchen, where I sat last night.

  “Hey,” I say to his back, watching him wiggling to Fairground, “I didn’t have you down as a Simply Red fan.”

  He presses a button on a remote on the counter next to him and Elton John comes to life. He turns around and drops the serving spoon on the floor.

  Mr. John starts singing about being everything and nothing as Deacon walks slowly towards me as if I’m some sort of foreign object.

  “What?” I snap, as he stops in front of me and looks at me up and down.

  He reaches out and brushes some loose strands of hair away from my face. It’s the first physical contact we’ve had since I got back here, and I can feel my knees buckling. There’s a lump in my throat that I can't swallow down as he runs his fingers back down my cheek, and I can't breathe.

  “You look like the girl who left all those years ago.” He whispers.

  I don’t know what to do. I scan the room, looking for life, but no one’s coming to save me from the awkward, horrible and perfect situation I’m in.

  “I’m different.” I step back, holding on to the bottles of wine in my hand until my fingers cramp, “You want these on the table?”

  He smiles. Why is he smiling?

  “We’re not eating in here.” He turns back to the stove and takes a few pans off of it.

  I watch guiltily as he leans down, opens the oven door and pulls out a casserole dish. He puts it on the counter, and drains off the vegetables and potatoes. Then he puts them in a separate dish and picks up both dishes with oven gloves. He never struck me as an oven glove kind of man. I can't help but watch him as he walks towards me, and then past me.

  My feet involuntarily follow him through the living area and out of the open French doors on the far side. There’s a small log cabin outside that I didn’
t notice earlier and I see my parents and Emma sitting at a log table.

  “What is it with people and outside dining rooms in this town?” I mutter, once again grateful for the flat shoes as I struggle across the grass in the dark.

  Deacon hears me and laughs, but continues on to the cabin and places the dishes in the middle of the table. The only empty seat is next to him, so I take my place and put the wine next to the food.

  “I’m not a great cook,” Deacon says as he sits down, “So it’s beef stew. No dumplings. Sorry Esteban, but I don’t know what suet is.”

  He stands back up and serves us the food, while I pour the wine.

  “Suet is fat. Beef or lamb. But you can make dumplings with flour, butter and milk.”

  “Well done smart arse,” He snaps, “The next meal is on you.”

  “Who says there will be another one?”

  “Come on children,” Emma laughs, “Jen, Deacon has made a big effort with this meal. And Deac, Jenna is going home soon so she might not get another dinner in.”

  Thanks, Emma.

  “Actually,” I confess while playing with the plate of food Deacon hands me, “I don’t think I’m going back.”

  “What?” Mum looks up from her meal, shocked.

  “I bought the bakery.”

  Silence falls on the table.

  “How did you buy it?” Deacon asks.

  “Uh, with money. That’s normally how most purchases go down, you know.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  Why do I have to sit next to this idiot?

  “I couldn't stand seeing Mrs. Hale’s bakery sitting there unused. And I was looking for my third location anyway. We’ll make enough money in the high season to cover for the quiet periods in winter. And I can take on more wedding orders while the town is quiet.”

  “You’ve really thought this through.” Dad says.

  “No I haven’t actually. It was a spur of the moment choice when I saw it on Saturday. But the more I think about it the more I think it’s a good idea. I’ve got a surveyor coming tomorrow. I want to revamp the whole thing, give it a tea room feel.”

  “I have surveyors.” Deacon mumbles, obviously offended.

  “That’s enough about me,” I avoid the subject, “This food is lovely, Red. How’s the business going?”

  Red? I just called him Red! Everyone stays quiet, including Deacon, so I take a large mouthful of Shiraz and end up drinking the entire glass. I shrug and refill my glass while everyone tucks in, avoiding my pet name outburst.

  “Did you hear about your brother’s catch today, son?” Dad asks, saving me from my embarrassment.

  “Yeah, he called me. Dover sole, that’s impressive. I’m sure it could have been frozen though so he could make it tonight.”

  I snort. His food is good, but it’s nothing to write home about. Of course, Deacon is now going to think he can give Gordon Ramsay a run for his money.

  “And how about the business, is it staying afloat?”

  “It’s swimming. We’ve just been given a huge project that will take most of the team to get it done. I got the brief through yesterday, so should be good to go in the next few weeks.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’re coping with it. You know if you never need a hand, I’m about.”

  “Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

  Mum and Emma go off into their own conversation, and Deacon spends the night discussing a problem he had with flashing, or frashing. It’s something to do with roofing and water. I don’t say anything, but I finish an entire of bottle of wine and my head is pounding. Mum and Emma clear the plates when everyone is finished and bring in the lemon drizzle cake I made earlier.

  “I thought you said vanilla.” Deacon turns to me and scoops some ice cream into my bowl.

  “You did. Which is why I went with lemon.” I slur.

  That’s not true. It’s a vanilla sponge with lemon syrup, but let him think I didn’t care what he wanted. Lemon was always his favourite when we were kids, and he was the only one to try my lemon icing when I first started out baking. I didn’t quite get the concept of butter cream, so I mixed lemon juice and butter and plonked it on some fairy cakes. Maybe he doesn’t like lemon; I’m not sure anyone would after eating that concoction.

  “Lemon’s my favourite.” He smiles.

  “That's a shame.”

