Second Chances: The Bold and the Beautiful

by Ros Baxter

  But she was lying on the grass. So still.

  Rick slid in beside her, falling to his knees and throwing himself onto her chest. Through the background sounds of the other vehicle, he could hear the dull thud of her heart. But it sounded weak, and her breathing was labored.

  Oh God. Oh no.

  “Steffy.” He shook her shoulders gently but she said nothing. Her face had blood down one side, but she still looked beautiful. Her perfect lips were parted, and her eyelids were closed, highlighting each sinfully long lash.

  He wriggled around behind her, calling out to the approaching driver of the other car to call an ambulance. “Do you have any first aid training?” The man shrugged, his face a picture of horror as he pulled out his cell and retreated.

  Rick strained to remember what to do. Keep her flat. Keep talking to her.

  “Steffy,” he said, gently brushing the hair from one cheek. “Steffy, are you okay?”

  Suddenly, he felt sure, very sure, that he was going to lose her. Just when he had found her again.

  “Steffy,” he said. “Steffy, don’t go. Stay with me, honey.”

  Her body felt warm next to his but he wrapped his fingers around one tiny wrist and her pulse felt weak. “Steffy,” he tried again. “Please be okay. I need you.”

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  Chapter Eight

  Steffy opened her eyes to see the gathering dusk pressing in on her. A harsh throb drilled into her thigh and buttock and sparks of pain danced down her right side. She smelled pine and dust and the sea, and the air felt too warm for this time of year.

  Where was she? What had happened? Her hand flew to her stomach.

  The baby! Was it okay?

  As her fingers spread protectively across her stomach, awareness closed in on her, narrowing her vision to a pinpoint before she closed her eyes against the gnarled fingers of pain that clawed at her.

  No. Of course. There was no baby.

  She was Steffy, and all alone.

  A great black fog of sadness filled her nose and lungs, choking and burning. Her baby. Her baby was gone. Tears stung her eyes and she felt the howl even before it was out—low and wild, like a shewolf whose cub has been taken. She didn’t know where she was, why she was here or who she was with, but she knew that something that had been buried deep and safe inside her had been released. A kind of wicked genie she had worked hard to keep a lid on.

  And now the lid was gone, and the thick ooze of pain and guilt and self-recrimination was pouring out. Out of her eyes and her heart and her brain, and most of all, out of her mouth. The wail broke her in two even as it assuaged the hot burn of grief inside her.

  Gone. Her baby was gone.

  Finally, she cried, grabbing hold of the body underneath her, tears pouring from her eyes as wild cries spilled from her mouth.

  Then all the memories slid back into her brain as one: Paris, coming home, Liam, the cemetery, Phoebe, Rick.

  Rick?

  Steffy became aware of strong, warm arms wrapped around her and a low voice murmuring to her. “It’s okay, honey, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

  Rick?

  Even wailing and crying, she was aware that he wasn’t telling her to be quiet. Wasn’t trying to stop her crying. He was just holding her, half propped up in his lap. One big hand was rubbing her hair and her cheek while his other arm wrapped around her protectively. It felt good.

  She struggled to sit up, but the drilling pain slammed her back down. She brought a hand to her face and then pulled it back, seeing the sticky red blood on her fingers like they belonged to someone else. “Rick?”

  He was there, patting her hair. “You’re okay, honey. The paramedics will be here soon. I think you’re okay, but you’ve got a nasty scratch on your face and you’ve hurt your thigh. I think you should lie still.”

  She sank back gratefully onto Rick’s hard thighs as the wailing subsided into hiccupping sobs. “I’m here, baby,” Rick said, continuing to rub her cheek and her hair. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

  She studied his face upside down as he smiled at her. It was warm and bright, his cheeks flushed and his smile wide. He looked … elated. “I thought you were gone,” he said. “But I think you’re going to be okay. Some bad knocks and you’re going to be sore, but your pulse is picking up and your breathing is coming back to normal. Thank God.” Dark blue eyes drilled into hers. “Thank God, Steffy.”

