Last Chance: A Second Chance Romance

by Kira Blakely

  Scrape my knees? I do remember doing that once. Just once back when I was in college and I was climbing a tree.

  …With Dash Siegel.

  I still remember him, his hair like the sunlight drifting through the trees on a summer day, his eyes like night clouds drifting over the moon. I wonder if he’s still with the Marines.

  Wait. Isn’t this ad from a soldier?

  No. It can’t be him. He doesn’t need to post an ad. Soldiers don’t. The uniform – and the promise of pension – attracts more than enough women.

  I read on.

  Someone who doesn’t mind being alone but can give anyone a good time. Can handle her alcohol but doesn’t mind getting drunk every once in a while. Whoa. This is creepy. Whoever wrote this almost seems like he is describing me. Ready to get married and have a child ASAP.

  Yup. He is describing me. Maybe he’s psychic or something?

  At any rate, I definitely meet his requirements. The question is: Does he meet mine?

  I go to the section where the Hopeful – apparently, that’s what people who put ads on RealCupid.com are called – describes himself.

  A charming rebel with a lot of talents and tricks up his sleeve.

  Hmm. Sounds interesting.

  Prefers to be alone but can work with the right team.

  Hah. Sounds just like me.

  Hates being surrounded by stupid people and following stupid orders.

  Who doesn’t?

  Loves an unexpected adventure. Tired of petty fights, senseless deaths, and wasted opportunities.

  I reread that last line as I play with the pendant of my necklace. Is that why he called himself a broken soldier? Because he’s tired of war? But what about the wasted opportunities part? Opportunities for what?

  At any rate, it seems like Soldier34 is a man of depth. So far, so good.

  I move on to the last line.

  Good in bed.

  Whoa. The man’s either cocky or skilled. Either way, it seems as if he’s experienced. I want to get pregnant. Maybe experience is a good thing.

  I pause, biting my pendant as something sinks in for the first time.

  Am I really going to have sex with a stranger?

  I shake my head. No, I’ll think about that later. First, I have to meet him. Then we’ll take things from there.

  I read what’s left of the ad:

  Monthly compensation and full child support awaits the right candidate.

  My eyes grow wide, the pendant falling from my lips. Well, that’s not the tender note I expected. Still, I have to say it’s practical. And ideal. If I’m going to have a child, financial support from the father would be nice and the monthly compensation, though surprising, is more than welcome, especially since I quit my job to take care of my Mom and I’m spending quite a bit for her medical expenses.

  I sit back, reading the whole ad again from top to bottom.

  Well, it certainly sounds good. In fact, it sounds too good to be true, almost as if it was written just for me.

  But what if it’s a hoax? What if this man isn’t real?

  Well, there’s only one way for me to find out.

  I click on Apply and start filling in the details.

  * * *

  Where is he?

  I tap my fingers on my arm impatiently as I sit in the corner of Koffee Therapy, my cup of coffee already nearly empty.

  I’ve been waiting for Soldier34 for nearly an hour. Well, fine, I was forty-five minutes early because I wanted to see him well before he could see me – and maybe have a chance to bolt.

  Now it’s ten minutes past two. He’s still not here.

  Is he coming?

  I pick up my cup, trying to still my heart and my thoughts as worry creeps in.

  What if he isn’t real, after all? What if he got cold feet and decided not to come? What if he already dropped by, saw me and left?

  No. I inwardly shake my head as I bring the cup to my lips. I must be patient. He may already be on his way. I should give him five minutes more. Or ten. Or fifteen.

  The door to the café opens with a tinkle and my eyes grow wide at the newest customer – a man wearing a black, Baltimore Ravens cap, a dark blue sweater, and jeans.

  Soldier34?

  I stand up so that he can see my shirt, a pale pink blouse with yellow flowers, as I described in my message. I hold my breath and wait for him to see me.

  Our eyes meet and it feels like a crash.

  I recognize those frosty blue-gray eyes, peeking from under that Ravens cap. I gasp and the coffee cup slips from my hands.

  Dash?

  Chapter 5

  Dash

  “Janine?”

  I stop in the middle of the café to take off my cap, my eyes wide as they stare into hers. I wouldn’t forget those warm, bright amber eyes or that red hair.

  I don’t believe it’s her. Yes, I was thinking of her when I wrote that ad, but I never actually thought she’d be the one to respond to it. I never even thought I’d see her again. I thought she’d be married by now, with kids.

  And yet, she’s here wearing a pink blouse with yellow flowers, the very same described in the message I got.

  The realization is enough to make my chest tight, my heart ready to burst. It’s like that feeling after a mission when you’ve somehow made it alive. You don’t know how you did. You can’t believe you did. But you’re glad. You feel like the luckiest bastard in the world.

  I quickly go over to her, picking up the shards of the cup she dropped, though I abandon the task when the waitress scurries over.

  “Thank you,” I tell the waitress. My attention swivels back to Janine immediately. “You alright?”

  “Yeah,” she answers without looking at me, wiping the stains off her blouse.

  “Let me guess.” I scratch my chin. “You’re here because this place has good coffee that’s cheaper than Starbucks.”