  “Jenna!” Mum admonishes, “What’s wrong with you?”

  I don’t know. I haven’t been able to sit still all night. I’m jittery, I’m nervous and I’m sure the butterflies I had in my stomach earlier have moved south, because I’m needy and frustrated.

  “Nothing. I just don’t know why we’re here.”

  “Jenna,” Deacon leaves his cake and stands up, “Can I have a word?”

  “Of course, Chef.” I dip my finger in the ice cream and lick it off as I stand and follow him out of the cabin and back into the kitchen, shutting the door behind us.

  “What’s your problem?” He asks, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. I watch the muscles stretch the material of his cotton shirt, straining to be released.

  “I don’t have to answer your questions.” I snap. What the hell is wrong with me?

  “No chance, Jenna,” He grabs my wrist as I turn to leave, and my breath hitches, “You’re in my house, making me look like an idiot. Why don’t you want to be here?”

  “Because I don’t want to be around you. And I can't see the point in this dinner when I’ve got nothing to talk about besides how angry you make me.”

  “What the fuck?” He asks, turning me to face him, “What have I done to make you angry, Jenna?”

  “Everything.” I sigh, “Everything. You burst back into my life and think because you invited my parents over for beef stew that we can be best friends again. It’s fucking with my head and I’m not playing your games.”

  “This isn’t about me. This is about your London boy and your London job and your shitty, London life.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t belong here anymore Jenna,” He lets go of my wrist and as angry as I am, I crave his touch. I’m so angry, and hot. I feel like I’m about to snap, “You look like my old Jenna, but you’re not. You should go back home.”

  “Don't you dare!” I scream, not caring who hears, “Don't make this about London. I would never have gone to London if it wasn’t for you. Don't you dare tell me who I am and who I’m not, and I was never your Jenna!”

  He shrugs and rolls his eyes and before I think about what I’m doing, my hand connects with his face. Deacon grabs my wrist again, and I want to say sorry, but something is burning so hot inside me that I don’t feel sorry for hitting him. But I don’t feel better either.

  He pulls my wrist hard enough for me to fall into his steel chest and his free hand grabs a handful of my hair. In an instant our lips collide and I fall apart. I slide my hands into his hair, and push myself against him. I feel him hard and ready on my stomach as his hands touch every part of my body he can reach. I moan against his lips as his hands slide up my dress and he grabs my behind. This is what I wanted, what I needed. Something coiled up inside the minute he brushed my hair earlier and all I need is to be released. I fumble with the belt on his trousers and make a reach for his zip.

  “Jenna? Daddy’s had too much wine and needs to go home.” My mum calls through the door.

  I pull away and jump back as far as I can, as we look back at each other. I can't hear past the blood thrumming in my veins, my heart beating with wanton need, and my head telling me this was a big mistake.

  “I’m coming.” I call, pulling my dress down.

  “Jenna.” Deacon calls, but I raise my hand in the air to silence him, deciding to wait out front for our cab. I catch sight of myself in the window of Deacon’s truck. My cheeks are red, my eyes are watering and my hair is all over the place. I look like a state.

  Chapter 5

  Deacon

  Oh my shit. What the fuck just hap
pened?

  I know what happened, the throbbing in my trousers won't let me forget, but as I reach the driveway they’ve already left.

  “Fuck!”

  I shut the door and slam my fist on it. I notice my mum is standing in the doorway of the garden, when I turn around.

  “In the thirty years I have known Esteban and Mindy Rivera, they have never left a party early. They thought Jenna was going to kill you.”

  “She didn’t...we...I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” I grip the back of my neck and squeeze.

  “Say nothing, tonight. Help me tidy up and then go and sleep on it.”

  I open my mouth to speak but the words won't come out.

  “What is it?”

  I shake my head. I don’t want to upset her. But she reaches me and speaks the words I wouldn’t dare say out loud.

  “Your dad should be here to talk to you about this stuff. But I know Jenna and I know you. Talk to me.”

  I run my hands through my hair, “She’s like a siren, Mum. I thought she’d moved on, I thought we both had. But her being back here... I can't take it.”

  “You’re strong, Deacon Reid, you’ll do what you need to do. Your dad would be proud of you.”

  I pull her into me and she cries, as desperate to have her soul mate back as I am to have my father tell me himself that I’ve made him proud.

  “Come on, before the wildlife steal the leftovers.” She composes herself, and we walk to the garden to clear up.

  After we’re finished clearing up, we sit down to watch a film. I stare through the TV, my thoughts straying to what happened tonight. It’s what I wanted, it’s what I’ve always wanted, but I can't help but feel like something went wrong. I feel uneasy and restless.

  “I’m going up to bed, Mum. There are clean sheets on the bed in the spare room. I’ll take you home in the morning.”

  She smiles at me, a pitiful smile; I kiss her on her forehead and go up to bed. After staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, I fall into a restless sleep. I dream of Jenna’s hair fanned out across my pillow, or brushing my chest. I dream about the feel of her hands on my body, and how she’d move with my hands on hers. I hear her whispered moans, and can smell her subtle floral perfume as if she were lying in bed with to me. I dream of the sound of her giggling as I stroke my fingertips down her waist, caressing her soft curves and slender form. I wake up several times in the night to check that she isn’t asleep curled up next to me and breathing softly.