One Last Chance: Small Town Second Chance Romance

by Amelia Gates

  He sighed at me through his nose but let me finish cleaning him up. When I was done with his face and chest, I moved to his knuckles, which were raw and bloodied. I frowned as I washed the blood away.

  “I didn’t think you hit him that many times,” I said.

  “We started long before you got there.”

  “Mm. How long before?”

  He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  I shook my head. “I guess not. What was that all about, anyway?”

  “I had a hunch. Went nowhere, obviously.”

  “What was your hunch?”

  He glared down the street the way we’d come. “Don’t worry about it,” he said and shrugged.

  “You think he killed Hunter?”

  He shrugged, but didn’t answer.

  I finished with his hands and put the kit back together, then balled up the trash and threw it away. “It’s a bit too late to tell me not to worry about it, don’t you think?” He shrugged again. “Come on, I’ll walk you home,” I said and set out a foot before him.

  “Now you’re just trying to get caught,” he said, exasperated. “If you’re gonna act like this, why don’t you just tell your dad about us?”

  I gave him a stern look. “These are extenuating circumstances. You could have a concussion. I’m not going to let you walk yourself home in that condition. What if you fall in a ditch and die? I’d do this for anybody, and everybody knows it.”

  “Daisy—”

  “Look, either you let me walk you home or I call you an ambulance.”

  He rolled his eyes and stood up. “Well I guess if my financial future depends on it, you can walk me home.”

  “There you go,” I said smugly, lacing my arm through his. “Now let’s see if you can walk straight.”

  His bumps, cuts, and bruises looked worse than they were. He was in good enough shape that I had no qualms about continuing to question his thought process.

  “You know Dayle’s a dealer, right?” I asked.

  “Yup. Deals to kids.”

  I sighed. “So what, you decided to go all vigilante? Turn him in if you feel like it. What would your PO do if he knew you were fighting? And what would he think seeing you get kicked out of Dayle’s house.”

  Kash shrugged and pulled his eyes away from mine. “I wasn’t playing vigilante. Just had a few questions for him, that’s all.”

  “What questions?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes it does, Kash. You were trying to get in on his business, weren’t you? Damn it, Kash, we agreed--!”

  “Seriously, Daisy?” He glared at me. “You seriously think I was there to get a paycheck from that asshole?”

  “Well what do you expect me to think when you won’t tell me? Either that or you think he killed Hunter.”

  His expression darkened. “I expect you to trust me.”

  We were at his motel then, to my dismay. I grabbed his arm. “Okay, I trust you. I trust you to tell me whatever it is you’re plotting!”

  He shook his head. “That’s not trust and you know it. Go on home, Daisy, before someone sees you with me.”

  His tone cut through my soul. He was hurt and angry, but damn it, so was I.

  Why couldn’t he let me in to what he was doing?

  What was so bad that he had to keep it a secret from me?

  Kash walked away, not really quickly, but not slowly, either. Stopping, he turned at the door to blow me a deliberate kiss, then disappeared inside leaving me to stew on the ghosts of my unanswered questions.

  Furious at him, Dayle, and myself, I stormed down the street to the store. I fully intended on leaving Dad’s beer on the table and running off into the forest for the day.

  Frustration from the whole situation had built to an explosive level inside of me, and I couldn’t think of a more satisfying way to handle it than smashing dead branches against their parent trees until they broke into a million pieces.

  Chapter 25

  My mouth hurt. My head was on fire. I wouldn’t have cared, except that it was distracting me from what I was trying to do. I had my notebook in front of me and was flipping my pen between my fingers, frowning down at the chicken scratch notes I’d scribbled down in moments of inspiration.

  Dayle had been a dead end. He hadn’t even tried to hide the fact that he was pleased with Hunter’s death and my incarceration—of course he’d been happy about it, it had been great for his business. He’d bragged about all the shady shit he did to keep his products moving, even admitted to taking a hit out on a rival drug dealer several years before. But he wouldn’t admit to killing Hunter.

