The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three)

by Aubrey Parker

  She asked if I was glad that he was coming over to Grandma and Grandpa’s on Sunday.

  Sure, Baby. It’ll be fun.

  Do you think Grandma and Grandpa will like him?

  I didn’t want to answer. They know Grady already, down to the rather dramatic way he changed our lives. They still like him, more than they’ve sometimes liked me, I swear.

  I wonder how much of our past might surface at dinner. I wonder what might come out. I wonder if loose lips will sink any ships.

  But most of all, I wonder why Grady didn’t back out when he learned that it wasn’t just dinner, but a family dinner. I wonder why I didn’t back out, proposing an alternative date with less baggage. I think I know the answer; I don’t have another dinnertime off work for long enough to be disappointing. And there’s another answer, too: I didn’t back away because Grady didn’t. He calls me stubborn, but we both are, and always have been.

  I’m sure they’ll like him, Mac.

  Are you excited?

  Like I said, I’m sure it’ll be fun.

  I like him a lot, Mommy. I hope we get to keep seeing him all the time.

  All the time.

  Jesus.

  I’m thinking this until Ed grabs a handful of my ass while he’s passing me. I spin so fast it almost breaks his arm off.

  “What?’

  “You accidentally brushed against me.”

  “Oh. Sorry. It’s a tight squeeze thorough here.” Then he gives me that dumb smile of his, and I almost understand him. Ed doesn’t think he’s being lecherous. He thinks he’s flirting. It makes me sad.

  “Maybe watch it,” I say, my temperature too high.

  “Maybe hit table 10; they’ve been waiting forever,” he says, looking jilted.

  I head out. Table 10 wants to order right away: a BLT and a cheeseburger platter. I want to chide them for being unoriginal. This is an award-winning restaurant: an intentional diner experience to contrast the other dives around town that are simply diners. The difference is subtle. If you look closely, you’ll see it in two places. We use a few ingredients that nobody here has heard of combining, like the hamburger with goat cheese. And you’ll also see it in our prices.

  I take the order. Numb. Vaguely happy, and angry that I’m glad. Because for the whole morning, I had to hear about Mr. Grady, assaulted with questions Mackenzie couldn’t ask her new role model in person. All that mulling and probing has adjusted my expectations in ways I’m not comfortable with.

  Do you think he’d go with us to the park every Thursday and paddle the paddleboat with us?

  I wanted to say, Until he skips town, maybe.

  Do you think he can come to every Sunday dinner with us? Grandma and Grandpa wouldn’t mind, would they?

  I wanted to tell her, Sure, he can keep coming, until he leaves us for greener pastures.

  Mommy, if the Brownies camp out, do you think he can pitch the tent? This is a private joke between us, only minimally painful because Mackenzie hasn’t yet realized it’s serious. She has friends who camp, and I tell her that I can’t set up a tent. So far, that excuse has worked, and we laugh because we’ve never had a chance to camp. Some day, she’ll ask for real. On that day, I’ll disappoint her. Again.

  I laughed that one off, but she kept looking at me with her big blue eyes, wanting an answer.

  I don’t think Brownies do campouts, Sweetheart.

  It’s a non-answer because I’m a coward. Like Grady. Running from problems.

  But I can see him setting up a tent; that’s the horrible thing. I don’t know how long this honeymoon Grady will last, but I find myself wanting to enjoy it while it does — something that prickles my skin as much as my pride. I keep reminding myself that I’m angry at this man. But with each passing thought, I want to settle in. I know he’ll leave soon, and show his true colors, again. Why not fantasize until then? Why not let myself imagine what Mackenzie is imagining? The childlike bliss of it seems so tempting.

  All shift, as I’ve been serving food, filling drinks, and clearing tables, I’ve been rolling a fantasy between my mental fingers.

  Maybe he’ll stay.

  Maybe I can forgive him, and he can forgive me.

  Maybe we can start fresh. Forget what happened. We could be a family, on an outside, not-likely-but-possible kind of chance. I’m a decent mom. I know he’s only had a single-day trial, but it isn’t difficult to see Grady as a dad. Maybe he’ll want to stop roaming. He came back for something, and as I go about my work in a trance, I grow increasingly convinced that something could be me.

