Second Time Around

by Nancy Herkness

  “Will?” Nathan stood with the case in his hand. “Still trying to answer the question, I see.” He held out his hand. “Good luck. When you’ve decided, bring her by so Chloe and I can meet her.”

  “You seem to know my answer already.” Will shook the other man’s hand.

  Nathan shook his head. “Just hopeful.”

  Then he was striding out the door, leaving Will alone with his thoughts and his scotch. He stood in front of the window, considering Nathan’s question. He knew what he wanted his answer to be but he’d been so wrong before.

  He couldn’t do that again . . . declare his love only to find out he had grossly misjudged his feelings. Or that they had changed. Maybe there was some essential piece missing in him, the emotional element that allowed a person to feel deep, lasting love. He swallowed the last of his scotch in an attempt to wash away the throat-gripping fear that he was defective.

  Kyra didn’t need to be hurt by a man who didn’t understand his own heart. She deserved someone who could declare himself to her without reservation or doubt. A man with the courage to answer her statement of love with one of his own, untarnished by past failure or fear of the future.

  She deserved a hell of a lot better than Will Chase.

  As he considered refilling his glass, his cell phone buzzed. A flicker of hope that it might be Kyra made him pull it out of his pocket. Instead Schuyler’s name came up on the screen. His mood was so bleak that he wasn’t sure he should inflict it on his sister, but he wanted to nurture the new relationship growing between them, so he answered.

  “Congratulate me,” Schuyler said, her voice vibrating with excitement.

  He winced at the contrast to his feelings but injected an answering appreciation into his own voice. “Consider yourself congratulated. But what’s the happy occasion?”

  “I routed Titus Allen. He agreed to every term of my contract, including the total media silence, which must about kill him. No crowing about how he singlehandedly saved an underprivileged young girl from a lifetime of disfigurement and pain.” Satisfaction rang in Schuyler’s words.

  “You are magnificent, sister o’ mine. How did you bring about this total surrender?”

  “Well, your money helped.” Schuyler’s tone had gone dry. “And a witness who said Shaq wasn’t the dog who bit Felicia.”

  “You found a witness?”

  “Your ex-girlfriend found one. Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned her, but I like to give credit where credit is due.”

  Kyra. Of course she would find a way to help. Another wave of loss broke over him, sucking the oxygen out of his lungs. He had to take a breath before he could say, “I’m not surprised. She’s very resourceful.”

  “The director, Emily, called me a miracle worker. You know how great that makes me feel?”

  “I can hear it through the phone.”

  “Thank you for bringing me in on this,” Schuyler said. “It’s helped me make a decision. I’m resigning from the firm. I want to do this kind of law . . . miracle-working law.”

  Will grimaced at the storm this would unleash in his family, but he spoke with total conviction. “I’ll back you every step of the way.”

  “I’m going to need you, big brother.” He heard a hitch of emotion in her voice.

  He thought of Nathan’s bone-deep satisfaction in his battery. Of Schuyler’s excitement about her triumph over Titus Allen. Of Isaiah’s, Jayden’s, and Zion’s rapt faces as he told the story of the Spartans.

  He was ready to reach for the same feelings.

  “We’re going to need each other, Sky,” Will said. “I’m leaving Cronus to become a teacher.”

  “Whoa! That’s a big step. Don’t you want to ease into it by teaching a class once a week or something?”

  “No.” In this, at least, he could be worthy of Kyra’s faith in him. “I’m done here. It’s time to admit that Ceres was Greg’s dream. I just went along for the ride.” His partner would not be happy, but he would understand. “Greg will take the company into the future.”

  “Wow.” Schuyler went silent for a long moment. “You worked mighty hard to realize someone else’s dream.”

  “Haven’t you worked hard to become a junior partner?”

  Her sigh came through the phone. “Point taken. At least, it’s in the same field, though.”

  Will shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “For me, it didn’t matter what field I went into as long as it wasn’t law.”

