Second Chance Hero

by Rebecca Sherwin

“You should sit down.” I say and she turns her head to look at me, “You should rest.”

  I rush to the back and grab her iPod dock, scrolling through my songs on the way back out front. I manage to plug it in and set up my phone on the system before she notices I’m back.

  “What are you doing?” she asks. But she’s done as I asked; she’s sitting down at the table, leaning back in the chair with her hands knotted on her stomach. God.

  “Deacon?” She asks as I close my eyes and bring my fist to my mouth.

  I can’t make her get up. She should be at home on the sofa with her feet up, looking through baby magazines.

  “Deac, what’s wrong?”

  “I changed my mind.” I say, fighting the sudden urge to run.

  “Hey,” I look away at where my phone is lit up on the dock, and Jenna stands up, walking towards me and stops inches away, “Please don’t bail. I’m here.”

  She reaches past me to the paper bag on the counter top and I nod that she can open it. Today took some help from Mindy; I couldn't remember the song and she helped me find a good quality recording of it. But not before I had to explain everything to her. And then to Esteban, because Mindy thought he’d love to hear it.

  “Are you ready?” I ask, taking off my jumper and holding my hand out for the head band.

  “For what?” She smiles but hands me the band and I slide the pink and black accessory through her hair. I had it made with artificial flowers so she can keep it.

  “I want you to stand there with your hands behind your back. You remember the side step?” She nods slowly, “Do that.”

  She giggles in anticipation and holds her hands behind her back. She’s wearing grey tracksuit bottoms and a vest so loose around the arms I can see her red bra, and her usual white plimsolls. With a girly flower piece in her hair. I don't think she’s ever looked more beautiful. I take a deep breath and press play on my phone. The music springs to life and I watch Jenna’s eye light up before she remembers and plays her part. I play mine by leaning on the counter and clicking my fingers to Bill Haley’s ‘Rock Around The Clock’. Mindy had to show me the video yesterday while Jen was at the shop, so I remembered the dance. We danced to this song for our school play when we were twelve. The kind where you weren’t allowed to opt out or ask to do lighting.

  Jenna remembers the dance, and holds her hands out for me without missing a beat, as I step towards her and hold her hands in mine. We swing our arms to the music and step in the right places. The dance was simple. A few steps, some swinging arms and a few twirls. But Jenna’s dancing like a pro, while I slip up on a few steps but manage to wing it. She twirls under my arm and grips my shoulder as I hold her close and move our bodies. My leg is between hers as I step us and I don't remember it being this sexy in school. Her hand fits in mine perfectly, the reach up to my shoulder just enough to keep her frame tight and my eyes the perfect height to catch a glimpse of her chest bouncing in time to the beat.

  The song ends and I pull off a turn and lean down with her so her hair touches the floor. Her grip on me tightens and she giggles. When I let her stand up she combs her fingers through her hair, the smile never leaving her flushed face.

  “That was part one.”

  “That was brilliant. I’d forgotten about that dance.”

  I smile, because that’s all I want to do around Jenna. I’m tired of acting like a macho man in front of girls and my family. I like beer, I like to box and I like to have sex. But I love spending time with this girl, watching her smile, and love being the one who puts it on her face. It’s crazy.

  I sit at the table and drink my tea, with Jenna opposite me drinking hers and playing with the flowers in her hair.

  “Why the headband?” she asks, distracting from the nerves that are beginning to take over.

  “Because the flowers will die. I wanted you to be able to keep something.”

  “Thank you,” she takes a sip of tea, and lingers the cup on her lips, drawing my attention to them, glistening and perfectly pink and plunk. I want to kiss her so much it hurts. A kiss from her would calm the nerves, “you’re quite the romantic.”

  “Only since you got back to town.”