  Now she remembered all of it. How she had flown from the penthouse. The motorbike. The death wish that had slid into her brain as she had burned up the miles, taking each corner faster and wider, daring death, knowing she deserved it. How she had flung the helmet from her head, the last desperate act of defiance.

  She didn’t deserve Rick’s care, his attention, his gratitude that she was unharmed. She didn’t deserve any of it. Any more than she deserved Liam. Or the baby she had failed to protect.

  She rolled herself off Rick’s thighs and sideways onto the warm grass, facing away from him. “Go away, Rick,” she muttered, her hands once again moving to cradle her belly. She breathed in the warm sweet smell of the grass and wished the ground could open up and swallow her whole, like in a fairytale. This was too hard. She was too tired. She didn’t want to deal with any of it.

  But Rick did not seem keen to go anywhere. In seconds, he had moved himself around to where she lay. He unfolded his frame and lay down on the grass beside her. Her irrational brain thought about how lovely his crisp white shirt was, and how dirty it was going to get, lying on the grass. She thought she should mention it to him. But a sudden shiver rocked her, even in the warm night.

  Rick looked into her eyes and rubbed her arm with one big, warm hand. “You’re in shock, honey,” he said. “You’re not thinking straight. Can you remember what we did today? Where we went?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes because his dark blue gaze was like a truth beam in her face and she knew she could not take it. “Of course I can. That’s why you need to go. I remember all of it, and your mother was right, Rick. You deserve better. Much better than me.”

  Her voice caught, but she wouldn’t let him hear it. Let him think her the same selfish, ungrateful Steffy she had always been. Let him think anything if it meant he would leave. He was right. He had grown up. He had really worked on the things about himself that had been vain, and jealous. He had become a better person. And he deserved better.

  But Steffy? She was just poison. Poison to all those who loved her. A screw up. Surely Rick, of all people, could see that.

  She ploughed on, knowing she had to make him believe her. “Today was … just a moment.” She swallowed, knowing now, in her heart, that it wasn’t true. But knowing she needed to say it, for him. To give him a chance of something better. Maybe he could patch things up with Caroline. “We were just overwhelmed by our—” She stopped, closing her eyes again as she searched for the right words. “By our shared grief.”

  He raised himself on one elbow, still stroking her arm as he shook his head vehemently.

  Steffy opened her eyes. She had to convince him, and she couldn’t do it lying there, refusing to look at him. She heard sirens in the distance and knew the interaction was almost over. They would be here in a moment, and tend her. She just needed to get this done.

  “I get it, Rick,” she said. “I know there was a … spark.” Oh, yes, she remembered that spark all right. That delicious leap of possibility that had sizzled between them. She crushed the memory mercilessly. “But it doesn’t matter. It was nothing. An echo of a past love affair.” She reached out to touch his face, her fingers creeping into his hair as though they had a will of their own.

  Rick laughed. “Nice try, Steffy,” he said. “I don’t think so.” He grasped the hand that had been in his hair and brought it to his mouth, turning it over and pressing a kiss onto the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. Even with a kettle drum playing a symphony at the back of her skull, her skin reacted, lighting up l
ike Christmas at his touch. “Do you feel that?” he asked, the rough rasp of his beard scratching the sensitized skin of her wrist. “Is that a memory?”

  No. Her heart boomed inside her ribs as he continued the gentle assault on her inner wrist.

  Steffy snatched her hand away as she heard the ambulance pull over.

  Rick began to sit up, lifting himself on one arm. “Don’t kid yourself, Steffy,” he said. “And don’t patronize me. Nothing about today was past tense. It was all very much now. And you know what else?”

  Steffy shook her head, not trusting her voice as the aftershocks caused by his lips still raced through her blood. She felt molten and confused.

  “I know you,” he said, his voice so low and deep she felt it right in the center of her. “I realize now that I have always known you. We’re alike, you and I. And once I would have thought that was a very bad thing.”

  Steffy heard the paramedics emerging from the van and making their way toward them.