  He could go.

  But he hasn’t gone.

  He could have flitted in and out of town without contacting me.

  But he texted. As much as a man like Grady can bear his soul in a few characters on my phone, Grady bared his.

  He could have refused our date in the park. He could have — and should have — balked at the idea of having dinner with my parents as if we’d never stopped being a couple, kid in tow.

  But he went to the park. He talked and played with Mackenzie. And he accepted the dinner, with grinning relish.

  He’s staying in town for me. He must be.

  And God help me, in spite of everything, I still love him. I still love Grady Dade so much, it scares me.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I’m betting it’s Chadd. The guy won’t take a hint, but right now I feel plenty strong enough to walk away, to keep giving him the cold shoulder I’ve been giving him through dozens of texts. There were texts in that group of increasingly impatient-sounding messages that tempted me plenty, as riled up as I’ve been.

  But the pleasant lie I’m spinning has given me a Band-Aid. I’m not who I used to be. I’m not broken beyond fixing. For at least a little while, I’m allowing fantasy as a crutch. I’m starting to believe, even if I fear that faith will hurt me. Against that, the thought of even the hottest man’s relieving touch has no strength to weaken me.

  I pull the phone from my pocket and move to delete the new text, but it’s not from Chadd.

  It’s from Tommy Finch, and it says, Look up.

  He’s at table 14, right in front of me, smiling in a way that pops my dream like a bubble.

  CHAPTER 23

  Grady

  My phone rings just as Joe is coming to pick me up. We’re supposed to take a drive out to see Brandon’s digs in Cherry Hill, and Joe said he’d drive. My truck has been terminal for months, and I can hardly blame it; it’s taken me through literally every state in the union and has twice the mileage of even the worst pieces of crap that hit the highway long enough to make it into legend. It’ll die soon for sure. But fortunately, thanks to Uncle Ernie’s single redeeming grace and predictions from the auction guys, it looks like I might have enough to buy a new truck.

  Or, if this call is what it might be, a plane ticket.

  “You ready?” Joe asks.

  I gesture to my phone, beckon him in to sit on any of my lavish furnishings (a box, a crate, the couch with my bedsheets still on it), and step aside to keep listening. Joe shrugs and sits on the floor. Randomly, glancing over at Joe, it occurs to me that my hatred of Tommy is justified. Joe is as strapping and classically pretty as Tommy, but I don’t hate him at all. There really is something about Tommy. It’s not just his girl-melting appearance — that would make me petty.

  I pace the apartment while on the phone, mostly listening, sometimes interjecting excitedly to ask questions. I find a pencil but not paper, so I scribble dates and potential figures on the wall. Fuck it. The auction guys will paint anyway.

  After I hang up, Joe looks right at me. Not leaving his stationary presence for my conversation gives him the right, I suppose, to be nosy.

  “You going somewhere?”

  I can’t get the smile off my face. “Alaska, it looks like. One of my old roommates in Portland knows someone who knows someone … long story short, they’re looking for pipeline workers.”

  “This is something you
aspire to? Working on the pipeline?”

  “I aspire to Alaska. It’s the only state I haven’t been to, other than Hawaii.”

  “Hell,” Joe says, coming to his feet. “Give me Hawaii.”

  “I’ll get there eventually, but whatever. Hawaii is for honeymooners. Now, Alaska? That’s wild frontier. I hear there’s nothing like it in the lower forty-eight.”

  “Okay.”

  “I was planning to use Ernie’s — ” I make air quotes, “ — estate to buy a new truck, but a plane ticket might make more sense.”

  “Except that you’re stuck there if you do it that way, with no truck.”

  “That’s what the job is for, Joe. Haven’t you ever been a drifter?”

  Joe shrugs.

  “Hey. Will you take my cat when I go?”

  Joe looks at Carl. “Take your fucking cat.”

  “I’m not going to take Carl on a plane. He hates traveling.”

  “Rowr,” Carl says.