  That’s completely true. I used to stand girls up, speak to them like shit, and make it quite clear I wasn’t really interested in conversation; I preferred to replay old conversations between Jenna and me in my head while they were talking. And I used to buy flowers from the petrol garage near my house, or the local supermarket. I still can't cook, so there’ll be little chance of romantic dinners; but I find things that remind me of Jenna everywhere, and buying her gifts shows her I’m thinking about her. Constantly. I watch her for long seconds, feeling myself slip away as the nerves take over my control. I see Jenna’s lips moving but I can’t hear the words; all I can hear are her soft moans, her breathless whispers and her ecstatic screams. She stops talking but I continue to stare, edging forward so our lips are almost touching.

  “So are you going to tell me what this is about? This is a crazy presentation.”

  “I want your refurb.”

  “Deac-”

  “For reasons beyond what you think.”

  I can't turn back now. I’ve thrown it out there, she’s going to question it, and I’ll have to tell her.

  “Why do you want it so badly?”

  I take a deep breath.

  “Hear everything before you react, okay?” She nods, “I’ve seen your shops. I know you inside out, Jen. I know everything about you, about your life, your passions. I went on your baking journey with you our entire childhood. Nobody is more qualified to give you this shop than me. Besides the house I designed with my dad, I haven’t put pencil to paper and designed an entire build for anyone. But I want to do this for you. Please, let me do it, Jen.”

  “You’ve seen my shops?”

  Of course that would be the part she picked up on, instead of answering my proposition.

  “Yes. I’ve seen your shops. Google is priceless.”

  “That’s not what you meant.” She narrows her eyes, “Is it?”

  I close my eyes. She’s going to think I’m crazy, or she’s going to go crazy.

  “I’ve been to your shops. The butterscotch is my favourite.”

  “Why did you go to my shops?”

  “Why are you pissed that I went?”

  “Because you didn’t come and see me.”

  Shit.

  “I did see you. You were serving someone. I was gonna wait, make sure I was served by you. But I wasn’t sure you’d want me there, so your hippy friend served me and I bolted. I’m sorry.”

  “I would have wanted to see you.”

  I shrug. What else am I supposed to say? We were both wrong all those years ago, me mainly, but she left. Made it perfectly clear we weren’t friends anymore. But it didn’t stop the way I felt about her and how protective I felt over her. So I went to her shops to make sure she was doing okay.

  “It was hard on me, you know?” she says, her bottom lip trembling, “I know it was horrible for you. I should’ve been there and I was selfish, but there has not been one day in the last five years that I haven’t thought about that night on the beach. About you.”

  “Why did you run then?”

  I know why she ran. It was the same reason I did. Dad had offices in London before he died, in partnership with someone he’d known for years. Ted, my dad’s silent partner offered to look after the Folquay site until I graduated with my degree, but I declined his offer. I ran too. I just never told anyone that it was because I was a coward; I was scared Jenna would block me out and I’d have to watch her make other friends, go out with other guys. We lived opposite each other and I was worried I’d have to watch her bring people home or make the walk of shame morning after morning. I don't know why I thought Jenna would sleep around, but it made staying away easier, and I convinced myself it would block out the pain if I did what I was convinced she was doing. It’s how the ‘trait girls’
started.

  I haven’t answered her, but she's stopped waiting. She’s staring a hole in the table and chewing on the inside of her cheek.

  “You okay?”

  “The tattoo I got,” She starts, but chokes on her words.

  “The rose?” She nods, “What about it?”

  “I got it for you.” Come again? “I was already with Kip when I got it. I was convinced if I carried your initial around with me I wouldn’t worry about where in the world you were and if you were doing okay.”

  All I can do is look at her, shocked. I had no idea that rose had anything to with me, or that she really didn’t know I haven’t left the area around Folquay since my dad died.

  “I asked Mum to stop talking about you,” she continues, “she tried to get me to talk to you at the funeral but it was the wrong time and place. I never found the right time after that to tell you I messed up. So I asked Mum not to mention your name again. I didn’t want to admit to her that I couldn't get over it. I didn’t know where your life had taken you, but I knew if I got that tattoo I’d feel like you would always be a part of mine.”