  Rick went on. “But not any more. There is nothing bad about you, Steffy. You’ve done things you’ve regretted. You know what? Big deal—we all have. Time to get over it and give yourself permission to be. To live. Fully and freely and without apologies. It’s not so crazy what you did tonight. You’ve been bottling it all up. Phoebe, for years. The loss of your baby, for months now. Grief makes us crazy, Steffy. This—” He swept his hands around the scene, the twisted motorbike, the torn up grass. “This is pretty normal. And you.” He touched her nose lightly. “You’re normal too. More than normal. I’ve seen those sketches, Steffy.” He touched her face gently as he began to stand up. “They’re beautiful. You.” He brushed one finger over her lips, seemingly mesmerized by them. “You are beautiful. Inside and out. No matter what anyone says.”

  Steffy’s breath hitched at his words and at the dark and sensual tone in them.

  “So you think I’ve changed?” She wanted to squash his mistake. I haven’t changed. I’m dangerous. Don’t trust me, Rick. Don’t trust in me. Don’t want me.

  Rick shook his head as the paramedics covered the last few yards between them. But he didn’t seem to care that they could hear what he said as they kneeled beside her. “No,” he said. “I don’t think you’ve changed at all. I think you’re a sweet, sweet girl. And you always have been. Despite what anyone says. Despite what you say.”

  And then the paramedics were tending her and Rick moved back behind them. But not far, she noticed.

  The paramedics carefully assessed her for head injuries, and bathed the scratch on her face, clucking and marveling at the minimal damage given her lack of helmet. They examined the bruises on her thigh and buttock. Steffy felt shame burn from her scalp right down to her toes. She knew what they were thinking: spoiled little rich girl doing what she wanted, leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces.

  But something about the presence of Rick, hovering just behind them as they helped her over to the van, tended her wounds and ran some more tests, comforted her. Even though the thought of her stupidity shamed her, she clung to his words. She was sweet. She was normal. She was okay.

  The paramedics fought hard to take her to the hospital but she knew right now it was more than she could bear. She just wanted to go home to lick her wounds and process all that had happened. Rick was siding with the paramedics, but she was adamant.

  Finally, Rick ran frustrated fingers through his hair and sighed. He turned to the paramedics. “What are the risks of her going home?”

  The elder paramedic shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with her except superficially,” he said. “She’s going to have a really sore leg for a few days, but the painkillers we’ve given her should help with that. We’d just really like to keep an eye out for signs of shock and concussion. Vomiting. Drowsiness. Hallucinations.”

  Rick nodded. “What if she came home with me? I could keep an eye on her.”

  “No.” Steffy put a hand on Rick’s arm. “No, Rick. I’m fine. I’m going home.”

  The paramedic shook his head. “Uh uh. You leave solo, lady, and I’m going to have to ring it in.”

  Steffy turned to Rick, who shrugged meaningfully at her.

  She nodded, and felt something tug deep and dangerous in her tummy at the sweetness in those blue eyes.

  *

  “They said to bathe the cut,” Rick said, his mouth set in a determined line.

  “I can get Mrs. Harrison to do that,” Steffy whispered, looking mutinously at Rick as he held up the new dressing. The air between them was charged with electricity. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she really did let him tend to her wounds.

  “I gave her the night off,” Rick said quietly.

  Steffy narrowed her eyes at him. Maybe Rick hadn’t changed that much—he always had an eye out for an opportunity.

  He laughed at her. “Shame on you, Steffy. She has a sick child,” he said drily. “What do you take me for?”

  “I’m not sure,” Steffy replied, wrapping the fluffy dressing gown Mrs. Harrison had given her more tightly around herself as she sat on the stool facing him. But she smiled as she said it because he looked so offended.

  “C’mon, Steffy,” Rick said, his eyes wide. “It’s been a long day. You need to go to bed. And despite what you think, I’m not so hard up for a lover that I would jump on you in the state you’re in.”

  Steffy worked hard to squash a little whine of disappointment that threatened to spill from her lips.