  Not that I trusted him or anything, but there was no indication in his expression or tone that he was lying. He’d stated his innocence as fact, just as he’d stated his guilt. What bothered me most was how badly I wanted him to be the killer. It would have been an easy fix to so many of my problems and Dayle being the culprit would also make a lot of damn sense. I could feel my mind trying to stretch reality to fit the hypothesis. It was the first step into a descent into madness and I knew it.

  Murder is bigger than anything he admitted to, even the hit, I thought. But for him to admit to it, he’d have to be proud enough to brag about it. Hunter’s killer had been a coward, hitting him from the back. Which had been another reason they thought it was me—they assumed I hit from the back because I couldn’t stomach looking into my best friend’s eyes as I killed him. Dayle, on the other hand, I’m sure would have bludgeoned Hunter to death while staring right through to his soul.

  I started to get that sinking feeling again. I’d ridden this wave over and over again, every time I looked over the evidence against me. Everything pointed at me, every tiny little thing. It all sketched a picture of someone close to Hunter and Hunter’s business who, in a moment of fury, attacked him from behind. I fit so well in that picture, especially with how pissed off I’d been at Hunter in those last few weeks, that sometimes it made me question my own memory of what happened that night.

  Every attempt to see the situation clearly bumped up against that same obstacle. A ghost image of me kept clouding the picture, making it impossible for me to figure out who had actually been standing in that place. I could make a list of every single person Hunter knew, and—

  “And that wouldn’t help either,” I muttered, tossing my pen down in disgust. “The cops already did that, and they narrowed it down to me. I’d follow that same logic and end up at the same conclusion.”

  I stood and stretched, cracked my neck, and started pacing the room. I needed a new angle. For as much as I hated the thought of it, I would have to go out to the spot where Hunter’s body had been found and look at the scene through the eyes of a killer. Which, of course, to a lot of people, would have solidified my guilt even more. Something akin to the killer feeling an unfightable urge to return to the crime scene.

  “Great plan,” I told myself sarcastically. “Like the line between me and the killer isn’t blurred enough.”

  I growled and turned on my heel. I was right next to my door when someone knocked on it. They only got one knuckle rap in before I yanked the thing open. A very startled Leroy stood on the other side, his eyes wide and hazy as he looked up at me.

  “I was about to get started,” I snapped. “You don’t have to hound me.”

  Leroy’s startled expression twisted into a glare. “I ain’t hounding you, boy. You got a phone call downstairs.”

  I looked at him sideways. “Who is it?”

  “How the hell should I know? Sounds personal, though.” His tone was suggestive, and I narrowed my eyes at him. Personal in that tone meant female. Heart sinking slowly, I brushed past him into the hallway.

  “Hey, hold up, Kash. You know you can’t use the motel for personal calls, right? Especially those kinds of calls, you know what I’m saying? If you’re dealing again, you can’t use my phone for deals. Ever.”

  I ignored him. The constant accusations of drug dealing from
all sides was getting annoying and I was afraid that acknowledging his would only lead to my second fist fight of the day.

  Leroy trotted a little to keep up with me. He was so out of breath that you’d have thought he ran a damn marathon to get to my room.

  “Don’t get me wrong, though,” he continued, “I’m willing to look past it—if you cut me in. I could use the money, you know. Cutting you a break on that room has been painful on the pocketbook, if you get what I’m saying?”

  I didn’t answer. I knew how much money I’d saved him with my handiwork. He’d have been out more than he could afford if he’d have hired someone off the streets for the job. The only damn thing that was hard on Leroy’s pocketbook was his drug habit, which is what he was trying to get a lottery ticket to cushioning. He kept after me though, chattering on as I took the stairs two at a time.

  “All right, well, just so you know, this is the last time I’mma let you use the phone!” He called after me.

  I picked up the receiver. “Kash Lawson speaking.”

  “Hi Kash, it’s Daisy.” She sounded wooden and strange, almost like she was reading from a script.