  “Jesus, Jen.” She purses her lips and when I think she’s about to cry, I slide off my chair into a crouch in front of her and pull her into my arms, “It’s okay. It’s the past. We’re both okay.”

  She doesn’t cry; she just holds on to me and it feels so good but so wrong. She shouldn’t feel like this. She thinks she’s a terrible person; it’s in her eyes whenever we’re together. But she’s not. We were young, we were naive and we made mistakes. But we’ve got the second chance most people don't get. Especially not when it’s your first love, with your best friend. What we’ve got is special; we know each other, really know each other, from the very first chapter. We’ve skipped a few pages and lost our grasp on each other but she’s here, I’m here. We’ve got a second chance at first love.

  “Jen?” I ask, letting her go and looking up at her, “Can I see it?”

  She nods and turns in her chair so her back is to me and I rub the material of her vest between my fingers. I brush the smooth skin at the bottom of her back with my fingertips as I lift the vest and she shivers like she always does when I touch her; her reaction to my touch is just another thing to add to the list of things I love about her.

  I don't see it straight away; it’s hidden perfectly. But Jenna lets me study it and I trace the outline of the petals with my finger, and then the cursive ‘D’ in the middle. She’s wanted me with her the whole time. Slowly I lean down and press my lips to the tattoo and a quiet moan escapes her.

  “There’s no way you can get rid of me now,” I smile against her skin.

  I’ve been with some crazy women in my life; women, who have threatened to jump in front of a train, follow me to the ends of the earth, and burn down my site. And normally wearing my clothes, or my jewellery, or inking my name permanently into one’s skin would constitute as crazy. But with Jenna it’s perfect; on the right side of insanity; just enough to take me along for the ride and wish I had done that for her.

  “I don't want to get rid of you.” She pulls her top down and turns around to face me, “You can have the job, I was going to give it to you yesterday. Get the contract written up before I change my mind.”

  She smiles, but I know I haven’t managed to lift her mood. We’ve done nothing but to and fro between a perfectly normal friendship, and something deeper teetering on the edge of a cliff, one step from being shattered. For good this time.

  “You can't change your mind.”

  She shakes her head, trying to convince me but unable to say the words. There’s no guarantee I won't screw up, and she’ll take it away.

  “Want to help me strip?” she asks raising her brows and I almost fall on my arse.

  “What?”

  “The walls,” she tries not to laugh as she steps past me and grabs the scraper, “what did you think I meant?”

  “You sure you should be doing that?”

  “Yes. I can pull wallpaper off a wall.”

  I look away from her, close my eyes and take a deep breath; I almost lost it. She can't know that I know. Not now.

  “Okay,” I grab my phone off the dock, “let me tell the site manager I won't be there today.”

  “It’s alright. If you’ve got stuff to do, go do it.”

  “Shut up,” I mock-glare at her, “I’m the boss remember? Besides, I’ve got to go buy lunch, you can't go out like that.”

  If Jenna goes out in what is supposed to be scruffy decorating clothes, she’ll put all other women to shame. And no man other than me should see her looking so relaxed and sexy. I watch her climb the step ladder and scrape her back into a ponytail, before tearing myself away from her and going to buy us lunch.

  “What did you buy?” Jenna slips off the step ladder when I walk back in the shop with bags of food and I flinch. I’m going to lose it.

  “Will you be careful?” I snap and watch her eyes widen in shock. Shit.

  She nods and looks anywhere but at me, but I kiss her on the forehead and lead her towards the table.

  “I got sandwiches, chips, ice cream and,” I put the bags down and dig in my pocket for another gift I found while I was in the shop getting our drinks, “lollipops.”

  “Oh my god!” Jenna shrieks, grabbing one from me, “they still make these?”

  “Apparently.”