  “Right.” Schuyler paused. “When do you want to break the news?”

  “After Sunday dinner at the farm,” Will said.

  Schuyler snorted. “I can’t remember the last time you came to Sunday dinner.”

  Guilt nipped at him. He’d left all the parental pressure on his sister’s shoulders. “You’re tougher than I am.”

  “Ha,” Schuyler said before she blew out a long breath. “I can’t decide who it’s going to be worse for: you or me.”

  “The heat will be on you,” Will said. “I’ve already disappointed them.”

  Chapter 21

  On Sunday morning, Kyra stood in the cat room of the same animal shelter that all the K-9 Angelz came from. Now that Shaq didn’t need rescuing, she had no reason to adopt a pet. It was an expense that would only delay paying off her debts even longer.

  But Will had made her realize that her life was missing the same thing so many of the center’s kids were: unconditional love. Her apartment seemed cold and gray, no matter how much spring sunshine poured in through the windows. For so long she’d shut everything out of her life except scraping together money, but now . . . now she wanted more.

  So she had decided to adopt a cat.

  Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat as she compared the down-on-their-luck cats in the shelter with Will’s patrician good looks.

  Shantay, the shelter volunteer assisting her, gave her a quizzical glance, but said, “Let me know when you find a cat you’d like to take out of the cage.”

  Kyra nodded and walked up to the small, barred cubicles that lined two walls of the room. As she scanned the shadowy recesses where cats crouched, slept, or lolled, a yellow-and-white leg poked out between the bars to pat her on the thigh with a softly padded paw. She squatted to see who wanted her attention.

  A matching-colored face with long whiskers peered out at her. “Hello, Malcolm,” she said, reading the tag on the cage. Malcolm meowed loudly and stretched his paw farther so he could pat her cheek. “You’re a very insistent fellow,” Kyra said, her heart squeezing at the cat’s gentle touch. She checked the fine print on the tag. “And a man of mystery. A broken leg, a guess that you’re about four years old, and nothing else.”

  “He probably got hit by a car,” Shantay said. “You want to take him out?”

  “Will it hurt him?” Kyra could see the cast on Malcolm’s right front leg.

  “Just handle him carefully and it will be fine.” Shantay swung the door open and gathered Malcolm in her arms. “Besides, getting him adopted is more important than some brief discomfort.”

  Shantay transferred the cat to Kyra. He was lighter than he looked, so she suspected he was undernourished under all his long hair. As soon as she had him settled in her grasp, he butted his head against her hand, and she stroked his soft fur. Loud purring vibrated through his little body.

  “He likes you already,” Shantay said with a grin.

  “I’ll bet you say that to everyone who picks up a cat,” Kyra said, but she was smiling, too. Malcolm’s enthusiasm for her touch was endearing.

  Shantay shrugged. “Do you want to take Malcolm in the playroom to spend a little time together?”

  Kyra gave her a sideways look. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

  Shantay chuckled. “Because of his broken leg, there will be some extra work required, just to warn you.”

  “As long as it’s not hourly, I can handle that,” Kyra said, although inwardly she winced at the additional expen
se for medical care. Malcolm snuggled his head just under her chin while he made a trilling sound of contentment. “Okay, let’s not pretend any longer. He’s coming home with me.”

  A few hours and a couple of hundred dollars spent at the pet store later, Kyra poured clean kitty litter into Malcolm’s new box in her apartment’s bathroom. The cat sat on his haunches watching her. He hadn’t left her side from the moment she let him out of the cat carrier in her apartment, surveying all her cat-prep activities with interest and the occasional meowed comment. While his cast made him limp, he didn’t seem to be bothered by it otherwise.

  As soon as she smoothed out the litter and leaned back on her heels, Malcolm stepped into the box and did his business.

  “What a very smart and considerate gentleman you are,” Kyra said.