  “See?”

  “So, what, you’re heading right out? Not sticking around to hang out?”

  “It’s Alaska, Joe. I’ve been wanting to go there forever. Only reason I haven’t gone yet is because it’s so far. I was going to go after Portland. It was always the plan to head north. But then … ” I gesture around the pathetic living room to indicate my distracting bump in the road.

  “When?”

  “Soon. Maybe a week?”

  “Hell. What if the house doesn’t sell before then?”

  “It’s an auction, not a normal listing. It’ll sell in a day.”

  “What if it doesn’t?”

  “No worries. I’ve signed the papers. They can keep trying without me.”

  “You won’t have your money yet, for your ticket.”

  “I figured I’d put it on a credit card then pay it off later. It’ll be a pricey ticket, but Ernie can handle it. Even if the house doesn’t get what they think it will, there should be plenty left even after the ticket to get me most of the way to a shitty new truck. I’ll make up the difference by working the pipeline job.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “The job, or my plan to pay for the ticket now and pay it off later?”

  “Both.”

  I smile. “I repeat: Haven’t you ever been a drifter?”

  Joe looks at me and sighs.

  “What?”

  “You’re not going to Alaska, Grady.”

  “What choo talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?” I’m feeling giddy, but watching Joe kills my grin’s most potent corners. My brain hasn’t caught on to whatever Joe is talkin’ ‘bout (Willis), but I’ve known him long enough to anticipate the times he’s right when I hear them coming.

  “Where were you on Thursday, Champ?”

  “Who are you, the FBI?”

  “Why did you about bite Tommy’s head off the other day?”

  “Because he’s a fuckhole.”

  “You’re such an ass. Don’t you know everyone is talking behind your back?”

  “Like I give a shit what Inferno Falls thinks of me.” I hate when Joe is like this. He’s smart and solid, honest and never impulsive. In our history, I’ve always had the wild ideas, and he’s always patiently explained why they won’t work. He’s not a buzzkill; he’s just not stupid like I am when I get worked up.

  But I want to be right this time. I wasn’t kidding about Alaska. It’s been on my bucket list since I started my cross-country trek, and it was always meant to be the second-to-last state I crossed off — maybe the place I finally settled. But if I want to take Vince’s cousin up on his offer, I need to do it now. In a handful of months, Alaska will barely have any daytime left. I can tolerate a lot, but I don’t want to work twenty-hour nights if I can help it.

  “I’m not talking about townies,” Joe says. “I’m talking about me, Brandon, and Bridget.”

  “Oh, Bridget has too many damned opinions as it is.”

  “We get together when you refuse to join us, and we talk about you. About how stupid you are.”

  “Like this is news.”

  “You’ve been spending time with Maya.”

  My jaw works. Stubbornly, knowing it sounds childish, I say, “No I haven’t.”

  “That shit with Tommy. The dreamy-ass way you keep turning us down. You were always good to go out and hang, Grady.”

  “I’m older. Nowadays, I’m seasoned.”

  “You’re being a whiny sack of shit. We all agree that you need to man up and stop being such a pussy.”

  “Man up and stop being such a pussy? You’re so macho, Joe.”

  He shrugs. This isn’t really a debate or a conversation. It’s Joe stating facts. It sucks because he’s right.

  “Ernie is gone. Your parents have been gone for years. You were a kid back then, and yeah, I guess I’d have left in your shoes. Shit, Brandon defended you for the longest time. So did Bridget. You know those two, out of everyone we used to know, would understand the need for a fresh start. Whenever you emailed or called or whatever, we ended up talking about you. And when you said you were coming back, we knew it wasn’t about Ernie’s house. It was just time.”

  “Someone had to handle this, Joe,” I say, now feeling defensive.

  “This?” He looks around incredulously. “This is a cakewalk. You could probably have done it over the phone.”

  “Fax,” I pout.