  “Daisy? Is something wrong?” She had never called me before. Not since I got back in town, anyway. We’d skipped out on exchanging phone numbers, for the sake of keeping our relationship a secret from dear old daddy. Our meetings were always prescheduled, accidental, or a result of me showing up to the library. The fact that she was calling on the motel phone sent so many warning bells ringing through my head. Was she okay? Was her mother okay? Did her father croak?

  “No, nothing is wrong,” she said and I let out a long, satisfying breath. Okay, so nobody died, that was good. But it still didn’t answer the question as to her picking up the phone to ring me here.

  “What’s up?” I asked, keeping my voice careful.

  “ I was just calling to invite you to dinner at my house.”

  A sick twist gripped my stomach. I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it. Almost pinched my damn self too, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming or making this shit up. I’d been hit in the head hard, sure. But…this was next level. “You’re inviting me to where to do…what?”

  “My parents and I would like you to join us for dinner,” she repeated, again, the tone of her voice struck harder than her words.

  “Your—parents.” My heart thundered in my chest, making my voice louder than I had intended. “Daisy, are you okay?”

  I stopped short, my next question dying on my lips. I’d heard an echo of my own voice from her end. I was on speaker phone, which meant one or both—probably both—of her parents were listening in. They probably scripted the whole thing, too. Knowing that I was about to walk into a trap, I licked my dry lips.

  “I’m okay,” she said in a tone that didn’t reassure me at all. “Will you come over and join us for dinner?”

  “What time?” I asked.

  “Seven.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Okay. Goodbye.” She hung up before I could say anything else. Not that there was anything I would have said. Not with them listening in on the phone call. When I swallowed, my throat was dry, feeling like it was covered in ash.

  I put the phone down and sat there for a good ten minutes before prying myself away from the desk and walking back toward my room.

  Seven. Sunset, or thereabouts. I tried not to think too hard about the implications of going out to a dark acre of nothingness at that time of day, but couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I was a damn fool for agreeing to go.

  “What was that all about?” Leroy asked suspiciously. “Daisy? Which Daisy? You selling to that dead kid’s sister?”

  “I’m not selling shit, Leroy. Go to bed.”

  “Is that all you ever got to say to me?”

  I shook my head and walked away from him, then turned back around.

  “Hey, Leroy—if you were going to have dinner with your girl’s parents and you knew that her dad wanted to kill you, what shoes would you wear?”

  Leroy grinned. “Runnin’ shoes,” he said, quick as a whip.

  I nodded and jogged back upstairs. Running shoes would have to do.

  I showed up to Daisy’s house right on time, knocking on the door at a minute to seven. Daisy’s dad answered. He was sober and had showered in recent memory, which I would have taken as a compliment if it weren’t for the dangerous look in his eyes.

  “Kash, come in. Good to see you. Been a long time,” he said, sticking out his hand for me to shake.

  “Yes it has,” I said, matching his congenial tone. I placed my palm in his and gave his hand a firm shake. “Dinner smells good.”

  “It’ll do,” he said dismissively. “Ya know, Sandy’s no great cook, but at least it ain’t prison food, right?” He slapped me on the back with a derisive guffaw and that dryness in my throat returned. Except this time, it was coated with annoyance and anger as opposed to confusion and fear.

  I met Daisy’s mom’s eyes, expecting her to look embarrassed, but she didn’t. She looked terrified which cemented my idea that me being here was not a good thing. Not in the very least bit. Maybe I should have ran then. And maybe, sitting in this house with the parents of the boy I was thought to have murdered shouldn’t have been the time to be asking myself ‘what would Hunter do’, but it’s exactly what I did. As for the answer, I’m pretty sure Hunter would have wanted me to sit tight, to make sure Daisy was okay and stayed okay. So, even though I had my running shoes on, I didn’t hightail it out of there.

  “Good to see you, Mrs.—”

  “Oh, call me Sandy,” she interrupted sharply. “I haven’t been Mrs. anything to you since you were in middle school. It’s good to see you, Kash.” There was a desperation in her tone and a warning in her skittish gaze. All the words were right, but nothing else about her demeanor or her tone was.