  She chuckles. “Well, yes. That and the fact that I’m waiting for someone wearing a Ravens cap.”

  I take off my cap and give it to her. “This?”

  She runs her fingers over the team insignia. “Still a Ravens fan, I see.”

  “Still a coffee drinker.”

  Still a stunner, I’d like to say. Her hair is as full and bouncy as I remember, her eyes still shimmering pools of molten gold.

  She returns my cap. “And it seems you’re a RealCupid member, now, too. Can’t say I imagined that.”

  “Ditto,” I tell her.

  “Touché.” She nods then gives me a warm smile. “Welcome home, Dash. I’d give you a hug, but I wouldn’t want to get coffee on your shirt.”

  I wouldn’t have minded.

  “I’ve had worse things on my clothes.”

  She nods. “Right. I’d still prefer clean clothes, too, so you think you can wait for me while I change?”

  I look around the café, noting that more than half the tables are occupied.

  “I have a better idea.”

  * * *

  I take off my cap as I enter Janine’s apartment, pausing to look around.

  The yellowed ceiling and the loose loops on the carpet suggest that the apartment must be at least five years old. Even so, it still looks okay. It looks charming, actually, with yellow curtains, well-tended potted plants, and abstract paintings on the walls that look like splatters of paint, adding a burst of color to the room.

  “Please take a seat.” Janine gestures to the couch, now empty after she has taken the pile of laundry off it.

  “And sorry for the mess. I haven’t had time to clean up lately.”

  “It’s fine.” I sit down.

  “I’ll just go change.”

  After she goes, my gaze goes over the table beside the TV. There are pictures lined up there – pictures of Janine, some alone, a few with her father, more with her mother. One of the pictures looks like it was taken at her college graduation and I find myself walking over to it, running my fingers over the photo as an unexpecte
d thought crosses my mind.

  I could have been there.

  “Please put that down,” Janine says as she walks back into the room. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “No, it’s not,” I answer but put the picture down anyway before turning towards her.

  As she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, I take note of how little she has changed over the years. She carries herself with maturity and dignity now, but then, she always looked that way to me. She’s still as slender, still a little shy. She even has that same heart-shaped pendant on. Maybe the only difference is she’s wearing make-up now, a pink blush on her cheeks and darker eyelashes, lips rosy red. It suits her.

  “Sorry. It’s a small place,” she apologizes as she folds her arms over her chest, drawing my gaze to her still firm breasts – those haven’t changed either.

  “It’s bigger than the room you used to have,” I remind her, walking back to the couch.

  She purses her lips and in spite of the tint on her cheeks, I can tell she’s blushing.

  She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You still like yellow curtains.” I look at them.

  “Yeah.” She looks over her shoulder at them as well. “Some things never change.”

  Like how attracted I am to her, I realize.

  Indeed, I feel in my twenties again, as reckless and excited as I was that night at the bar of The Metropolitan. As I take a step closer to her, I catch the fruity scent of her perfume and it takes me back.

  That’s new too. I like it.

  “So are you still with the Marines?” she asks.

  “I’m in the Reserves.” I sit down on the couch. “I’m done with fighting. What about you? You’re an accountant now?”

  “Yes.” Her hands go behind her. “I quit my job, though.”

  “Oh.”

  “Would you like something to drink? To eat?”

  I shake my head. “Maybe we should get down to business.”

  “Right.” She sits down.

  “So, why would someone like you apply to my ad?”

  She fidgets with her pendant as she takes a deep breath. “Because I want to have a child ASAP, too.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “My mother is very sick,” she adds.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shakes her head. “Her final wish is to see her grandchild.”

  I tap my fingers on my knee. “I see.”

  “What about you?” she asks, looking at me. “Why did you put up that ad? Why do you want to get married and have a child so quickly?”

  I scratch the back of my head. “Well, my father died recently.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “Thanks. He died unexpectedly of a stroke.” I scratch the skin between my nose and my upper lip. “One of his last wishes was that I settle down.” It’s not exactly true, of course, but I guess it’s one way of putting it. Why would he put that addendum if he didn’t hope I’d have a family?

  “Oh.” Janine grabs the pillow behind her and places it into her lap, hugging it as she sits back. The gesture almost looks maternal, like the pillow could be a little girl or boy.

  “Of course, Mom is insisting I fulfill those wishes,” I add, leaning back as well and crossing my leg over my knee, bouncing it. “And I’ve disappointed her far too many times and I’ve been away for so long. I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

  Janine exhales. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it seems like we’re in the same position.”

  “It does seem so,” I agree. “And since that’s the case…”

  I remove my backpack and take out the file case inside it. Then I open the case, taking out one of the sheets of paper and setting it down on the coffee table.

  “What is it?” Janine leans over the piece of paper.

  “A contract. Basically, you’ll agree to marry me in two weeks and have my child. In return, I’ll give you a generous monthly compensation, provide for your needs, and, of course, support the child. After five years, if you want, we can get a divorce and you can keep the child along with a small fortune.”

  She picks up the document, silently reading it. After a few minutes, she puts the paper down, shaking her head.

