Second Chances: A Magical Holiday Romance

by T. M. Franklin

  Brady looked up in confusion. “Scared ‘a what? You’re a daddy. You’re not supposed to be scared of anything.” His lisp became more prominent with all of the S’s in his sentence and it made Carter smile.

  “Oh, daddies get scared too, sometimes,” he said. “So, are you feeling better?” To his surprise, Brady reached up to him, forcing Carter to sit on the floor so he could climb into his lap.

  “Yeah. I’m okay,” he said, sniffling slightly. “Mommy said I needed to have a time out.”

  Carter smirked. “Are you supposed to be in your room right now?”

  Brady shrugged, not meeting his gaze.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Carter said conspiratorially. “I won’t say anything if you promise to wear your helmet when you ride your new bike.”

  Brady sighed heavily. “Okay,” he agreed, drawing out the word so Carter knew it was a huge concession.

  Seeing the opportunity to find out a little about the world he now found himself in, Carter decided to prod the child for some information.

  “Say, Brady, you want to play a game?”

  Brady looked up, his face brightening. “What kind of game?”

  “Umm . . . it’s kind of a pretend game.”

  “Like Aliens and Space Rangers?” It took Carter a moment to decipher “Alienth and Thpace Rangerth.”

  He laughed. “Kind of. I’ll give you clues and you have to guess the answer.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ready?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  Carter pretended to think really hard. “Okay . . . she’s a little girl and lives in our house.”

  Brady shook his head pityingly. “That’s too easy. It’s my sister.”

  “You have to say her name.”

  “Peyton.” Brady rolled his eyes, already tiring of the game.

  “Peyton,” Carter repeated quietly, wondering how he and Kenzie had decided on that name. Brady was easy—it was a family name. But Peyton? He couldn’t think of a connection to that name. Not that he didn’t like it, because he did.

  “Daddy? Are we still playing?” Brady toyed with the zipper on his pajamas, obviously getting bored.

  “Okay,” Carter said with a smile. “This is the place where I work.”

  “Umm . . .” Brady’s eyes scrunched up as he thought. “It’s the paper place.”

  “The paper place?” Carter considered that for a moment. “You mean I work at a paper?”

  Brady nodded. “The paper place.”

  Carter was relieved he was still a journalist of some sort, but wondered which newspaper he worked at. It seemed a long commute to work for the Seattle Times, but he supposed he could be some sort of columnist.

  “What about Mommy?” he asked.

  “What about Mommy?” Brady repeated, his brow creased in confusion.

  “Where does Mommy work?”

  Brady rolled his eyes. “Mommy works at my school.”

  “Your school? Doing what?”

  “Daddy, I don’t like this game,” Brady said in reply. “It’s not fun at all. Can we play Old Maid instead?”

  Carter smiled at the boy. It was difficult not to be enchanted by him. He was like a miniature Kenzie with his dark hair and eyes, turned-up nose, and quick smile. Carter could tell that he was smart as well . . . also something he credited to Kenzie.

  Carter made a show of looking toward the window. “Old Maid?” he said. “I was thinking since it’s stopped raining we’d take that bike for a spin.”

  “Yay!” Brady squealed, jumping to his feet and running into the hall. “I’ll get my helmet!”

  “Okay, remember I’m right here.”

  “I know, Daddy.”

  “Don’t be scared.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Okay, push off and go, buddy.”

  Brady grunted as he pushed the pedal down, his bike wobbling as he began to roll down the sidewalk. “Daddy!”

  “It’s okay,” Carter encouraged him, his hands on either side of the bike seat—not touching, but close enough to grab it if he started to fall. “You’re doing great! Keep pedaling!”

  The wobbling lessened as Brady sped up. “I’m doing it!”

  “Keep going!”

  Brady raced down the sidewalk and Carter began to run to try and keep up with him. “You got this, buddy!”

  Brady pulled away, pumping wildly, the bike rolling steady for a long, happy moment.

  Then . . .

  “Daddy!” he yelled in a worried voice, just before the bike tipped over and he fell onto the hard concrete.

