SECOND CHANCES: A ROMANCE WRITERS OF AMERICA® COLLECTION

by ROMANCE WRITERS OF AMERICA®

  “An hour?”

  Mika scoffed. “I’ll need longer. My hair air dried.” It’d take her a while to work out all the tangles and knots.

  He chuckled, deep and husky. His low laughter was a soothing balm; it warmed and caressed little bits of her soul she’d forgotten existed.

  “Leave it,” he said, “I always loved your natural curls.”

  Mika closed her eyes as she inhaled and leaned her head against the wall, allowing the tension to ease from her shoulders. She smiled at his words. She’d heard them so many times, especially before bed, when he’d wind his fingers into her wild, tangled hair, and hold her in place while he kissed her. Made love to her. Fucked her. Heat churned low in her belly. It’d been a long time since her husband had made her smile.

  “So an hour?”

  His question shook her from her memories. She dreaded the inevitable conversation. She dreaded seeing him. But she couldn’t wait to be near him either. She nodded as she spoke. “All right. Fireside Café in an hour.”

  “See you soon, baby.”

  See you soon, baby. Her hands were shaking again, his voice wrecking her. She took a few deep breaths and pushed herself from the floor. She was going to see her husband in an hour. Three years had been long enough.

  LEANING BACK IN THE too small metal patio chair, Rye tilted his face toward the afternoon sun. He tried to relax. Tried to slow the pulse drumming behind his temples. Taking a breath, he rolled his shoulders to ease the building tension, then scrubbed a hand up over his face and around his head. He had to get a grip. To find a way to contain his emotion. To settle his anger before it boiled over.

  He’d been headed to the Fireside Café when he’d called his wife in the first place, knowing it’d been her favorite joint for a quick bite. Hoping, just as he’d done so many other times over the past few years, he’d catch her there. Force her into a conversation. He hadn’t expected her to answer the call today and sure as fuck didn’t expect her return call.

  His heart raced. Every muscle in his body quivered with restraint and anticipation. “Shit,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. She was already fifteen minutes late, and chances were she wouldn’t show up at all. She’d been a ghost for nearly three years. She’d walked out the door and disappeared from his life as if she’d been a figment of his imagination. A combination of his sweetest dreams and most horrifying nightmares.

  He growled, his frustration taking over. He’d been tortured for years not knowing if she was alive even, calling time and time again and getting nothing. No replies. No acknowledgments. Nothing. Poof, she’d been gone. Eventually, he’d given up hope and convinced himself he was over her.

  But then today—today—she’d spoken to him, and all the old feelings rushed in. She’d said his name on the phone in her sweet, silken tone, and he was taken back to a decade ago when they’d first started dating, when everything was pure and real and filled with burning passion. Now the passion was contaminated with hurt and rage. But the love remained even though he’d convinced himself otherwise. Her voice, the crack of pain when she spoke, reminded him how deep the love had run.

  Thirty-two minutes late. “Fuck this,” he muttered, shoving the chair from the table. He’d waited too long to be stood up after she’d finally answered. As he was about to stand, he saw her. She stood on the sidewalk outside the small patio area of the café. Watching him.

  Damn, she looked good. Thinner than he remembered, but her curves were still fine as hell, full and lush exactly where she should be. Her smooth skin looked a little paler; the delicious latté shade made his mouth water, assaulted by the recollection of how she tasted against his tongue.

  Then he looked closer and saw the shimmer in her dark eyes. Fuck, she’d been crying. Something violent pulsed through his veins. He’d vowed to bring her laughter, not tears, but he’d failed. He gripped the metal arms of the chair to keep from breaking something.

  She smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. A forced smile. She stepped in his direction, weaving her way through the small table settings to where he was sitting. “Hi,” she whispered as she approached. She stood before him. She looked poised, but he saw how her body trembled, how she held onto an empty chair to steady herself.

