Second Chance Hero

by Rebecca Sherwin

  I turn on my heels and look around his office, feeling awkward for listening in on a heated conversation, but also insanely turned on by the authority and aggression in his voice. I scan the room, looking over all the trophies he earned as a kid, neatly arrange on shelves around the office. It’s no wonder Deac has the body he does, with the amount of sport he used to do. He was always lanky as a kid, his weight never quite caught up with the height he inherited from Dominic Reid, his dad. But the surfing, football, rowing and boxing he used to do seem to have caught up with him now.

  I find the last trophy he earned and look at it remembering how he got it. It was a surfing competition; the spectators had to travel sixty miles to get to the perfect swell, and Deacon was one of the three finalists. He came third in the first two of three heats, and the only way he would win was if he came first in the final round and earned a ten from one of the judges. Everyone was convinced he couldn't do it; the whole of Folquay was there, but not one person believed he could earn a ten. I remember he came over to me during the break, because he didn’t trust Brad not to drink his energy drink, and gave me his surf club jumper.

  “Wear this,” he’d said, “No way can I lose if my lucky charm is wearing my lucky jumper.”

  And he won. Of course he did.

  I run my thumb over the plaque with his name on it, and smile. Obviously, me wearing a jumper didn’t help him win, but I wonder if he still thinks it did.

  Deacon is still on the phone, and I don't know what to do with myself. I should’ve called before I came, but I wanted to surprise him. I definitely did, right when he’s in the middle of an important phone call. I catch a bit of what he’s saying. Someone attempted to put up scaffolding without wearing a helmet. Apparently it’s a fireable offence. I’m just about to leave, when someone swings the door open, almost smacking me in the face.

  “Sorry.” The tall mixed race man shouts, then realises Deac is on the phone and whispers, “sorry.”

  “No problem.” I smile and his hazel eyes smile back before his mouth does, “I think he’ll be a while.”

  “I’m Daniel. You know where the information packs are?” He asks me. My eyebrows shoot up; why would I know anything about where anything is in this place?

  I look to Deacon who is looking at me and has the ghost of a smile on his lips, while Daniel continues to look at me for my answer. Deacon points to a filing cabinet, in a long line of filing cabinets. I’m pretty sure his finger points to the second one along so I try that one first. Five drawers. So I’ve got a twenty per cent chance of picking the right drawer and making myself look like I have a clue what Daniel is talking about. Information packs for what? Why would a contracting business need information packs?

  “Two.” Deac says, louder than the rest of his conversation has been, but when Daniel and I look at him, he’s got his back to us, rubbing the back of his neck.

  I open the second drawer down and it is full of brochure packs, separated into four categories.

  “Which one do you need?” I ask, turning back to Daniel.

  “Property Development.” He thanks me when I hand the pack to him, “You’re Jenna, right?”

  I hear Deacon cough from the other side of the office and I frown at Daniel.

  “I am?”

  “I’ve seen your picture,” he holds the information pack up, “Thanks. I’ll see you around.”

  I watch, confused as he leaves the office.

  “There’s a picture of us on the shelf over there.” Deacon makes me jump and when I look at him, he’s off the phone, leaning back in his chair and pointing to a shelf I hadn’t got to yet.

  Wow. There is more than one picture of Deacon and I together, along with photos of the rest of our families, his dad’s portrait in a bigger frame that the others, in the middle.

  “Wow.” I say, because that’s all I have.

  “Sorry about the call, newly qualified kids being idiots.”

  “I heard a little of it.”

  “It’s fine. They’re on the way in; I’ll give them the talk and they won't do it again,” he runs his hands through his hair, “Everything okay?”

  Why does he look nervous?

  “You mean why am I here?”

  “I’d like you to just turn up because you want to, but I’m thinking there’s a reason you’re here.”

  “There is.”

  My turn to feel nervous. I look around, notice there are no chairs around him for me to sit on, and realise I have to be brave. I don't like standing while he’s sitting in his leather desk chair, surrounded by computer screens and other office paraphernalia, it fills my mind with the kind of ideas I’m trying to keep at bay. I feel the display of power; I love that he’s the king of his world while I’m in a place I’ll never fit in, dressed in shorts and a vest, while he looks like some sort of corporate god. I walk slowly round to his side of the desk, and Deacon slides his chair back to allow me to sit on the varnished wood in front of him.

  “I got you something.” I confess, reaching behind me to grab the rectangular box.

  “Really?”

  “Mmm hmm.” I rest the box on my lap, and Deac slides his chair forward to grab it, inches away from my legs, and I’m fighting the urge to open them and pull him into me.

  “I haven’t been brought a present in a long time.” He smiles a seductively crooked smile and I feel it everywhere.

  “Open it.”

  He rips open the blue paper with yellow JCBs on it and slides the cardboard box out.

  “I know what this is.” He opens the flap of the box, pulling out the hammer, with his name designed on the handle, “I already have a hammer.”

  “I know,” I bite my bottom lip, “but now you can bang with both hands.”

  His eyes gleam wickedly, and I smile. Deacon edges closer to me and runs the metal head of the hammer from the hem of my shorts to my knee. My skin erupts with goose bumps and I shiver.

