Second Shot

by Shandi Boyes

  Although I'm technically employed as a bodyguard for a chart-topping music group, my prime asset is a little boy named Jasper. When Hugo first called requesting for me to keep an eye on a family member of his boss while he was out of town, he failed to mention it was a young lady who was heavily pregnant. Jenni is nothing like Jorgie, but the fact she was pregnant awakened haunted memories. But when Hugo said she was in danger, I pushed my grief to the side to fulfill Hugo’s request.

  When I was offered to become the fulltime bodyguard to Jenni and Jasper, my initial response was a resounding no. The last thing I wanted was to be responsible for the safety of a newborn baby when I hadn’t come to terms with my own loss.

  Everything changed when I was leaving a meeting with Hugo’s boss, Isaac. Jenni, Nick and Jasper arrived at his office earlier than expected. Just like the odd feeling that twisted my stomach when I peered down at Gemma sprawled on the church floor yesterday, something deep inside me shifted when I spotted Jasper in Jenni’s arms. He was tiny. Like breakable tiny. Just the thought of someone trying to hurt him brought out a side of me I was certain vanished the day I laid Malcolm in his mother’s arms. I know Jasper isn’t Malcolm, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to ensure he was protected and safe.

  I figured if I accepted Isaac’s offer, I’d just turn up and do my job. I didn’t have to interact with Jenni or Jasper. That wasn’t in my job description. Boy, was I wrong. Jenni’s personality would be best described as exceedingly friendly. My first evening on the job, she walked straight up to me and handed me Jasper. I didn’t even get the chance to shake my head at her request before he was placed in my arms. If I didn’t keep ahold of him, he would have ended up on the floor.

  I’m not going to lie, that was one of the hardest nights I’ve had the past five years. The night Hugo called me in Iraq has been the only time I’ve failed to hold in my grief. The night I held Jasper was nearly the second time. Jasper represents everything I lost. He is the first baby I’ve held since Malcolm. He is also the reason I’ll never fail at my job. I don’t want Jenni or Nick to ever experience what I went through losing Malcolm. I wouldn’t wish what happened to me on my worst enemy, let alone a young couple in the prime of their lives like Jorgie and I were before it was cruelly torn apart.

  With my mood sitting on the edge of a steep cliff, I ignore Hugo’s inquisitive glance and set back to work on packing Jorgie’s belongings.

  By the time we’ve stored years of memories into twelve small boxes, hours have flown by on the clock. Miraculously, Hugo didn’t utter a syllable the entire time. I don’t know if I should see that as a miracle or a curse. It is only when I swing my eyes to him do I realize why he has been so quiet. I’m not the only one still grieving Jorgie and Malcolm. He’s hurting just as much as me.

  “Beer or whiskey?” I ask, my low tone unable to hide the sentiment in my voice.

  Hugo locks his eyes with me. “I’ll take anything you’re offering, as long as it isn’t being served here.”

  Chapter 14

  Hawke

  My head lifts from a drawing Joel, my four-year-old nephew, is creating, to the entrance of the kitchen when I hear the shuffling of feet. Ava slowly trudges into the room with her curly hair sprouting in all directions and the crease of a pillow indented in her cheek.

  “Rough night?” I query, my voice groggy with dryness from downing too many nips of whiskey in one sitting.

  Ava moves to the fridge to grab a bottle of milk before waddling to the island to prepare a large cup of coffee. “Have you ever tried to wrestle a thousand-pound colorful gorilla who is a loved-up drunk?” she asks, her brow inching higher with every word she speaks.

  Joel’s head lifts from his drawing when my hearty chuckle fills the space. “Is that what people are calling it these days? Wrestling?” After covering Joel’s ears with my hands, I add on, “I didn’t know they classed spanking as a sport.”

  Ava has gorgeous African American skin, and usually only Hugo’s attention can cause her cheeks to flame, so I’m somewhat pleased when my little snide remark has the effect I'm aiming for.

  “I’m just playing with you, Ava. I was out before my head hit the pillow,” I confess.

  My confession doesn’t clear Ava’s blemished cheeks. If anything, it inflames them more.

