Second Chances: The Bold and the Beautiful

by Ros Baxter

  Riding had always been a dangerous thrill, and now that she knew just how dangerous, the thrill was even sweeter. Because this was all she deserved, she deserved to risk herself. She didn’t deserve the safety and security of a home and babies. Brooke had been right. Steffy deserved to walk the edge, alone and afraid. And even as she pushed the lethal machine harder, she knew it really was true. She was afraid.

  Very afraid.

  Steffy felt her palms grow slick. She remembered her first motorcycle instructor telling her that the fear was a fine balance: you needed it to keep you safe, but it could turn on a dime and bite you. It could shake your faith in yourself, jolt you out of the autopilot where your muscles and brain knew what they needed to do. In short, you could lose your nerve. And that’s when you made mistakes. Steffy was moving dangerously close to that zone now.

  But still she pushed the bike harder.

  The events of the last twenty-four hours swirled in her mind.

  The fight with Liam, and ending their relationship. Liam’s brown eyes seemed to float just ahead of her, familiar and accusing. She changed lanes rapidly as though that might run the images off. The sharp swerve almost caused her to lose her balance and the feeling sent a dizzying spike of oxygen to her brain.

  But still, her mind was determined to take her back over it all.

  The dreams. Oh God, the dreams. She squeezed the throttle some more, closing her eyes for a second as the dream from last night pressed in on her. Trying to save Phoebe, trying to get her, and then knowing she was dead. Waking in that instant of blind, panicked twin instinct. Knowing her sister was gone.

  As her eyes flashed open she saw that she had accidentally veered into the next lane. A protesting honk from a car that had to swerve to avoid her ramped her fear and fatalism up another couple of notches.

  There was something sweet in this, though. Every time she had a memory, the risk and the danger jolted her to someplace else, a place where she had to live in the moment just to survive what she was doing.

  Then the sketches. Those otherworldly things that seemed to come to her from nowhere. She was sure it had been Phoebe, speaking to her through her little charcoals. And the message had been about life, hope. Potential.

  Next, she saw the cemetery in her mind’s eye. She was standing at Phoebe’s grave. The way those flowers felt, pressed to her face. She promised Phoebe that she could live, for all the years her sister would not.

  The thought arrested her, made her aware again of her speed and the fragility of her skin. She eased back on the throttle. Rick had helped her see that too. He had told her that she was worthy of grief. That it was okay to take some time to feel the pain of the loss of her baby. He had looked at her as he had never looked at her before.

  As though she was worthwhile. Truly special.

  And, maybe, as though she could even be good.

  She saw the sign up ahead, the turnoff she wanted. She needed elevation. She needed to see the sea, and the mountains. She guided the bike toward the drive she knew so well.

  As she did, the memories of Rick stayed with her. He had seemed to want to be with her. She felt the press of his body against hers. The way he had looked at her in the limousine. The laughs and conversation at the little bistro. What was it that had passed between them? Was it just the echo of what had been before? Was it some kind of recognition of a kindred soul? Was it just shared grief?

  She thought about how it had felt to be held by him, the fire that had leaped to life in her skin.

  No, definitely not just grief.

  The way he had looked at her, sitting across that booth, like he had all the time in the world for her.

  She remembered his words: Take as long as you like, Steffy. I’m not going anywhere.

  The memory warmed her as the bike turned toward the mountain roads. She could call to mind exactly how his eyes had looked, so blue and sincere, sitting across from her in that little booth as though they were ordinary people who could sit and chat about ordinary things. Not Forresters, with all that demanded of them.

  The thought of the charming French bistro lasted only seconds, before the next memory assaulted her.

  Liam. Dark and furious, turning his fears and anger on Rick. The sickening crunch of the violence. And knowing, yet again, that she was causing it all. And then Rick hitting Liam with the powerful punch that knocked him to the floor.

  It was the two of them being men, being boys, of course, but really it was Steffy.

  Brooke was right about her. Steffy was poison to whoever loved her.