  Malcolm scratched around in the box and then jumped out, coming over to plant his good forepaw on her thigh so he could stretch up and lick her chin.

  “You act more like a dog than a cat,” Kyra said, ridiculous tears starting in her eyes. She scratched behind his ears and gathered him up in her arms before she stood. “Let’s give you a little treat for using your litter right away.”

  As soon as Kyra sat on her sofa with a book in hand, Malcolm curled up on her lap. She found herself paying far more attention to stroking the cat than to reading the novel she’d picked out. Malcolm purred almost continuously, shifting positions in order to offer different parts of his furry little body to her touch. Occasionally, he would flick his little pink tongue out to give her a sandpapery slurp.

  A bone-deep contentment radiated through her, muffling the constant misery that thrummed through her over losing Will.

  She supposed she should be grateful to him. Before they’d met at Ceres, her focus on earning the money to pay off her mother’s debts had narrowed to near obsession. He had shown her how much more there was to life. He had made her feel again—to the point of agony—but it was better than letting her heart shrivel up to a money-grubbing husk.

  Loving meant sowing the seeds of loss. She knew that, but it made her sad that she’d never had Will’s love in the first place. Crazy of her to aspire to that, but the heart didn’t listen to reason.

  At least now she had Malcolm’s purring to get her through the loneliness.

  “Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t walk away from a billion-dollar company or the family law firm,” Betsy Chase said, calmly sipping her coffee as she sat at one end of the mahogany dining table.

  Will and Schuyler exchanged glances across the polished wood between them. They’d made their respective announcements over the raspberry-and-rhubarb sorbet.

  “Bets, I think they intend to,” Twain said from the head of the table. Will noticed that his father’s shoulders were so rounded that they no longer spanned the back of the heavy dining room chair. His tone was resigned.

  “Nonsense,” Betsy said. “They just need a vacation.”

  Schuyler sighed. “Mum, I’ve tried it your way. Now it’s my turn to decide where my future lies.”

  “What’s your excuse, Will?” his mother said, turning away from her daughter. “You did what you wanted to do right from the start.”

  “I proved that I could succeed by the standards of your world,” Will said. “I have nothing else to prove.”

  “You know I was a classics major, too,” his father said, surprising Will. Twain sounded almost . . . nostalgic.

  “That was because lawyers use Latin,” Betsy said.

  Twain shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Betsy put her coffee cup down with a clatter. “I can’t believe this. You two are throwing away brilliant careers to do what? Be a bleeding-heart pursuer of justice and a schoolteacher.”

  “I thought Ceres was no better than a burger chain,” Will said, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

  Betsy waved her hand in dismissal. “My friends’ children all eat at Ceres.”

  “And that makes it acceptable,” Schuyler said, her expression pure exasperation. “Instead of making more money that we don’t need, we’re putting our skills and talents at the disposal of people who can use the help.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, stop trying to make me feel guilty,” Betsy said, taking a gulp of the wine she’d abandoned earlier. “What am I supposed to tell my friends?”

  “Tell them your children are following their passions,” Twain spoke up, his voice strong. “That’s something to be proud of.”

  This time Will’s and Schuyler’s gazes met in astonishment. Had their father not only taken their side but also claimed he was proud of them?

  Betsy sniffed. “All this folderol about following passions. We did what our parents told us because they knew what would make us happy in the long run.”

  “Are you sure of that, Bets?” Twain asked. “Or did they just want us to keep their world going the way it was so they could be comfortable?”

  “Let’s not get philosophical,” Betsy said. “This is about our children’s lives.”

  “That’s exactly right,” Will said. “Because you are our parents and we love you, we are giving you the consideration of letting you know first. However, our lives are our own and we will make our own decisions.”

  “This isn’t about you, Mum,” Schuyler said gently. “It’s about Will and me.”

  “You’re my children, so it affects me, too. I don’t want to see you make a terrible mistake.” But the certainty had faded from her voice.

