Second Chance Hero

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “Anything we can help you with?”

  Gabrielle is a forty-something year old woman with four children and a granddaughter; but I know exactly what she’s thinking. It’s not right.

  I beefed back up after my stint as a handicap. I did put weight on, because of my wife’s incredible cooking. As soon as my leg came out of the cast I enrolled in self-taught physiotherapy and hit the garden gym hard. The weight came of quickly, and thanks to Jenna’s cooking, I’m eating a healthy balanced diet instead of the takeaway or pub food I used to live on and I’ve leaned out. Apparently, thanks to my Scandinavian routes, I appeal to a larger demographic because I’m not as big and scary. I don't understand it, either.

  “Yeah, actually. Gabrielle, can you look to get in some new recruits. I have plenty of labourers who know what they’re doing now. I can push them up the rankings, get some kids in on an apprenticeship and get the work done.”

  I've got a holiday complex, a retirement home and a leisure centre to build in six months. It sounds like a long time, but if it doesn’t start soon we’ll miss the deadline for autumn next year.

  “I can do that,” Gabrielle replies, obviously pissed that I’m using her full name, “I can get a page up on the site tonight, and get some immediate starts.”

  “Great, thanks. Is Ted in the office? I just want to run it past him.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I decided to take up working alongside my dad’s lifelong friend after he helped out here after the crash. Truth is, I did need some help; the bloke has been running the London offices since I was a kid, and he helped me pull some shit together.

  “Hey.” He answers and I hear his worn leather chair squeak, “How was the honeymoon?”

  “It was good.” I answer, not wanting to talk about something that is so personal to us. I wish people would stop asking about it, “Did Gabby tell you what I said?”

  “Sure did. What salary are you thinking?”

  “No set salary. Pay by the day. It’s manual labour, it’s gotta be cheap,” I say, swivelling my chair round and round, “it was just an idea. I’m struggling to-”

  Jenna walks in the door, wrapped up like we live in the Arctic and shakes the snow out of her hair. I watch as the snowflakes fall to the carpet and melt, leaving her hair a tangle of messy tresses. Her nose is red, her cheeks redder and she’s unzipping her coat.

  “Deacon?” Ted calls.

  “I’m here.” I answer, but I’m gone.

  I hear Ted’s voice, but I block him out as I watch Jenna rid herself of her coat, hat, scarf and gloves. And then her knitted jumper comes off, revealing her long sleeved white t-shirt underneath. It’s tight enough that I can see the outline of her stomach muscles and the cups of her daring pink bra. It’s barely keeping her assets contained, and I’m barely keeping my composure. I love that she can do this to me - stop my world and then turn it on its axis. She saunters towards me slowly, her hips swaying in her dark skinny jeans. She’s got her fuck-me boots on. They are knee length and black with a little heel. I bought them for her, and then fucked her while she was wearing nothing but them. Jenna leans over me, gripping the arms of my chair and pushes me away so she can slide in and take her rightful place on my desk. The last thing I want to be doing is work, and I think about what I could be doing to Jenna instead.

  She beckons me towards her and with the phone still on my ear, I scoot between her legs. My favourite place to be, apart from the warm little blanket that is her heart.

  I love it when she bites her lip; it has direct access to my groin and I harden as her eyes trail over my trousers. Freeing her lip, Jenna leans forward and pulls the receiver from my ear. I exert minimal effort to stop her, and she holds it to her ear, pressing a leather-clad foot either side of my legs.

  “Ted, it’s Jenna.” I can't hear Ted’s reply, “We came back still married so I’d say we had a good honeymoon. Listen, I need him to help me out with something. Can he call you back?”

  She nods at whatever Ted’s response is, and puts the phone on the hook.

  “You need help?” I ask.

  I promise to be yours,

  And to call you mine,

  I promise to be your lover, your companion,

  And your sidekick.

  I promise to tell you everyday how much I love you.

  You are the other half of my soul.

  I promise to be your lemon drizzle,

  Your butterscotch,

  And everything in between.

  I promise to be your best friend, beyond my last days.

  You are my hero, and I love you.

  So much it hurts.”

  Jenna shakes her head, “Nope.”

  “Okay?” I furrow my brows and narrow my eyes.

  “Can't a woman visit her husband at work?”

  “Yes.” I groan, running my nails up and down her jeans, hearing the scrape of the denim, “Yes. You can.”

  “Good.” She leans over and kisses my cheek, “How’s it going?”

  She gestures to the paperwork her incredible backside is sitting on, and then frowns. Something’s up.