  “Hey, baby.” He stood, moving around the table, and pulled out a chair so she could sit. Her honeyed scent mingled with the sunshine. Part of him wanted to grab her by the shoulders, shake her, and demand answers. Ask why the fuck she’d left him and where the fuck she’d been for the past three years. Rye gulped, fighting the conflicting desires to pull her into his arms and support her. To kiss away the sorrow, to murmur sweet nothings in her ear until she giggled with delight.

  He stepped away, retreating back to his chair. Today wasn’t about their vows. It was about closure.

  “Sorry, I’m late.” She touched her hair as she glanced away.

  He grinned. She hadn’t tried to wrangle it but had left it in wild curls. The way he’d always liked it best. “You’re always late.”

  She flashed him an impish smile and shrugged one delicate shoulder. “True.”

  “You’re so beautiful, Mika.” The words came even when he didn’t want them.

  Her gaze settled on him. She smiled, but there was such sadness in the depths of her eyes. Her hands were on the table, and he had to fight the urge to reach over, take them in his own. To hold them as he always had, to comfort her. A lump of emotion tightened his throat, but he shoved it away. “Baby, you’re still so beautiful.” He cleared his throat. “You okay? You been all right?”

  She licked her lips. “I guess.” She worried a plump lip between her teeth. “It took a while, but I’m okay.”

  Rye looked to the side knowing damn well she hadn’t meant to tease him. But his dick didn’t give a shit. He’d been semi-hard since he’d seen her, and now she’d reminded him of the magic she could do with her mouth and he was rocked up hard. Throbbing. He shook his head and allowed her words to sink in. He didn’t want to want her. Didn’t want to feel sorry for her. He wanted the anger to resurface so he could send her on her way, to dismiss her from his life as she’d done to him.

  Grabbing the bottle of ale, he took a good long drink and allowed the silence to descend around them. He took another drink, allowing the chilled liquid to cool his heated body.

  “Where you been?”

  She glanced down, and he could see her shoulders heave as she sucked in a deep breath. After a moment, she looked at him. “I got a small apartment, not much, really. Work from my computer like I did when I went on maternity lea—”

  Rye studied his wife’s face, the pain so unchecked and raw. All this time, he could have been offering her solace. He sure as hell needed it from her. But the fact that they hadn’t had each other was entirely her fault. He’d done everything he could to be there for her even through his own sorrow. She’d shut him out. She was to blame.

  A low moan escaped her lips, as if it was painful to continue, but she did anyway. “I don’t go out much. Just keep to myself. Work. Read some.” She shrugged.

  There were a million questions he wanted to be answered, but at this point, they weren’t really his business. Not anymore.

  “Rye, you didn’t call me here to chitchat. You said we needed to talk.” Her voice dropped off to a whisper. “So what is it?”

  A muscle ticked on his jaw. His shoulders ached with tension. “You’re right, baby.” Reaching into his back pocket, he withdrew the folded papers and smacked them onto the table. “I need you to sign these.”

  Her stare fixed on the papers on the table. “What are they?”

  “Divorce papers.”

  He heard her low gasp, but she didn’t look at him. She turned her face away, but he didn’t miss the giant tear that streaked silently down her cheek.

  “What did you expect, Mika? It’s been three years.
How long was I supposed to wait?”

  “I don’t know,” she squeaked out. “I just wasn’t … wasn’t expecting this.”

  “What were you expecting? Flowers? Candy?” The rage resurfaced. All the stress, the pain, the wondering, the fear, the anger, the hurt. It all came rushing back, shoving aside the strangled love.

  She shook her head. The sun had begun to descend, and it shimmered golden in her curls. “No … No … I don’t know.” Her voice was low. Broken. He hated that he caused her pain, but shit, she deserved it.

  “You did this to us, Mika. You destroyed us.”

  “I know.” She sobbed.

  “Why! Dammit, tell me why?” Oh yeah, the rage was controlling him now.

  Her eyes glistened with tears, and she was trembling again. “I lost an infant son. I couldn’t look at you and live with the guilt. It was my fault.”

  “You’re wrong, baby. His death wasn’t your fault, but you sure as hell killed us.”

  “I lost a baby,” she whispered.