  “Brady!” Carter ran up to him and dropped to his knees to pull the bike off the little boy as his stomach clenched in fear. “Are you okay?”

  To his surprise, Brady jumped to his feet. “Did you see? I did it! I went so fast!” He bounced up and down. “I want to go again.”

  Carter laughed and turned the bike around. “Okay. Next time, just remember you have to put your foot down when you stop.”

  He took off again confidently, the bike moving smoothly down the sidewalk as Carter ran alongside him. This time, when he reached their front yard, he hit the brakes and put his foot down on the ground with a huge grin on his face.

  Caught up in the moment, Carter swept the little boy up into his arms, spinning him around as the bike clattered forgotten to the sidewalk. Brady squealed and Carter couldn’t hold back his laugh.

  “Daddy, I’m dizzy,” Brady shrieked.

  Carter gently placed his son back on his feet, not releasing him until he regained his balance. Over Brady’s shoulder he caught a flash of movement in the living room window. Kenzie was standing there, rocking Peyton on her hip with a soft smile on her face as she watched them. The smile fell a bit when she met Carter’s eyes.

  Right then Carter made a decision. Dream or not, he was going to make things right with Kenzie.

  Because—dream or not—he was still in love with her.

  The rest of the morning passed peacefully, if not comfortably. Kenzie avoided talking to him—even being in the same room with him—but had yet to ask him to leave.

  Carter took that as a good sign.

  At Brady’s insistence, Carter opened his Christmas gifts. More flannel from Kenzie—big surprise. Carter wondered when he’d become so fond of dressing like a grunge rocker from the nineties. He smiled and thanked her, though, and was suitably impressed by the little wooden tool box Brady had painted blue and yellow for him.

  Once the gifts were opened, Kenzie put Peyton down for a nap and sent Brady to take his new toys to his room. Carter sat awkwardly for a moment, then stood to start picking up the torn gift wrap and bows off the floor. He crumpled a wad into a tight ball, and was wondering what to do with it when Kenzie appeared with a huge garbage bag.

  “Here.” She held it out to him and he deposited his bundle inside before taking it from her.

  They worked in silence for a while, clearing the aftermath of Hurricane Brady, when Carter heard Kenzie release a heavy sigh. Carter watched her out of the corner of his eye. She looked tired and worn, and—God help him—so incredibly beautiful.

  “This doesn’t fix anything,” she finally said quietly. “I don’t want to ruin Christmas for Brady, so we’ll go to dinner at Noah and Lydia’s and spend time with our families, but tomorrow, we need to settle a few things.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it, Carter,” she said firmly. “I’m not going to just give in this time. Something needs to change, or . . .”

  Carter swallowed thickly. “Or . . .” he finally prodded, afraid of the answer.

  “Or we’re through.” Her words were quiet, barely a whisper, but they cut through Carter’s heart.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he told her.

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “But I really mean it this time.”

  Kenzie laughed humorlessly. “I’ve heard that before, too.”

  Carter thrust the last of the paper into
the garbage bag, tying it tightly and letting it drop to the floor as he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to say, Kenzie. I don’t want to lose you.”

  Before I even had you, he added silently.

  “Carter you haven’t had me—we haven’t had each other—for a long time,” she said, her eyes wide and sad. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s time to let it go.”

  “That’s not what I want.”

  Kenzie pursed her lips. “It’s not all about you, Carter.”

  “Mommy?” Brady appeared at the doorway, rubbing his eyes. “I’m hungry.”

  Without meeting Carter’s gaze again, Kenzie moved toward her son. “How about a sandwich?” she suggested. “Then I think it’s time for a rest before we go to Auntie Lydia’s.”

  “But I’m not tired!”

  “Brady,” Kenzie’s warning tone made Carter smile as the two made their way to the kitchen, their voices still carrying to him through the quiet house.

  “Okay,” Brady agreed grumpily, “but can I have peanut butter and jelly?”

  “Okay.”

  The tension continued through the afternoon, although—true to her word—Kenzie didn’t bring up their problems again and instead put on a smiling face. While Brady and Peyton napped, she cleaned the kitchen, although Carter thought it was more out of a desire to avoid him than anything else. The kitchen was spotless.