  We used to buy these lollipops for each other every Valentine’s Day; they’re shaped like hearts with bubblegum in the middle and sherbet coating the bubblegum. They were in a pot on the counter in the newsagents so I had to buy them. Jenna sits at the table where the bags of food are and looks through them.

  “I’m glad you have a big appetite. I’m starving.”

  “Jen, are you pregnant?”

  Fuck!

  Chapter 20

  Jenna

  I pause with the sandwich I picked mid-air. He didn’t just ask me that did he? But then I look at him and see he’s frozen in place too, a look of regret in his eyes. He really did just ask me if I‘m pregnant.

  “What?” I manage to ask, but I can’t move, “What?”

  “What?” he says, looking to me and any expression from his face is gone. He looks vacant.

  If he thinks for one minute that I’m going to pretend he didn’t just say that, he can think again.

  “What did you just ask me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Fuck off, Deacon.” I stand up, unable to sit and process this information, “Don't treat me like I’m an idiot.”

  I feel the nervous energy radiating off him, colliding with the anger I’m trying desperately to contain. Deacon paces the shop, gripping a handful of his hair and curling his other hand into a fist.

  “Deacon!”

  “I said.” he turns around, and in two quick strides he’s in my personal space, “Are you pregnant?”

  “What?” I fold my arms protectively across my body and take a step away from him.

  Why would he think that? Shit. The night we slept together; we didn’t use anything. He’s waiting for my answer, his eyes burning with an expression I can’t describe.

  “Is it mine?” He asks before I have a chance to say anything.

  “I don't think it works that quickly.”

  “So it’s his.”

  He says ‘his’ with utter disgust and a look of defeat clouds his beautiful face and he walks towards the door. I’m running out of time, but my voice won't work.

  “Wait!” I scream as he opens the door and the moist air sweeps into the shop, giving me some much needed oxygen, “Jesus, Deac. Don't walk out on me.”

  He hesitates at the door, his hand gripping the door, his head bowed.

  “Don't leave. Don't you think we’ve done enough running?”

  He turns and looks at me, his teeth clenched, his face so pained it cuts me to the core. I run to him, before I think about what I’m doing and he catches me, lifting my feet off the ground and burying hi
s nose in my neck. We need to talk about this, but I can't think about anything but being with him as he hoists me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. Deacon carries me through the shop to the kitchen and crashes us into the counter, knocking my ingredients to the floor. His lips are on mine with ferocity, and heat courses through me. He launches me onto the counter, stepping between my legs and devouring my mouth. I’m powerless to him as he grips my hips making me cry out, and then applies the same pressure to my behind, pulling me into his rock hard arousal. His hold is vice-like, his teeth pulling as my bottom lip and travelling along my neck, his fingers digging into me in a show of aggression. I’ve never seen this side to him before and my blood ignites, setting every cell in my body on fire. And then I remember what Jonas said. Deacon’s angry, he’s hurting and he’s dealing with it the only way he knows how. He bites my neck hard and I moan because that’s the effect he has on me; but this isn’t right. It isn’t my Deacon doing this.

  I pull back breathless, but his hands continue to roam my body as he nuzzles into my neck again, kissing and licking, biting and sucking.

  “Deac.” I need to get through to him, “Deac, stop.”

  My body betrays me; I’m giving him every signal that I want him; my breasts are heavy, my nipples aching against the lace of my bra, I’m panting and tightening my legs around him. I grab his head with both hands and push him away. I have to make him look at me.

  “Red,” I breathe and finally he looks at me his, his expression turning from something to primitive, as the shame washes through him, “You don't have to do this with me.”

  “Jenna, I-”

  “It’s just sex.” I grip two handfuls of hair at the back of his head, “We’re more than that. I’m not one of them.”

  He says nothing; just looks at me as his breathing slows and gradually he comes back to me.

  “I’m not pregnant.” I pepper kisses on his cheek and whisper in his ear, “I’m not pregnant.”

  Deacon drops to the floor, and I tumble down after him. I scramble to my knees and straddle him as he processing what I just told him.