  “Bets, they’re adults,” Twain said. “Let’s wish them well, and hope they find joy in their new paths.”

  His father’s words were both gentle and yearning.

  “We appreciate your backing, Dad,” Will said, his astonishment receding under the warmth of his father’s support.

  “That means a lot,” Schuyler agreed.

  They turned to look at their mother. She picked up her coffee again. “You know your father can’t hold a place for you at the firm,” she said to Schuyler. “And I hope this doesn’t mean you’re going to marry that woman you brought to the Spring Fling,” she sniped at Will.

  “I’d be fortunate if she’d have me,” Will said, fighting to control the fury that flared at his mother’s tone.

  “She didn’t fit in, dear,” his mother said. “That dreadful cheap dress.”

  “She was dressed more appropriately than some of my friends were,” Schuyler said.

  “Furthermore,” Will said, letting ice crust over his anger, “the fact that she could dress so well on a limited budget is more impressive than your friends spending thousands of dollars to look fashionable.”

  “Oh, dearest, you know what I mean,” Betsy said, unruffled.

  “You’re a terrible snob,” Will said. A horrifying realization seared through his brain. He’d been guilty of snobbery himself. He’d thought that his mild affection for Petra was more “appropriate” than his intense longing for Kyra. He hadn’t trusted his feelings for her because they seemed so sudden, so irrational, and so out of place in his life. Since his emotions about Kyra knocked him off-balance, he looked at them as suspect. When he felt a bonfire instead of a gentle glow, he had labeled it as something else: obsession, fascination, infatuation, anything other than what he identified as love.

  He heard a tearing sound from his lap. He had twisted his linen napkin so hard that he’d ripped it. Tossing the mangled fabric onto the table, he pushed back his chair and rose. “I’ve made a serious mistake that I need to fix.”

  “Will!” his father said, standing as well. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Will could only nod because his jaw was clenched so hard at the anguish of knowing how much damage he’d done to Kyra. How could he have been so stupid and blind?

  As they passed out of the dining room, his father said, “Forgive your mother. She loves you so she worries.”

  “I don’t doubt her love,” Will said, adjusting his stride to match his father’s slower gait. “It’s her perspective that I question.
Schuyler and I are no longer ten years old.”

  As he said it, he felt the last chains of parental control fall away from him. Kyra had been right. On some deep level that he hadn’t been aware of, he was still seeking his parents’ approval. That had contributed to his blindness about his feelings for Kyra. He nearly groaned out loud, but he wouldn’t show that weakness.

  “I know,” Twain said, “but it’s hard for your mother to let go. She had rather domineering parents herself.” His father made a wry face. “Sometimes I wonder if she married me because they told her to.”

  Will stopped in his tracks. “I thought you fell in love with her when you saw her win a sailing race at age seventeen.”

  “Oh, I fell in love with her, but it took a while to convince her that she was in love with me.”

  Will had won Kyra’s love but he’d thrown it away. He’d thought they should be just friends. What an ass he was.

  Twain put a hand on Will’s arm. “I won’t say that I haven’t enjoyed building the law firm, but I’m glad that you and Schuyler are finding your own directions now. I knew she wasn’t happy with the corporate cases.” His eyes twinkled. “I thought about firing her for her own good, but she needed to make the move herself.”

  “It would have helped if you’d said something,” Will said. “She feels like crap about this.”

  “If I made it easy, she wouldn’t be sure this is what she wants to do.”

  “You’re a bit of a bastard, Pops.” But Will understood. He’d put his heart and soul into building Ceres because he had to justify walking away from the family business.

  “So my opponents say,” his father said with pride. “But don’t let me keep you from wherever you’re rushing off to. I suspect it has something to do with Kyra.”

  Another surprise. His father remembered her name.

  “I screwed up, and I guess I have to thank Mum for making me realize that.” He started to shake his father’s hand, then pulled him in for a hug. “Tell Schuyler what you told me. We’re past the need for tough love now.”