  She squeezed hard on the throttle and felt the bike leap forward under her hands. The road was curved and heavily treed, and she knew it could get even sharper and steeper as it climbed. But the ascent was good. It meant she had to focus on the road. Except it was so hard to concentrate when the memory of Brooke’s words kept picking at her brain.

  Brooke, so perfect and together, in that black pantsuit.

  Brooke, so horrified by the image of her son with Steffy. So horrified that she had railed at Steffy.

  And the things she had said.

  Steffy’s eyes squeezed shut again. Wild. Dangerous. Spoiled.

  Then they opened as she tilted the bike expertly around a bend, enjoying the wicked sway. The next corner was even sharper, and she tilted the other way, her knee almost grazing the road. The next stretch of road was calmer, stretching out for a few miles before another ascent. But she snaked across the road, daring oncoming traffic to come for her.

  As she did, she had a sudden wild urge to feel the wind in her hair. Her scalp and face were hot, burning up the road and weighed down by the memories pressing in on her. Steffy knew it was foolish but she felt she could hardly breathe under the weight of the helmet. All the safety lessons branded on her brain were powerless against the force of her desire to feel the breeze blowing through her hair, blowing away all the angst of the day. It was dangerous, but what did it matter? That was who she was. If she couldn’t save her baby, why did she deserve to be safe?

  Her baby.

  Oh no, not that one. Not that memory. Let the others come. But not that one. She wasn’t going there, not anywhere near it.

  And she knew just how to chase the thoughts away.

  Slowly, she released one hand from the handlebar and sat up a little straighter in her saddle. She unclipped the buckle underneath her chin, and immediately felt cool air lap at her neck. With trembling fingers, she pulled the helmet from her head and held it aloft. The sea breeze lifted her loose curls, and her scalp and neck tingled under the delicious assault.

  Steffy felt wanton and careless. Like this, she could almost believe it didn’t matter. That none of it mattered. That she could go as fast as she liked, and what would it matter? Who would even care if she died? Really care. Her parents, of course, but she had caused them their fair share of heartache.

  She flung the helmet to the roadside with a vicious bellow, enjoying the sight of it bouncing along the green verge. She brought her hand back to the handlebars and squeezed the throttle again. She felt her skin tingle and her eyes sting as she saw the next ascent. The big yellow sign urged caution but she flicked her middle finger at it as she sailed past, Brooke’s words hot and lethal in her brain.

  Brooke was right. Of course she was right. Who was Steffy to think she could change, think that she could be redeemed? She was no good for anyone. Not Rick, certainly. And Brooke could see that at a hundred paces.

  *

  Rick leaped toward his mother’s black Jaguar, knowing his car had no chance of catching up to Steffy on that machine.

  His heart pounded so loudly he was sure his mother must be able to hear it as she turned to look at his face. “Mother, go home in my car.” Rick pointed.

  Brooke looked like she had a whole lot to say about that, but something in his face must have silenced her, because she simply gave a small nod and touched his arm. “Be careful, darling,” she said.

  Rick jumped into t
he Jag, wondering if he could catch Steffy, if he would even know where to look. He had a hunch, the way she’d been driving, that she would want to go somewhere she could really open the machine up. He headed for the freeway, his mind stuck on the look on her face as his mother had screamed at her. Haunted. Hunted.

  He felt goosebumps rise on his arms as he imagined what she might do in the state she must be in. After the day she’d had. So much sadness and so many confrontations. The thing with Caroline. The ultimatum from Liam. And then his own mother. If Steffy died today because of this, he was not sure he would survive the guilt of it.

  As he reached the freeway, Rick pressed the accelerator to the floor, heedless of the speed signs that littered the on-ramp. They didn’t matter. None of that mattered.

  He had to talk to Steffy.

  He had to make sure she was okay.