  “Could be worse. Could be better, but I’m not drowning yet.” I answer, but I’m too focused about the look on her face. Her eyes are glowing in the way I’ve noticed they do when we’re together. But she’s biting the inside of her cheek. That’s never good, “What’s the matter?”

  “Do you want me to help you? I sold controlling interest for the London shops this afternoon,” that’s good news so why the nervousness? “I’ll still get a cut of the profit, but I sold all responsibility. I could be your secretary.”

  She winks at me and my heart stops. I don't understand how she can be playful and fidgety at the same time.

  “You want to be my secretary?” I can't help playing along, as the images of her fill my mind, “Don't divert the question.”

  “I could be your secretary.” She swaps her cheek for her bottom lip and I’m drawn to that perfect mouth of hers, “I would be at your beck and call. Whatever you desire, I could arrange it,” She leans forward and rests her forearms on my shoulders, her face inches from mine, “Of course it would be a temporary arrangement. A six month contract.”

  “Why would it be temporary?” Please tell me she’s not planning on leaving me in advance.

  “I got you a present.”

  She kicks my chair away with her feet and slides off the desk. Her t-shirt rides up, exposing her stomach with the tan still lingering on her skin and makes her way around the desk. I didn’t realise she brought anything in with her, but then I see a white cardboard box on top of the filing cabinet next to the door. The filing cabinet that holds too many jobs to count that need to be transferred to the computer. Another task. But I don't think of that now. Why is Jenna acting shifty, when she’s interrupted my day to bring me cakes? She’s all over the place.

  “Stop changing the subject,” I snap as the paranoia builds, “what’s going on?”

  “I spent the morning baking. I had business first thing but then I made these afterwards.”

  “Is it bad?” I ask as she walks back round to the desk and sets the cakes down before leaning against it.

  She ignores my question again; she’s always been good at that. But this time she pulls me into her by the collar of my shirt and crashes her mouth to mine. I lose it quickly, fisting my hands into her hair and holding her to me. Jenna’s breath quickens and her hands tighten around the material of my shirt. I drop my hands to her waist and pull her onto my lap, grinding up to her as my need for her grows. She releases a moan as my tongue seeks out hers and I feel my cock twitch in impatience.

  “Get them off.” I push her back and tug on her jeans, lifting myself off the chair to lower my trousers just enough. Jenna pulls her boots and trousers off her frantically and I couldn't give a fuck what she’s hiding right now. I have to be inside her. She rushes back on to my lap, her hands on my shoulders, her body hovering above mine, protected only by
the lacy pink thong I watched her put on this morning. I use one hand to slip it to the side and push one finger inside her.

  “Jen.” I say through gritted teeth as I feel her juices run down my finger.

  “I’m so hot for you.” She breathes through a moan, “Fuck me. Now.”

  I don't need telling twice. Using one hand to position myself I pull her hips down and bury myself inside her, biting on her neck as she tightens around me. I hold her wrists behind her back with one hand and use the other to set her pace, rubbing that sweet spot deep inside her that drives her crazy. She’s desperate to touch me, to claw at my chest and pull my hair, but I want to watch her. Jenna throws her head back, her hair tickling my thighs and moans my name breathlessly. It doesn’t take long before she’s screaming in ecstasy and trembling around me; her body spasms as she comes violently and squeezes the hand holding her captive. I free her and she pounds her hands into my chest. She digs her nails in and scrapes them down my shirt and I come undone, stilling her as I pour into her. She drops her head to my shoulder and whispers in my ear.

  “God, I love you.”

  “You just love me for my body.” I tease as I try to get my breath back.

  “My body.” She corrects, biting my shoulder and sits up, climbing off me.

  I watch our combined juices drip down her leg, and I’m sure I could go again this second. I have to look away to stop from taking her again as she pulls tissues out of the box, cleans herself up and pulls her jeans back on. My eyes rest back on the cake box on my desk.

  “Open it.” She smiles, standing next to my chair and leaning into it.

  “You really want me to open it?” I ask, sensing her nerves. She must have tried a new recipe.

  “I can't wait to see you open it.”

  I hesitate, wondering what she’s come up with this time. I didn’t like the peanut butter ones last night. She overdid the peanut butter and it got stuck to the roof of my mouth. I open the box, praying it’s lemon or butterscotch.

  There are nine cakes in the box – too many for me to eat. But it’s the decoration that stops my heart. They alternate between mint green and lemon yellow, with a white letter piped on each little cupcake.

  ‘I’m pregnant’

  “Holy motherfucking shit.” I choke as my hands and eyes stay frozen on the cakes, “We’re having a baby?”

  I manage to turn my head to see Jenna nodding, slowly, the fear of my reaction clearly displayed on her face.

  We’re having a baby.