  As though he could read her mind, Rick smiled. “You may not be so safe tomorrow, so keep that gown handy. It’s so frumpy it’s almost a chastity belt. Where did Mrs. Harrison find that thing?”

  It was Steffy’s turn to smile. “Hmm,” she said. “Well, I’ll try not to be offended that I look like a grandma.”

  Rick lowered the arm holding the dressing. “Oh no, Steffy,” he said, very slowly and carefully. “I said the dressing gown was frumpy. You, on the other hand, could be wearing a terry-cloth robe and shower cap and still make the cover of Sports Illustrated.” He swallowed, then smiled quickly, as though he needed to change the subject.

  Steffy smiled back at him, and turned her face so he could access the scratch, closing her eyes. “Okay, Florence Nightingale,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “Bathe away.”

  Steffy heard Rick drag in a deep breath. He had already set up a bowl of warm water and disinfectant beside his makeshift dressing station, and she saw him dip a cloth into it before she felt the warm sting on her face. “Ouch.”

  He stopped. “Too sore?” His voice was a little ragged, but she could tell he was working hard to keep it light.

  Actually, the feeling was exquisite, sore but soothing all at once. “No,” she said. “No, it’s nice, keep going.”

  He started again, building up a rhythmic pattern. Dip, press, stroke. She kept her eyes closed and made friends with the sting just to enjoy the silken drag of the warm material against her sensitized skin.

  Dip, press, stroke.

  “So.” She cleared her throat. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything important.”

  Dip, press, stroke.

  Her skin warmed under his touch and the sting and ache abated a little. But her tummy didn’t feel so comforted; it felt weak and watery as the stroking continued.

  “For some reason,” Rick mused, his voice seeming to become one with the rhythm of his hands, “nothing seems more important than this today.”

  Steffy thought about his words. “Because of Phoebe?”

  For the first time, Rick stopped and a small whimper of protest escaped Steffy’s lips.

  “Sorry,” Rick said, starting again.

  Dip, press, stroke.

  “Yes,” he went on. “I think so. At least, I mean, I think that’s how it started. When I saw you today, at that florist, it seemed that we were in exactly the same place, battling the same demons. And you seemed so …”

  “Messed up?” Steffy could only imagine how she must have looke
d, sitting there at the florist.

  “Beautiful,” Rick said, carefully applying the new dressing before smoothing her hair where he had pulled it away from her face. As he did, the slight tug on her scalp lit up Steffy’s circuitry, and the brush of his warm hand on her shoulder didn’t help either.

  Steffy tried to focus on his words. “Losing Phoebe the way I did, it had a huge impact on my life. It was the turning point, really. The beginning of knowing I needed to be different. But—”

  He broke off and stepped away from her. He was rubbing his eyes and she was hit by the realization of how difficult the day had been for him too.

  “But it took me a long time, years, before I worked out how to do that. If there was one thing Phoebe knew about, it was following your heart. Today I decided I can be exactly who I need to be. Who I want to be. And that’s okay. Life is short, and precious. All we can do is live in the moment.”

  “It was the same for me,” Steffy said quietly. “The same, but different. Losing her, it felt like I’d lost a piece of me. She had always been there. When she was gone, I spun out of control. The times I’ve wanted her—” Steffy dipped her head, not wanting Rick to see the tears that formed in her eyes. She did not want to cry, not again. She took a breath. “The times I’ve wanted her to be around. Just to see her, laugh with her, tell her something. Most people are born into this world alone, and we learn to let others in. It’s not like that when you’re a twin. Your first experiences, your earliest memories … they’re all of being part of something bigger than you.”

  Rick nodded, reaching out to touch Steffy’s cheek.

  “Why do you keep doing that?” she asked.

  “Because it’s so soft,” he said. “And I can’t help myself.” He picked up one long curl and settled it back on her shoulder. “Go on,” he said. “I’m listening.”

  Steffy chewed on her lip, trying to get the words exactly right. “Today, at the cemetery, I thought I’d found some closure. I talked to her. Does that sound crazy?”