  Rye stood so quickly the chair toppled over behind him. He slammed his hands against the tabletop. His beer tipped and spilled. “The fuck is wrong with you, Mika,” he growled, “you think I don’t know that? You think I wasn’t there suffering, too? Nah, baby, I had it a thousand times worse.” He leaned across the table, towering over her and looked her in the eye as he went on. “I lost a son, too, Mika, but I also lost my wife.”

  Mika wanted to close her eyes, to look away, to see anything but the depths of pain she saw in her husband’s stare. She wanted to reach for him, wrap her hand around the back of his neck and drag him closer, to touch his lips with hers even if just one more time. She wanted to hold him to her breasts and allow him to cry out the agony she felt. Knew he felt, too.

  He was right. Everything he said was right. His anger was justified. She had destroyed them because she hadn’t known how to share the grief. She’d thought to carry the burden alone, but what she’d done—what she’d done to Rye—was anything but.

  She’d done harm to this man. To this strong, stoic man. He’d honored all his vows and she hadn’t. She’d walked away. No matter how bad it hurt, she knew he deserved his freedom from her. She’d made him hold on for three years. Time to let him go.

  Leaning forward, she pulled the papers toward her. And then she closed her eyes, lifted her face to her husband, and kissed him. She needed one final taste to see her through a lifetime without him. His mouth tasted like ale and anger, but his full lips melted against hers. His mouth was gentle despite the violence he’d shown. As tender as he’d always been. She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and touched her tongue to his skin.

  He groaned into her. He didn’t kiss her back, but he didn’t pull away either. Just stood bent across the table and allowed her to taste him.

  Slowly, she pulled away, ending the contact. His gray eyes were open and looking at her. The fury she’d seen before had defused into something else dark and smoldering.

  Her entire body was trembling as she licked her lips as she stood, bringing the divorce papers to her chest. “I’m sorry. I’ll sign them. I’m so sorry.” And then she turned and ran.

  Mika rounded the tables and darted for the parking lot. Her pulse raged in her ears, and her heart was in her throat. Her stomach roiled, nausea prickling her skin. It’d been hard to leave him the first time, but something about running from her husband now felt even more final. More painful. Complete wreckage.

  Her husband was behind her. She could hear his shoes thumping on the pavement. Hear his husky breathing. Feel his radiant heat. Reaching into her purse, she fumbled for her keys as she darted through parked cars toward hers, unwilling to slow down despite knowing he’d get to her before she got away. Her car was ahead, and her knees nearly wobbled with relief. The heel of her sandal landed on a pebble and she stumbled.

  Large, strong hands grabbed her shoulders, yanking her back before she face-planted against the cement. The divorce papers floated to the ground. His grasp was unrelenting as he spun her body to face him, backing her up until she collided with her car, and there was no escape from Rye’s massive body. Pressed between steel and iron hard muscle.

  Squeezing her lids closed, she didn’t want to look at her husband. Didn’t want to see the hurt and anger in his eyes. Didn’t want to be tempted by the lips she’d just kissed. A moan escaped, and she battled tears.

  “You can’t do this, Mika. Not again.” His voice was harsh, angry. “You don’t get to do this again.”

  She didn’t open her eyes. “Do what?” The words squeaked out. She was shaking and wished like hell he wouldn’t notice.

  “Leave me.”

  Her lids popped open and, damn it to hell, she lost the fight with an unruly tear. Oh, God, she’d caused the pain that tortured his features. Her head swam, and she swayed. Sentiment rose in her throat, but she gulped it down. Forcing her gaze from his face, she saw the folded papers on the ground. The divorce papers.

  Another damn tear. She licked her dry lips. “You’re the one who wants a divorce.”

  He stepped aside, his hands falling to his sides, releasing her. She nearly crumpled, but she straightened her legs and steadied herself.

  His shoulders were tense, his chest rising and falling as he growled out a few sharp breaths. Lifting a hand, he scrubbed his palm over his face, then over his head. “Shit.” He glanced away and dragged in gulps of air before turning to her.