  Carter took the opportunity to roam the house, flipping through photo albums and peeking into drawers. He knew that it was technically his house, but he still felt like he was snooping uninvited. What he found seemed to pose more questions than answers, however. He found his college diploma, as well as Kenzie’s, but no sign of her Master’s degree. And when he came across a shelf in their apparently shared office covered with “World’s Greatest Teacher” mugs and miniature trophies, he realized Kenzie must have become a teacher instead of an author.

  He wondered what led to that decision.

  He also wondered how he ended up working at the Woodlawn Weekly, a newspaper he’d never heard of. He came across a stack of the papers, as well as some business cards in a desk drawer. Evidently he was Editor-in-Chief.

  “We need to be at Lydia’s in an hour,” Kenzie said from the office doorway. Carter jumped, immediately flushing with guilt, but quelled his panic when he realized Kenzie was not surprised or irritated by his presence in the room. It was his office, after all.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll get the kids up and ready, and if you could keep them entertained while I shower?” she asked tentatively, as if she was used to him protesting such a request.

  Carter shrugged. “Of course.”

  “I ironed your blue shirt. It’s on the bed if you want to change.”

  Carter blinked, unused to having such things done for him. “Thanks,” he said finally. “I appreciate it.”

  Kenzie nodded slightly in acknowledgement and left.

  Carter made his way to the bedroom and dressed quickly before heading down the hall toward Brady’s room. He fought a chuckle at the sight that greeted him. A very excited Brady was jumping on the bed while Kenzie tried to pull a striped sweater over his head.

  “Daddy!” he exclaimed when he spotted Carter in the doorway. “We’re going to Auntie Lyd’s!”

  Carter grinned. “I know, buddy. But we can’t go if you don’t let Mommy help you get dressed.”

  “But I’m so ‘cited! My body doesn’t want to stop jumpin’!” he argued, punctuating every word with another jump on the squeaking mattress.

  Carter walked into the room and scooped up the giggling boy before he sat on the bed, plopping Brady down on his lap. “Just try for a second,” Carter said. “We’ll count to five and I’ll bet Mommy’s done. One . . .”

  Brady smiled at the game. “Two . . .”

  Kenzie pulled the sweater over Brady’s head. “Three . . .”

  One arm through, then the other. “Four . . .”

  Kenzie yanked a pair of shoes onto Brady’s feet, working quickly to tie them. “Four and a half . . .” Carter said, drawing the words out slowly.

  Kenzie finished tying the shoes, and kissed Brady’s cheek with a loud smack. “Five!”

  “Done!” Brady wiggled from Carter’s lap and ran from the room. “Time to go!”

  Kenzie sat back on her heels, pushing her hair out of her face. “Thanks,” she said. “Could you get Peyton? She’s in her room, ready to go. I’m just going to grab a quick shower.”

  Carter felt a stab of apprehension at the thought of caring for Peyton. He had very little experience with children in general, let alone little girls. But he hid his fear and smiled instead. “Sure. No problem.”

  “I’ll be ready in twenty,” Kenzie said, looking away abruptly and walking down the hall to their bedroom.

  Carter approached Peyton’s room slowly, trying not to panic as the pink and yellow stripes surrounded him with the unfamiliar essence of femininity. The little girl sat in the middle of the floor, cradling a baby doll and cooing quietly. Carter took a moment to study her. In the shadow of Brady’s enthusiasm, he hadn’t really had an opportunity to do so until that moment.

  Her blond hair was a wild mess on her head, the nearly-white strands shimmering in the subtle lamplight. Carter smiled ruefully at the knowledge that she’d probably fight the cowlicks for the rest of her life, and hoped she wouldn’t curse her father for the genes that condemned her to such a fate. He had been tow-headed as well, when he was a child. His hair started to darken when he hit puberty and by the time he was an adult, it was barely light enough to still be called blond.

  Carter smiled softly as Peyton sang to the doll, a tuneless melody with words he couldn’t decipher. Eventually, she realized she was being watched, and her gaze lifted to meet Carter’s.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she whispered quietly, evidently trying not to wake the baby.