  A few minutes pass with nothing but the noise of Joel’s pencil scratching on paper sounding through my ears. Ava sips on a mug of coffee as she struggles to settle down her heated cheeks, and I sit in muted silence, shocked I managed to laugh without a snippet of remorse. Only two days have passed since I entered Rochdale with the full intention of leaving as soon as possible, but in regards to my grief, it feels like years have flown by.

  Once Joel has finished his drawing, he looks up at me with his big blue eyes and says, “Here you go, Unky Hawke.”

  The corners of my mouth tug high. “Is this for me?”

  “Uh huh,” he replies with a nod of his head before he slides off his seat. “Now you’ll never forget the night you won Mr. Bunny.”

  He wraps his little arm around Mr. Bunny’s neck and pulls him down from the kitchen counter. The stuffed bunny is so large, even with Joel clutching him around the neck, his feet drag along the tiled floors.

  Once Joel exits the kitchen, I drop my eyes to his drawing. My lips twist. Considering Joel is only four and a half, his picture is remarkably good. It even has the detail of the black and white checked ribbon Gemma tied around Mr. Bunny’s neck as an added token of our night together.

  Even with Joel capturing part of my adventurous night with Gemma in his drawing, I’ll never forget the night I shared with her. What Gemma said that night was true. We weren’t enemies nor friends, just two strangers creating a memory we will share for a lifetime. That is why I gave Mr. Bunny to Joel. I don’t need an artifact to remind me of the night we shared. I have it stored in my memory bank.

  I raise my eyes from the picture when Ava says, “Joel must really like you, Hawke. The chance of him giving up his drawings is as low as Hugo sharing pancakes. Your odds of winning the lotto are better.”

  I chuckle. “He is a great kid, Ava. I see so much of you in him. Except his eyes. They are an exact replica of Hugo’s.” And Jorgie’s. But I keep that snippet of information to myself.

  “Thanks. I think he is pretty awesome.” A gloss of sheen forms in her eyes when she locks them with me. “Maybe you two can spend a little more time together when we move to Ravenshoe next month?” she asks hesitantly.

  Pain strikes the area my heart used to belong. Joel is my nephew—not just because I married Jorgie, but because no matter what happens, Hugo will always be my brother—but I barely know him. Although Joel is a cruel reminder of what I lost, he is also a reminder of the joy I could still have in my life if I could just open up to the prospect of letting others back in.

  It was only while spending the last hour with Joel did I truly realize how much I’ve missed the past five years. I miss Jorgie and Malcolm for every minute of every day, but coming back to Rochdale and seeing family I haven’t seen in years and spending an unforgettable night with Gemma made me realize I also miss living. It is a harsh notion to admit, but it doesn’t make it untrue.

  “I’d really like that,” I reply, not even attempting to hide the emotional undertone of my voice.

  Ava smiles a grin that displays why Hugo lost his heart to her before they were even adults. She is a beautiful lady, no doubt, but it isn’t just her attractive outer shell that makes her beautiful – it is the gigantic heart sitting in the middle of her chest.

  The smell of honey infuses the air when Ava takes the empty seat next to me. “So where did Mr. Bunny come from? I didn’t see a single hare of him when I collected you and Hugo from the bar last night.” She barges me with her shoulder. “Hare, get it?”

  Lucky for Ava, her sex appeal has Hugo overlooking her dorkiness.

  “With that poor effort, it is clear you’re not the one teaching Joel jokes,�
�� I jest, playfully barging her back.

  Ava takes a sip out of her mug of coffee before turning her dark eyes to me. “Which one?”

  “What did Peter Rabbit say to his girlfriend when they broke up?”

  “Now you’re just some bunny that I used to know,” Ava replies, laughing. “Hugo can’t even take credit for that one. That was Ms. Mable.”

  I rub my hands together before crossing them over my chest. “I can’t believe Ms. Mable is still going. How old is she now?”

  Ms. Mable lives in the house next door. She made herself known within five minutes of Jorgie and me moving into this house. Over the following year, I saw her more than my own mother. Jorgie loved her as if she were her grandmother. I know why. Ms. Mable is an exact replica of what Jorgie would have been if she ever had the chance to make it to that age.