  Mika shivered; his stare pierced her. A lonely cloud drifted in front of the sun, casting a shadow across her skin.

  “What you expect me to do? Just keep waiting?”

  “I’m not sure what I expected today, Rye.” She glanced at the papers. “But it wasn’t those.”

  “It’s been three years. Three fucking years.”

  “I know. I know. I meant to call you. Meant to come back. I’d go to bed thinking I was going to call you in the morning but then wake up and life looked so bleak. The guilt and sorrow would return. The hurt. I’d tell myself I’d call you tomorrow.” She swallowed. “Just … just tomorrow never came.”

  “Tomorrow came—” he paused as he reached forward and wiped a tear from her cheek, “today.”

  Rye rubbed his fingers against his jeans, his wife’s tears burning his skin. He’d have given anything to spare her. It was as hopeless today as it’d been when their son had left them. Divorce wasn’t what he wanted, but what else was there?

  He cleared his throat. “Look, baby, I am not trying to hurt you. We’ve had enough of that. But you don’t want me in your life, and I’m ready to have one. A life. I need to move forward. I want a wife—”

  “You’re seeing someone?”

  Dammit, he hated the way her voice cracked. He didn’t want to answer, but this wasn’t the time for lies. “I have. I’ve tried to date, Mika. I want a wife. A family. I will never forget RJ, but I need to move forward. For the past three years, I’ve been under the same soil he has.”

  Another tear slid along his wife’s cheek. He tightened his fingers against his pants and let them fall. She was trembling, her eyes shimmering. He wanted to pull her to his chest and hold her. To let her cry. To heal. But despite what he wanted, Mika wasn’t ready.

  Turning, he bent and scooped the papers from the ground and handed them to her. “There isn’t much else to say, baby. Sign the papers and let’s get on with it.”

  She gripped the papers to her chest and nodded but didn’t answer.

  Every muscle in his body ached. His hands shook. His chest burned. Ending it with her was the last thing he wanted to do, but exactly what needed to be done. He took a breath and held it until it was a fire in his lungs. They were done. “I’ll give you two weeks, Mika. If you don’t sign them by then, I’ll file for divorce without you.”

  It took every ounce of his strength, every fiber of his being revolting,
but he turned from her and walked away.

  THE WEEK HAD BEEN overcast, but rainless. Not today. The clouds had broken and floated out of the Sacramento Valley, allowing the California sun to shine. Despite the briskness of the March air, his skin warmed under its glowing warmth. It dipped low in the sky.

  Rye pulled the hoodie up over his head, casting his face into shadows to match his mood. He strode up the path, his body moving in pure muscle memory. He hadn’t slept well, every dream swirling to the taste of Mika’s lips. The sweetness of her mouth. It’d been a quick and unexpected kiss, but it tormented him. Haunted the nights.

  The week had been hell. Every time his phone rang, his heart would stop, wondering if it was his wife calling to tell him she’d signed the divorce papers. He’d sought solace in running the trails along the river, on pushing himself physically to relieve his mind. It hadn’t helped much. Fuck, not even a little bit.

  Biting back a growl, he untwisted the cap of his water bottle and took a long swig as he rounded the bend, planning on watching the sunset from the knoll overlooking the river.

  She was there.

  It had been their spot. He shouldn’t be surprised to see her there. But he was. Of all the times he’d been there, she’d never been. After she’d left him, he used to go there hoping to find her. Now, he’d gotten used to being there alone. It was his spot, and seeing his wife sitting there, her back against an oak tree, her shoulders slumped forward as she fiddled with something in her hands, he felt almost violated.

  He choked on the swallow of water. They’d made love for the first time on a bed of clover here. Had probably conceived their son in the same spot. A breeze drifted past, the scent of the murky river along with something sweeter. Flowery. The alluring scent of his wife. He moved closer. She hadn’t noticed him, her attention on the items in her hands.

  He moved closer, glancing down to see what she fidgeted with. Folded white papers he assumed to be the divorce papers he’d asked her to sign. And her cellphone. His chest tightened.