  I turn to her. “Is something wrong?”

  “Everything is,” she answers, eyes still on the paper. “You and me using the same dating site and meeting after all these years, leading separate and very different lives yet both desperate to having a child as soon as possible to make our parents happy. What is that?”

  I touch my chin. “Sounds like one hell of a coincidence to me.”

  She places her hands on her cheeks and shakes her head once more. “It’s so weird. Do you believe in fate?”

  “I believe in nature.”

  Janine puzzles her eyebrows at me.

  “Think about it.” I move closer to her, our thighs touching. “I’m a man. You’re a woman. I need a child. You need a child. Classic biology. We’re both fertile. I’m not good in math, but it seems like an equation that could work.”

  I hear her draw a deep breath.

  “Plus, you already know how I am in bed.”

  She blushes again.

  Ah, yes. She remembers. Just like I remember that night all too vividly now, that image of her breathless beneath me making me hard.

  She gets off the couch, wringing her hands. “It’s crazy.”

  “We are.” I shift in my seat to hide my situation even as I try to dismiss it. “But then we were crazy, too, when we decided to climb that tree and look what happened.”

  She blushes more furiously then looks away, rubbing her arms and for the first time, I notice how scared she is.

  I stand beside her, placing my hand on her shoulder. “Of course, we don’t have to do any of that. I mean, you’re not a prostitute. We can just do IVF.”

  “IVF?” Janine’s eyes grow wide.

  “In vitro fertilization. You know, you–”

  “I know what IVF means,” she cuts me off.

  “So you’re okay with it?”

  She nods but purses her lips, giving me the impression she’s not convinced. Maybe she’s scared.

  I take her hand, squeezing it in an effort to stop it from shaking. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. And I promise I’ll take care of you.”

  Janine pulls her hand away. “I know.”

  I put my hand in my pocket. “So you’re okay with everything?”

  She sits down and picks up the document again. “We have to come up with a story about all this because my Mom will freak out if she finds out the truth.”

  “Of course.” I wouldn’t want Billy to find out I’m only marrying to secure my inheritance, either. He might contest it if I did, given his current affection for me. “Feel free to throw me your ideas.”

  Janine picks up the pen but doesn’t sign, twirling it in her fingers.

  “Any other concerns or requests?” I ask her.

  She stops twirling the pen. “Maybe just a simple wedding. I don’t like big weddings.”

  “Sure.” I sit beside her. “It will just be you and me, our families, a few friends on a secluded beach or a secret garden and then after the ceremony, we can just send everyone away, get drunk, and have some fun like last time.”

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “You know, climb a tree or two just to see if we’re still good at it.”

  Janine laughs but I can tell it’s forced. Her hand is still shaking as she holds the pen above the dotted line.

  “Hey.” I reach for her hand again. “We make a good team. You said that once.”

  She nods, takes a deep breath, and signs.

  I let out a sigh of relief. Well, that’s done.

  “Now, shall we shake on it? Unless you want to seal it with a kiss.”

  Her eyes grow wide.

  “Just kidding.”

  She extends her hand and I shake it, smiling.

  I have to admit I was a
little apprehensive about this whole arrangement before but now, I’m quite excited. This is Janine, after all. Who would have thought I’d be in this with her of all people?

  * * *

  I find myself still thinking about her two days later, while at my mandatory support group for post-war soldiers. The men are complete strangers here and they’re lousy storytellers, so I find it hard to concentrate. Unfortunately, the doctor presiding over the group notices.

  “Lt. Siegel,” Dr. Jackson calls for my attention.

  She’s a woman in her forties with dark skin and black curls, a psychologist who claims to be an expert on the effects of war. I wonder if she’s seen the things I have.

  “Sorry,” I tell her as I take my hands out of the pockets of my sweater and straighten up in my seat. “My mind can’t help but wander back to the battlefield with all these stories I’m hearing.”

  “Really?” She folds her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at me.

  Fuck. She’s not buying my bullshit.

  “Well, why don’t you tell everyone exactly what you’re reliving?” She leans back in her chair, eyes still on me. “I’m sure everyone here would love to hear it.”

  A few of the men in the group nod or grunt in agreement.

  “Besides, this is your third session,” Dr. Jackson reminds me. “It’s about time you told us your story, don’t you think?”

  I pause and look around the room, my eyes meeting some of the others – weary eyes, sleepless eyes, eyes that have seen far too much, eyes wide with curiosity, wondering if mine have seen what they have seen.

  Fine. I guess I might as well tell my story.

  Dr. Jackson’s hands fall to her lap, the look on her face changing from impatience to sympathy. “Go on.”

  I take a deep breath and lean forward. “My name is Dash Siegel. I was in Syria until a few weeks ago.”

  “Holy shit,” an older man in a black shirt mutters.

  Dr. Jackson throws him a warning glance.

  I clasp my hands and rub my thumbs. “Yeah. It’s hell out there, worse than what people see on TV.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I lost a lot of friends. Some got blown up right before my eyes. Some got hit by snipers while they were running towards me. I tried to get them, to carry them to safety, but they just ended up dying in my arms.”