  “You came back because you knew you made a mistake. I’ve known you as long as anyone, Grady. You don’t shirk responsibility, and you’re never disloyal. Those were special circumstances, but they’re gone. Nobody’s going to make you live with your asshole uncle anymore. I don’t know if you were serious, but nobody’s actually talking about you — not in bad ways, anyhow. Everyone liked your dad. Hell, I ran into Vincent Brush the other day, and he wouldn’t leave me alone, going on and on about how much he liked your old man. And how he once had a buddy named Mudvein, who got his dick stuck … well, you know Vincent’s stories.”

  I don’t even chuckle. That’s how much I resent Joe speaking his mind.

  “There’s nothing left to run from, Grady.”

  “I’m not running. I wanted to see the world.”

  “You saw it! For ten fucking years, you saw the world! The States, anyway.”

  “There’s still, like, two hundred countries left.”

  Joe shakes his head. “Just stop it, Grady. You’re not going to Alaska, and you know it.”

  I look at my phone like it’s a run-over childhood keepsake. Five minutes ago, I felt happy. I finally had everything I needed, and was going to get all I’ve ever wanted. Now I believe Joe, that this isn’t what I’m supposed to do. Maybe because what I need and want isn’t in Alaska after all.

  In a small voice, I mumble all I can think to say: “Fucking Tommy Finch.”

  “Tommy was never anything to run from, Buddy.”

  I wonder if he’s right. I wonder if I really did come back to right a wrong. My departure from the Falls marks my largest selfish act — the one thing out of all I’ve done that I’m ashamed of every day. Back in Portland, I couldn’t walk past a fucking cat without saving it. It’s ludicrous to think that I’ve never meant to return and heal the damage.

  I wonder if what was broken can be fixed. I wonder if it’s too late.

  My mind fills with images of the redhead girl I once knew, with her stubborn temper and emerald eyes. I remember long days and nights spent beside her. I remember, just three days ago now, the feel of her hand in mine. The memory of her lips, if I can ever find my way to forgiving their lies.

  I think of the little girl who seemed to like me so much. I can’t blame her for coming into the world. She shouldn’t need to suffer because I’m afraid.

  I think of the woman, and I think of the girl.

  The girl with the big blue eyes and blonde hair, both so much like her father’s.

  CHAPTER 24

  Maya

  Tommy is looking at me like an X-Ray.
<
br />   He can see every inch of me under my Nosh Pit uniform as I stand in front of him. He can see through my bra, my panties. The night we were together was the culmination of a long week of teasing, and I remember how he asked if I’d shave. I’d never done that before, not for Grady and never since. But I’m sure that’s how he’s seeing me now: bare and smooth, soft to his fingers’ touch.

  He smiles. I remember that smile. I remember the way he showed it to the other girls in school and made me jealous. I remember how, when Grady and I were apart for those few weeks, he finally deigned to turn it on me.

  His eyes are as blue and deep as ever. They’re sexy eyes. Grady’s are different: brown, honest, and thrilling in a different, deeper way. When Tommy looks at me, I feel that thrill right on top, across the surface. His face sends a cool breeze across what feels like bare skin to harden my nipples. Everything about Tommy says sex, as if he was made for nothing else.

  He wants me. Again. Right now if I’d let him.

  And as much as I’d like to stay upstanding and lie, I feel how badly I want him.

  We only had one night. One tragic, beautiful night. In the morning, he forgot me, and I turned away. I regretted it immediately, as long as I’d pined for him, but remorse didn’t stop my mind from reliving it, over and over, while my fingers explored.

  I remember the hard, insistent, selfish way he kissed.

  I remember that intense, rough way he fucked me.

  I remember how hard I came. I remember folding at the middle like a mousetrap snapping. I remember calling his name, scratching his back, biting him on the neck. And I remember, after the first time I came, with two fingers third-knuckle-deep in me and his thumb on my throbbing clit, how Tommy flipped me over and shoved his cock inside to the hilt. Like an animal.

  And I came again.

  And again.

  And again.

  “Hey, Beautiful,” he says.

  “Hi.” The single word takes effort to evict from my throat. I don’t dare say more because my jaw feels sluggish. My throat feels sore. I hate him so much. And still my mouth is begging, to unzip him here in the booth and take what my body’s been trying to recapture since.