  “She turned ninety-two last month,” Ava replies, her voice high with respect. “I tried to convince her to move to Ravenshoe with us, but she can’t leave Rochdale. She said it’s her home.”

  “Home is where your family is,” I reply before I can stop my words.

  Ava smiles. “Clearly you’ve been spending too much time with Hugo. That is exactly what he said to me while convincing me to move to Ravenshoe.”

  “Ravenshoe is a nice place, Ava. You and Joel will really like it there,” I assure her.

  She bumps her shoulder against mine again before sliding off the breakfast stool and pacing into the kitchen. After placing her mug in the sink, she spins around to face me. The suds in the sink from me washing up Joel’s breakfast dishes cause her nightie to cling to her rounded belly. Ava’s stomach is the first pregnant belly I’ve seen that doesn’t make my gut knot in grief. Pregnancy looks good on her; just like it did on Jorgie. I’m glad this time around I got to see her pregnant.

  As much as I hate admitting this, what Hugo said yesterday was true. When I married Jorgie, I didn’t just get Jorgie. I got her entire family. And although I’ll never stop wishing that I’ll wake up and discover this was all a prolonged nightmare, I need to start living again. Not just for me, but for those surrounding me. Particularly, the little ones in my life who don’t understand I’m grieving, like Joel and Chase’s twin daughters. All they have witnessed this weekend is a grumpy old stranger. I want to change that.

  My eyes lift from Ava’s belly when she quietly murmurs, “I’m glad to see some of the remorse has cleared from your eyes this morning, Hawke.”

  I attempt to respond, but my words stay entombed in my throat. So instead, I briefly nod. Although Hugo and I did more drinking than talking last night, our time together still helped remove some of the guilt I felt for kissing Gemma in the Marshall’s home. It’s not all gone, but I haven’t struggled to breathe as much this morning as I normally do.

  “Why didn’t you tell Hugo what you saw at brunch?” I struggle out through the guilt clutching my throat.

  Ava holds my gaze as she answers, “It’s not my place to tell him. If it’s something you want him to know, I’m sure you can tell him yourself.”

  She pushes off the kitchen counter and paces to me. “I know nothing I could say would ever make your life easier, Hawke, but I’m going to say it anyway.”

  I brace myself, preparing for impact. When Hugo has quoted similar things the past six months, I didn’t handle the situation in a brotherly manner. But this time is different. This isn’t coming from a man who can read my emotions without a word seeping from my lips. This is coming from Ava, my wife’s heavily pregnant best friend, and a woman I’ve respected for years. I not only want her advice, I need it. She knew Jorgie better than anyone, so if I'm going to accept advice from someone on handling my grief, Ava will be that person.

  My stomach launches into my throat when Ava simply says, “You can’t fight fate.”

  That was Jorgie’s favorite saying. It wouldn’t matter if it was when I was getting hot under the collar during an incident of road rage or when I wanted to deck her brother, Chase, for keeping us apart. She always believed fate would eventually play its hand. Don’t get me wrong; she knew fate only took you so far, but she didn’t believe people just met by pure coincidence. She was determined it was fate.

  I suck in large gulps of air to calm the furious beat of my pulse as Ava pulls a business card out of the top drawer in the kitchen and slides it halfway across the counter.

  “I know even the prospect of moving on is hard for you.” She shifts her eyes to the main bedroom of her house. “I don’t even want to do it. I keep praying one day Jorgie will just magically walk out those doors.” She returns her eyes to me. They are brimming with tears. “But that is never going to happen.” She curls her spare hand over my clenched fist as a tear slides down her cheek. “The day we had lunch. . . the day of the accident. . . Jorgie made me promise that if anything happened to her, I’d make sure you were okay.” She pushes the business card across the remaining half of the counter. “I’m going to keep my promise.”

  Her tears soak into the collar of my shirt when she wraps her arms around my shoulders and gives me a brief hug. “You weren’t the only one who took a huge leap that night, Hawke. Gemma did too,” she faintly whispers.

  When she pulls back and I spot the pain in her eyes even a heavy set of tears can’t hide, the vital part of my body I thought I lost years ago stops beating.

  “What happened to Gemma? Why are her eyes full of mistrust?” I question, my voice softer than a whisper as the questions that have been running through my head the past twenty-four hours finally see daylight.