  The Jag’s soft leather brushed his arms and he worked the stick and the pedals expertly. Rick pushed the car to its impressive limit, his eyes raking across the lanes, trying to spot a wild-haired girl on a big black bike, but there was nothing. He darted in and out of the traffic, swapping lanes to improve his visibility. A huge truck almost wiped him out at one point when he thought he spotted her in a far lane, only to discover the long dark hair belonged to a very large Hispanic man who looked curiously at Rick as he sped up beside him.

  Rick was about to give up, deciding she must have gone another way altogether, when he had a thought. He punched numbers on the cellphone resting in its cradle. He knew the number by heart.

  “Evans.”

  “Mister Forrester.” The voice sounded like iron and tobacco. Rick immediately felt his heart rate settle.

  “I need you to find a vehicle for me.”

  “Yes, sir.” The best thing about Evans was that he never asked any questions. Rick could have said, “I need you to get information about the illegal trade in elephant testicles,” and Evans would have said, “Yes, sir.” It was just what he did. He was a fixer. He was on hand whenever Rick needed him to solve problems. Rick never asked how Evans got his information, or how legal it was, but he knew he could count on him. And that was what he needed right now.

  Rick quickly rattled off what he could remember of the bike before hanging up, Evans’ last words ringing in his ears: “Five minutes, sir.”

  Rick continued to shift lanes and scan the freeway furiously, his hope dwindling. She had to be okay.

  The desire to know where she was, to know how she was, stuck like a poker in his chest. He felt so responsible for how she was feeling and for what his mother had said to her. Steffy acted so together, but after today, Rick knew just how vulnerable she really was. He just wanted—what did he want? He wasn’t sure, but he knew right now that he wanted her to be safe.

  As he swerved and scanned, memories of that other car trip pressed in on him. Phoebe, so angry, screaming, wanting him to stop. But he just wanted to get there. Phoebe, lashing out at him, driving her foot onto the pedals. And Rick realizing that he should have pulled over, that the situation was too dangerous and he simply could not control it. But it was too late. Well, it would not be too late today. It could not be too late.

  Where the hell was she?

  The metallic chirrup of the phone startled him. He glanced at the clock. Five minutes exactly.

  “Sir. A bike matching your description exited the freeway four minutes ago at off ramp 101B.”

  101B. Rick’s mind scurried. “That’s …?”

  “You’re less than a minute from it, sir. Get into the right-hand lane.”

  “How do you know—”

  “It’s my job to know. Sir.”

  Rick finally felt himself exhale. He was only five minutes behind her. “Right. And Evans?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, sir. Now hurry.”

  Rick pulled into the right-hand lane and accelerated.

  *

  Steffy’s head would not be quiet. It was like the ride was releasing some kind of floodgate, and all the memories that she had been trying so hard to put to bed were flooding out.

  And it was not just the memories from the day either.

  As she went faster and faster, feeling reckless and wanting to punish herself for all her mistakes, that day came back to her again; the day Phoebe died. Her internal voice was whispering to her: It should have been you, not Phoebe.

  And she knew it was true. Phoebe had been good and sweet. Innocent. It was Steffy who had done the wild things, made the mistakes. Who had Phoebe ever hurt?

  Steffy smelled pine and the sea as she navigated one hairpin turn after another. The unseasonal Santa Anas were whipping through her hair, driving her to go faster and faster as her thoughts spiraled out of control.

  She knew she was finally coming down on the losing side of that battle her instructor had told her about; the battle to stay in control of your nerve, and your bike. But she was so tired. She could barely muster the energy to care. Because she knew it was coming. The reflections of the day, and on Phoebe’s death, were all leading up to the grand finale. She could feel it, the thing she had been trying to outrun for the last two months.

  The memory of that day.

  She felt her palms slide on the handlebars and her lips sting in the hot, dry wind as the memory inserted itself into her mind.

  The hospital.

  The doctor telling her that her baby was gone.