  “It’s a very thoughtful gift, Jen,” he strokes the hammer down my other leg, and I fight a moan, “thank you.”

  I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry, “you’re welcome.”

  I watch the hammer as Deacon sets it next to me and mirrors its path on my legs with his hands; up from my knees to under the material of my shorts, squeezing the sensitive skin, so close to where I crave his touch.

  A knock on the door startles us and I watch Deacon’s throat work on a swallow, his eyes burning and his chest taking in deep breaths.

  “Come in.” He orders in the authoritative voice I find such a turn on.

  He has no intention of letting me move, and I look over my shoulder to see three guys, not much younger than us file in, one behind the other, all looking sheepish. They notice me instantly and I want to run away, but Deacon has me caged inches from him, his hands gripping the edge of the dark wood desk I’m sitting on, so close to my legs I can still feel his arousal radiating off him.

  “I’ve had to interrupt my day to deal with you.” He says, his voice cold, but I know the anger is bubbling under the surface.

  One of the scafolders snickers and Deacon narrows his eyes at him and he visibly deflates; clearly Deacon is a man not to be messed with. I try and get up, but he grabs my knee and squeezes to hold me in place.

  “Explain what happened.” He says. All I can do is look at him; my neck is aching from looking at the workers behind me.

  “We were just messing about, boss.”

  “Messing about? On a site?” He waits for a response and I’m guessing they nod, because there is no sound coming from the trio, “And you think that’s an acceptable reason for not wearing your PPE?”

  Deacon slides his chair back, patting the space he just vacated, and I scurry to obey. I love this take-no-shit man. He steps round and leans on the front of his desk, his arms folded.

  “If there was an inspection, do you know what would have happened?”

  The dark haired guy nods, “We would have been thrown off the job.”

>   “No.” Deacon barks and I can tell he’s fuming. His back muscles are tense and his fists twitch under his arms. I know he’s dying to run them through his hair but he remains in control, “The company would have been thrown off the job. And you boys would have lost us tens of thousands.”

  “We’re sorry, boss.” One of the blonds shrugs, before looking at me and blushing. He’s embarrassed.

  Deacon looks at me, but notes my straight face and seems satisfied enough to continue without making a scene.

  “I want you to go back to the site.” He says, “Tomorrow. After losing a day’s pay today. If those hats are not glued to your head from tomorrow on you’ll be pulled from the job and handed your P45’s. Are we clear?”

  They all nod, Blondie looking over at me again. He’s either interested in me, or conjuring up rumours he can spread about the mysterious women in his boss’s office.

  “Is there a problem?” Deacon asks, standing up straight and stepping away from the desk. He looks back at me and I’m happy to look him straight in the eye, knowing if this guy is interested in me, I’ve given him no signal that the feeling is mutual. Surely he can't believe that anything short of mythical could rival Deacon.

  “I didn’t know you had a girl, Deacon.”

  “Get out.”

  The three men leave quickly, and there is no doubt in my mind that they will keep their hard hats on in future.

  “Where were we?” Deac asks, sitting in the spot where I sat earlier, while I have his managerial spot. It feels good.

  “I think-” I pause, mid-thought when I spot the easel I hadn’t noticed earlier, “What is that?”

  Deac looks behind him and then stands from his position, strides over to the easel and pulls a blank page over to hide the drawings I saw.

  “Deac.”

  He walks back over to me and leans back on the desk. I’m not going to let him pretend that I didn’t see that.

  “Please, drop it.” He’s pleading with his eyes and I want to drop it, but my curiosity is piqued and I hate that he hides things from me.

  “What was that?” Deac isn’t one for looking apprehensive, but I can see from the look in his eyes that he really doesn’t want to talk about this, “Why are you embarrassed about your talent?”

  “It’s not a talent, it’s a job.”

  “I don't want you to keep things from me.”

  “I’m not,” he holds my face in his hands and presses a kiss to my forehead, “Please just trust that I have to do it right.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He looks at his watch, then back at me.

  “I have to go, I have a meeting. Are you busy tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be in the shop. I’ve started stripping it.”

  “I’ll be there at ten.” He stands up and I follow. I know I’m being kicked out, “It’s all part of my master plan Jen.”

  His smile reassures me that whatever we made last night hasn’t been broken by me finding something he isn’t ready to talk about. I follow him out of the office and wait while he locks the door and then follow him across the driveway to where his car is parked next to mine.

  “What master plan?” I ask, because I wasn’t aware he had one.

  “To be the superhero.”

  That's what he said that night at the club, but I don't get it. He chuckles at my confusion, and presses his lips to mine, gently and with the reverence I’m beginning to count on him for. And then he unlocks the doors of his pickup and climbs in.

  “See you tomorrow, Jen,” he says, before shutting the door and backing out of his space.

  So Deacon has a master plan to be a super hero. What?