  The tears in Ava’s eyes grow exponentially. “That isn’t my story to tell. When the time is right, Gemma will tell you what she wants you to know.”

  “There is no Gemma and me, Ava. If was just a night of fun.” I try to keep the deceit out of my voice. My attempts are borderline.

  Ava’s brow crinkles. “It’s funny you say that, as that’s the exact thing Jorgie said to me after you crashed into her canoe. Obviously, even the most intelligent people in the world are wrong sometimes. I’ve loved and admired you from the moment Jorgie introduced you to me, Hawke, but you’re a fool if you try to deny these signs. You didn’t meet Gemma in this town, at that church, this month, for no reason. It was fate.”

  After issuing me a tight grin, she spins on her heels and walks out of the room.

  A strange thumping noise comes out of the large cavity in the middle of my chest when I drop my eyes to the business card Ava handed me. “Capturing memories one picture at a time,” I read off the card that has Gemma’s name and cell phone number scrawled across the back.

  A riot of emotions holds me captive for several moments. For the first time in years, it isn’t just anger and grief swirling my stomach. It is. . . hope. Before I have the chance to decipher why Gemma’s business card would give me an upwelling of hope, Hugo staggers into the room. From his disheveled appearance and bloodshot eyes, it doesn’t take a genius to realize he is hungover. For the past five years, Hugo used alcohol to support his grief, but that type of grief counseling was placed on the backburner when he moved back to Rochdale six months ago. He looks as wretched as the torment swirling my stomach.

  “Hair of the dog?” I query when Hugo chugs down the half a bottle of flat beer he left on the kitchen sink yesterday. Mercifully, the laughter tainting my voice ensures he can’t hear the sentiment my heavy tone is unable to shield.

  “I’m not hungover, but I’d drink out of a dog’s bowl just to get rid of the horrid taste in my mouth. What the hell did we drink last night?” he replies, his voice raspy and low.

  “Pretty much anything under five dollars a nip,” I answer, still chuckling.

  Hugo screws up his nose. “Darn Isaac and his expensive taste.”

  “Spoiled taste buds? That’s the excuse you’re running with?” I glare into his eyes, silently calling him out.

  Hugo grins while nodding.

  A smile tugs my lips high. “Then what’s your piss-poor excuse fo
r your bloodshot eyes?”

  A flare of excitement blazes through Hugo’s eyes. “Keeping up with the demands of a pregnant lady is hard work. The more I give Ava, the more—”

  Hugo chokes on the remainder of his sentence when Joel enters the kitchen. After drifting his inquisitive eyes between Hugo and me, his little hands shoot up to cover his ears.

  “You can continue. I’m not listening anymore,” he yells, projecting his voice over the laughter spilling from Hugo’s mouth. “Mommy said it’s not polite to listen when adults are talking.”

  Keeping his ears covered, he paces deeper into the kitchen and attempts to climb onto the stool next to me. Seeing him struggle, I place my hands under his arms and hoist him into his seat.

  “Thank you,” he stutters politely. Clearly, he has Ava’s manners.

  With his ears still covered, he lifts his big blue eyes to his dad. “You owe me ten dollars,” he says, his voice clear and nothing like you’d expect a four-year-old to sound. . . until he adds on, “I not only stayed in my bed all night when I heard Mommy calling for help, I also get the pancake boganus.”

  I spit my coffee halfway across the kitchen floor. Hugo doesn’t even flinch when coffee stains sprinkle his white shirt. My brow shoots up into my hairline when the excitement flaring in Hugo’s eyes doubles.

  “Mommy’s going to make pancakes?” Hugo asks, eagerness in his voice. “On a Monday?”

  Even with his ears covered, Joel nods his head. “Yep! And I get to help.” The happiness in his voice matches Hugo’s grin to a T.

  Three hours after witnessing Joel and Hugo demolish more pancakes than I’ve eaten in my life, Hugo walks me to my Camaro.

  “You got lucky, Man. Ava has always been great, and Joel adds that little extra sweetness to the package.”

  Hugo cranks his neck back to peer into the window of his family home. “It isn’t luck. It’s—”