  And telling her the rest of it. That it was all done for her, there would never be any children. Lying on her side in the white, white room, on the white, white sheets and wishing she could see the blood. Wishing there was a wound she could look at, to prove it was real. That she was real. The gnawing emptiness, grabbing at her stomach and her womb, aching and taunting. Spreading her hands across her belly and feeling the flat warmth of it. Imagining as hard as she could that the little life was still there. Crying herself to sleep, and then waking and realizing it was real, that it had not been a nightmare. Her baby was gone.

  A brutal hairpin turn loomed ahead of her. She could see the point where the road jutted out like a sharp elbow before turning back on itself. Huge trees decorated the verge and a big yellow sign screamed warnings to drivers about the perils of the place.

  Steffy shook her head in the warm breeze and squeezed the throttle again.

  *

  At last, he saw her up ahead of him. She was taking the corners wide and low, avoiding the path of least resistance and treating the road like a race track.

  Rick swore under his breath as he realized she had discarded her helmet, but he was also momentarily mesmerized by the sight of her hair flying behind her. She looked like some kind of mad Venus.

  As the road bent, he lost sight of her again, only to catch her as he accelerated along the next stretch. He watched as her knee tilted dangerously close to the asphalt on the next bend. His breath caught and he wanted to call out to her, tell her she didn’t need to do this.

  The symbolism of it all wasn’t lost on him. The motorbike. He knew enough about grief to know that this was classic self-blame and self-punishment. He’d been there himself. Oh boy, had he been there.

  He just needed to talk to her again. Look her in the eyes and tell her she was good, she was worthwhile. Wrap her in his arms and tell her that he would stand by her and protect her, and—

  What?

  What the hell was he thinking? Wrap his arms around her? She was still married to Liam, for God’s sake. And he’d only spent a day with her.

  He shook his head to clear the errant thought, but he couldn’t excise the vision of Steffy, still and sad, beside him in his car. The perfect line of that perfect mouth. As hard as he tried to remind himself that he had no business thinking about her mouth, it kept swimming before his eyes. And her eyes, so sad and so blue.

  Why? Why was he doing this?

  As he pumped the accelerator hard, Rick felt the car creep up to her. If he could just get in front of
her, he could slow her down. Hopefully get her to stop, call out to her. But as he watched, the sleek black motorbike took on the ugliest hairpin so far. Her brake lights didn’t even engage. He saw the car coming before she did. His extra distance gave him perspective she didn’t have, and he could see it, barreling down the other side of the bend.

  There was nothing he could do.

  As he watched, a second or two shattered into a thousand pieces and felt like hours. There was going to be a terrible accident.

  He was going to lose her.

  As the thought settled in his brain, another overtook it. There was something he could do. He beeped his horn furiously, long and low and loud. The oncoming car swerved to miss the bike as Steffy swung out wide. The car missed Steffy but as she overcorrected, she lost control of the bike and it slid out from underneath her and hurtled toward a large tree.

  She slid along the edge of the asphalt and then the roadside on one thigh, dangerously fast, before landing in a patch of grass.

  Rick was seconds away. He screeched the Jag to a halt and leaped from the car, his legs like jelly as he ran toward her. The air was filled with the smell of petrol and smoke. He could see Steffy lying immobile on the grass, a long bloody scratch on her face.

  Rick knew he was fast. He had been working out a lot lately while he tried to get his demons under control. He knew he could do a mile in six minutes, but if felt like it took an hour to cover the hundred yards or so between his car and where Steffy had landed.

  As he ran to her, two realizations occurred to him. The first was that he could not lose her. Not the way he had lost Phoebe. Too much about this scene was familiar. It was a twisted déjà vu, and he just knew he could not take it. Not again.

  The second was that his feelings for Steffy ran deeper than he had thought. Something had happened today. He had come to see and desire her in a whole different way. He wanted to be close to her. And not just as a friend. He wanted to offer her comfort and protection. He wanted to show her that she was capable of more. That she was good, and that she deserved love. Despite what Liam, Caroline, his mother said. He wanted to help her expel her demons, and maybe even let her help him with his.