  We’re having a fucking baby.

  A real life baby. Half Jenna and half me.

  A baby.

  “Deac?” She whispers, touching my hand and redirecting me to put the box down.

  “We got our honeymoon baby?” I ask.

  We thought it would take longer. Jenna didn’t get her injection the August after I proposed, but the nurse told her it can take up to five years to conceive when women come off the depo-something. They can re-evaluate that estimate. We’re having a baby.

  “I’m not sure. We have to have a scan to see how far along I am.” She slides onto my lap and looks at me, still wary of my reaction, “Are you happy?”

  “I’m going to be a dad.” I say, more to myself because although we’ve been letting mother nature do her thing for a year and a half, I’m in shock, “And you’re going to be a mum, baby. I couldn't be fucking happier.”

  She relaxes as the worry leaves her and I pull her to me, caging her in my embrace.

  “Can we do a test?”

  “What?” She sits back, the fear back in her eyes.

  “I want to see the little blue line on the stick. I believe you and I’m the happiest man alive. I just want us to do one together.”

  A smile creeps onto her face, and she reaches for her bag, pulling out a long foil packet, “I hoped you’d say that. Race you to the house.”

  She bolts from the office and I hear her heels clicking on the metal steps on her way out of the office. I grab her stuff and chase after her. The work can wait.

  I’m going to be a dad.

  “I have an idea.” Jenna says, trailing her finger through my chest hair.

  We’re lying on the bed, with Jenna’s head on my chest, her leg slung over mine. One of my arms is round her shoulder, the other holds the little white stick above us as we look at the little window with ‘Pregnant 3+ weeks’ in it.

  “So it means we created a miracle how long ago?” I ask. She’s already told me, but it’s confusing as hell.

  “It means we created life more than three weeks ago. The leaflet said the doctor will date it five weeks and over on a twenty-eight day cycle.” She rolls her eyes and laughs when I stare at her, at a loss, “It means I’m five weeks. Or more. I booked an appointment with the doctor for tomorrow. They had a cancellation. I know you have to work so-”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Deac. I’ll probably just pee in a pot and that’ll be it.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She smiles, glad I insisted. I’m not missing one minute of this. We agreed we’d take one day at a time. Treat every day as if it will be our last. But that went out the window the minute she told me she’s pregnant. We’ve got nine months, and a life of parenthood to plan for.

  “So my idea.” She turns and rests her head on her hand, looking up at me, “I know it’s early. And it’s up for discussion, but-”

  She stops, looking away and I watch her eyes gloss.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask, placing the stick on the nightstand and pulling her into me, “I’ll love your idea, no matter what it is.”

  “The baby was created because of your dad.” She grimaces, “That’s gross. We would never be together if it wasn’t him and his antics beyond the grave... if we have a boy... I want to name him after your dad.”

  I stop breathing, “You’d do that?”

  “Yes. And give him my dad’s name too.”

  “Dominic Esteban Reid?” She nods, and my heart flutters in excitement, “Sounds like a heartbreaker.”

  “Oh, he’ll break hearts alright,” she leans up, feathering my chest with kisses, “and his dad will teach him to mend them.”

  “What do you think I am, some sort of hero?”

  She throws her leg over mine, straddling me and pressing her palm on my chest, over my heart.

  “No. You're not some sort of hero.”

  She grabs my hand and brings it to her chest over her heart.

  “You’re my hero.” She guides my hand down her body and settles it over the bottom of her stomach, “Our hero.”

  Author’s Note

  I have to say a big thank you to everyone in my life. Without all of you this story wouldn’t have been possible.

  To all of my friends, for still being there after I turned into a hermit in the final stages of this journey, and for reading over every minute detail to make sure I served the story justice. There’s a bottle of wine and a girl’s night on the cards before I get cracking with the next book.

  To my family for supporting me as I jumped from idea to idea, trying to figure out what to do with my life. You have been there for me no matter what and I love you unconditionally.

  To my son, and my hero, Alfie. I did this for you, buddy. To show you that you can do anything you want to do. There’s no mountain you can’t climb, no goal you can’t reach. I promise I will give you the life you deserve. I love you with all my heart.

  And to my Pops. You were the greatest man I ever knew and I think about you every day. Thank you for watching down on me, making sure I do a good job. I hope I’ve made you proud. The first star I see at night? That’s you. The very same star I saw when this story came to mind. I miss you and I love you.

  To my readers, you awesome bunch. Thank you for sticking with this story to the end. There’s plenty more on the way.

  For updates and information on my latest work, come and join me on Twitter @RRSherwin or like my Facebook page: facebook.c
om/rebeccasherwinauthor