  Daisy hung back by the kitchen door, her hands clasped tightly together. She wouldn’t look at me at all.

  “Daisy? Daisy come say hi to your boyfriend! He’s not here to make love to me, you know.” David chuckled warmly and winked at me. Okay, so he was an ass to his wife, but I still didn’t see why both of them were so concerned. As far as I could tell, he was okay with me dating Daisy. Well, not fully okay with it. I wasn’t stupid enough to miss the undertone in his voice. Somewhere deep down, though, it felt like maybe he was just a little pissed off that he hadn’t found out sooner. It made me wonder about the circumstances under which he discovered Daisy and my relationship. For some reason, I found it hard to believe that Daisy’s mom ratted her out. Lexxi was another option. Of course, she wouldn’t have gone right up to him and said it, but…she was a talker. And if the gossip mills started turning and one of his drinking buddies found out, I could definitely understand where the embarrassment and the upset would come from. No one likes being blindsided and that’s exactly what he would have been.

  Daisy walked over stiffly, cautiously, like she was afraid I was going to attack her or something. I tried for an encouraging smile, but it didn’t matter whether or not I managed it. She still wouldn’t look at me.

  “Hello, Kash,” she said, sticking her hand out. “Good to see you.”

  My jaw dropped. A handshake, okay. I shook her hand for maybe a quarter of a second before she snapped it back to her side. The same girl who had just jumped in front of a tweaked-out dealer to save my ass three hours ago was now pretending like she didn’t even know me.

  I snuck a sideways look at David to see if he grew horns and claws when I wasn’t looking or something, but he still remained as non-threatening as always.

  “Come on and sit down, I’m pretty sure dinner’s ready. That is if Sandy didn’t burn it again, right Sandy?” He slapped his wife’s ass affectionately and laughed. She winced, then forced a smile followed by a light, humorless laugh.

  “It’s ready,” she said quietly.

  We all sat down. The only one acting even remotely normal was David. The on
ly reason I found his behavior suspect at all was because of what Daisy had said about him. Daisy, who still—even sitting across from me at the dinner table—wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “Here, Kash, have a beer,” David said, sliding a bottle over to me. “It’s good shit.”

  I popped the top and took a sip, making all the appropriate noises.

  “Isn’t it great? It’s from the limited-edition seasonal collection. You taste that vanilla in there? They brew it in cinnamon-infused barrels, you don’t get that kind of attention in the mass-produced crap.”

  It tasted like beer, but I agreed with him anyway. I knew better than to tell a beer gourmet that his palette was full of shit. Daisy’s mom served an honestly world-class meatloaf with greens and potatoes which smelled like heaven and looked just as good. David took a bite and rolled his eyes.

  “Hey, Kash, pass the salt. I swear, this woman is trying to keep my sodium intake down or something. You’d think she could at least figure out how to make it edible.”

  I passed the salt, then took a bite. It was glorious, subtle and interesting and made my mouth water. I groaned in appreciation and grinned at Sandy.

  “This is great,” I told her.

  Daisy looked at me then, her eyes wide and frightened. I shot her a questioning look, but she only looked back down at her plate. The whole table had fallen silent.

  David broke the silence with a loud, grating laugh. “You don’t have to lie to butter her up, son. She’s just happy that someone can stomach her cooking.”

  The dude was an ass. But that’s the kind of thing that happens to people who hit the bottle a little too hard. They shoot the shit with their drinking pals and forget that the behavior they have in the bar should be left in the goddamn bar. But dangerous, not even a little bit.

  Sandy offered a weak smile, then quickly looked back down at her plate. Daisy sent a warning at me with her eyes.

  I shrugged and took another bite. “No lie here,” I said. “This is great. Best food I’ve eaten in years.”

  David tensed and leveled a flat gaze in my direction. His ears reddened. I pretended I didn’t notice, and just kept shoveling food in my mouth, stopping to savor it every few bites.