  It was a moment before Carter could reply, because when her big eyes met his, he lost his breath. It was like looking into a mirror. The luminous hazel eyes with flecks of green and gold staring back at him were his own. It was unsettling . . . overwhelming . . . yet, at the same time, he was filled with a pride and possessiveness that nearly knocked him over.

  His child. His daughter.

  Was it possible to fall in love with someone so quickly?

  He stepped toward her tentatively, dropping into a crouch on the rug. “Hi, Peyton.” Unable to resist, he reached out to touch a wayward strand of her hair. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking care of Baby. She’s sleepy,” she whispered.

  “Is she coming to Aunt Lydia’s with us?”

  Peyton nodded solemnly. “’Course. She always comes with me.”

  Carter smiled. “Well, can we go downstairs? As soon as Mommy’s ready, we need to get going.”

  “’Kay, Daddy.” She patted his cheek, scratching his beard softly, before handing him the doll unceremoniously as she got to her feet. Carter held it awkwardly by one arm.

  “Daddy!” she chided. “You have to hold her gently!” She reached out to wrap his arms around the plastic doll.

  “Is that right?” Carter asked, still a little awed by the pretty child. He adjusted his hold. “Is that better?”

  Peyton nodded, taking Carter’s pant leg and tugging him from the room. “Do you think Auntie Lyd will have cookies?”

  “Umm . . . maybe.”

  “Peanut butter? They’re my favorite.”

  “Mine, too!”

  Peyton looked at him suspiciously. “I know that, Daddy.”

  Carter grinned. “Of course you do.”

  They walked downstairs, only to find Brady running wildly from one room to another, his arms spread wide as he made airplane noises.

  “I’m gonna fly to Auntie Lyd’s!” he yelled from the kitchen.

  “Maybe we should take the car instead,” Carter suggested.

  “Nope. Flying’s faster.”

  “You can’t fly, Brady,” Peyton s
aid, her tone much older than her little body as she propped her fists on her hips. “You don’t have wings.”

  Brady came to stop in front of her. “Can so.”

  “Can not.”

  “Can so!”

  “Can not!” she screamed.

  “Whoa! Wait a second.” Carter tried to intervene, scrambling for a way to defuse the situation. Two pairs of eyes turned to him, apparently waiting for him to declare a winner in the little standoff.

  Carter had no idea what to do.

  Fortunately, he was spared by Kenzie coming down the stairs, pulling on a long coat as she hurried into the room. “Time to go!” she said cheerfully, successfully diverting the children’s attention. “Bundle up if you want to go to Auntie Lydia’s.”

  Brady and Peyton cheered, slipping on their coats and waiting patiently as Kenzie zipped them up. Carter watched the scene with mixed emotions.

  On the one hand, he felt overwhelmed, with a wife and two children all dependent on him—and from what he’d learned so far, he was failing them.

  On the other, the domestic scene filled him with a sense of peace and longing. It was something he hadn’t known he wanted, even in the times when he’s mourned the loss of Kenzie in his life with a fervency he didn’t know he possessed.

  But he did . . . want it, that is.

  He realized it as he followed Kenzie out to the minivan and watched her strap Peyton into her car seat. As Brady sang Jingle Bells at the top of his lungs. As the van backfired before the engine finally caught, and they slowly backed out of the driveway.

  As he caught a glimpse of Kenzie—his wife—in the seat next to him.

  He wanted this life. Even if it meant he never set foot on foreign soil or appeared on the national news. He wanted this life.

  But his heart sank when he made another realization.

  He may have wanted it, but he wasn’t sure Kenzie did anymore.

  They pulled up in front of Noah and Lydia’s house and Carter helped Kenzie get the kids out of the van, and held Peyton’s hand as they made their way to the front door. He noticed several cars in the driveway and wondered who else was going to be at dinner.

  “Merry Christmas!” Lydia shouted as she threw open the front door, dropping to her knees to wrap Peyton and Brady into a tight hug. “How are my most favoritest niece and nephew in the whole wide world?” she asked, pulling back to kiss their cheeks.