  Chapter 19

  Deacon

  I wipe the sweat off my head after the workout aimed at abolishing my Jenna issues. I didn’t have a meeting, I had to get out of my office or I would have taken her right there and then, boyfriend and screwed up head or not. So I went to the hospital to help with the last bits of the scaffolding and that reminded me that Jenna is pregnant. I hadn’t forgotten about it, but with us not wanting to kill each other, it was washed out by thoughts of having Jenna, officially. It’s like she’s dangling herself in front of me, and what happened in my office today is testament to that. She isn’t playing games, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t driving me crazy.

  I pick up my towel and take the kettle balls back inside, as Bradley walks through my door.

  “Dude, you could have called.”

  “Yeah, I could. But I thought I’d surprise my baby brother.” He grins and holds out a four-pack, “Pizza and football?”

  “Won't say no to that,” I answer, heading to the stairs, “order the pizza while I shower.”

  I’m not convinced that beer and a game will cure the animosity I feel towards Brad. But I shower quickly and decide to spend the night with my brother, and not to think about Jenna. I’m nervous as hell about tomorrow, and on a high from today. There’s bound to be an almighty low, but it won't be tonight.

  “You want that last bit?” Brad asks, already picking up the last slice of pizza. I shake my head and crack open another beer, “Are we cool?”

  “Yeah, we’re cool.” I smile and turn up the match. We are cool because he’s my brother, but I don't want to talk about it.

  “Good. So is now a good time to tell you I sent a pretty little brunette away from your door on my way in tonight?”

  “What?” I scowl at him, “Who?”

  “Didn’t recognise her.”

  I let out a loud breath, “What did she look like?”

  “Don't they all look the same?” He asks, popping the cap off another beer. The coffee table is slowly filling with beer bottles, “She was small, dark haired, seemed alright. Super hot.”

  “That doesn’t help.”

  Most of the girls I’ve slept with were hot, because they were all Jenna surrogates. Fuck, there goes me not thinking about her tonight.

  “She was driving a bug. Silver with eyelash things on the headlights.”

  “That I can use.”

  Brad laughs, but I’m wondering why April turned up at my house when I haven’t spoken to her since the day I blew her off.

  “So I didn’t cock block?”

  “No way.” I shake my head, “You did me a favour.”

  It’s Thursday morning and I pull my truck into the harbour car park, having wait ten minutes for a space. I take my kit out of the car, shove everything under my arm and go in the florist on the way to Jenna’s shop to pick up my order.

  “Who’s the lucky girl?” Rachel asks. The same red headed Rachel that used to date my brother. The same Rachel who splits dog-custody with my brother.

  The same Rachel who begged me to take her last Christmas. But ‘The Bloom Room’ is the only florist in town and I was hoping she wasn’t working today. Her parents run the shop, and I placed my order with her dad yesterday afternoon.

  “No one.” I hold out the exact money for the arrangement, but she doesn’t take it.

  “So you’ve got pink phoenix, black poppies, pink roses-”

  “I don't care what’s in it. I just asked for pink and black.”

  Rachel frowns and turns behind her to put the flowers in the black vase I ordered.

  “People don't buy no one headbands.” She slams the vase on the counter and slides the headband into a paper bag, “Sixty pounds.”

  “Your customer service is second to none, Rachel.”

  I hand her the money, balance everything in my hand and fight my way through the flowers to the exit.

  I kick the bottom of the shop door, cursing because I can't find a way to open it myself. Jenna appears at the door confused, but smiles when she sees me. I love that smile.

  “Hi.” She beams, “Need some help?”

  “Nope. Part of the plan.”

  She holds the door open to let me in and when I’ve dropped my paper work and bag on the table I turn to her with the flowers.

  �
�More flowers?”

  “Yeah. But you won't have to lie about who got you these,” she takes them and admires them before looking back at me.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “You did.”

  “I won't.”

  “Good.” I hold out the paper bag, “don't look at it now, you’ll need it in a minute.”

  Jenna smiles wickedly at me, takes the bag and feels around the paper, trying to find out what’s inside. I laugh when she pouts and frowns in defeat.

  “What’s all this for?” she asks.

  I shake my head and tell her to put the kettle on. When she disappears in the back, leaving the flowers and the bag on the counter, I get to work. I’ve got three huge sheets of paper to stick to the wall, and a bag of smaller sheets of different ideas I had. I’m nervous; it’s not a talent, but it’s not just a job. It’s a passion; one I shared with my dad and it’s one I've not shared with anyone else until now. I draw buildings, four walls and a roof, but this is different.

  “Oh my god.”

  Jenna is behind me when I tack the final sheet to the wall, with two steaming cups of tea in her hand. When I turn around I get a good look at her while she’s staring at the wall in shock. She looks tired, really tired. And she’s been stripping the shop by herself. Shouldn’t she be taking it easy and relaxing?

  “Deac.”

  She looks at me once she can peel her eyes away from the wall, wondering why I haven’t said anything. Because images of Jenna with the cutest little bump, barefoot and sunbathing in my garden are swimming round my head.

  “There’s a presentation,” I say when I clear my throat and can focus on the here and now, “I want to do something before I talk to you about the pictures.”

  I take the cups of tea from her and put them on a table that isn’t covered with my drawings. She’s standing in front of them, scanning every picture when I leave her, but I pause by the doorway to the kitchen.