Last Chance: A Second Chance Romance

by Kira Blakely

  Deputies burst through the front door and quickly lowered their firearms at the amount of carnage already visible, at the strange hush over the entire house. The foyer had a splintered, bloody lamp and an overturned table. The living room, two unconscious men and me, still wearing nothing but a slip. Chet with a bullet in his—chest? Arm? And the local mechanic with a Taser embedded in his chest…

  My eyes were still on Andrew—who had lapsed back into unconsciousness—as one of the deputies attempted to take my attention and get some sort of explanation.

  My eyes flicked up to this newcomer and I said, “You guys really need a more sophisticated screening process.”

  * * *

  I was discharged from the hospital after two hours of psych evaluation. They determined I wasn’t so badly traumatized that I couldn’t go back home. The police submitted the restraining order between Chet and I, emphasizing that I would probably need to break my lease and move. “He can move,” I asserted. “I’m not moving. I just got that house. I’m a lawyer,” I reminded them proudly. “Don’t mess with me.”

  Andrew was still being evaluated—that blow with the lamp had given him a minor concussion—when my cell phone began to vibrate, and I glanced down, genuinely expecting another invasion alert. But I guessed those were probably over.

  Even worse.

  Incoming call: Mom...

  I swiped over the screen and pressed the phone to my ear. “Hey, Mom,” I said, hoping that I sounded composed and responsible and—

  “I’m going to tell you something, and you tell me if it’s true,” she shrilled. “Are you at the hospital right now?”

  “Mom,” I chastised. “Are you tracking my phone again? You know I hate that.”

  “So you are at the hospital!”

  I dropped my forehead into my hand and gave it a gentle massage. “Mom, look, I just didn’t have the time to—”

  “Are you all right?” she shrieked, and my heart warmed. Did she actually care about me? Did she just suck at showing her emotions?

  “Yes, Mom,” I said. “I’m fine, actually. There was really scary break-in at my house again, but my boyfriend swooped in and saved the day. And then I saved the day again.”

  “Your boyfriend?”

  Shit.

  “We’ve been on a few dates,” I lied. Andrew and I had only been on one date together in our entire lives, but we’d fucked enough to fill a memoir. “You would like him.” What’s one more lie? “I think he might be the one,” I added.

  “I guess I can’t convince you to come back to Ohio, then,” she grumbled. “Where Allison and I can keep a close eye on you.”

  Normally, the mention of Allison’s name—the favorite daughter, I always thought—would bring a twinge to my chest. But tonight, I felt warm and soft at the sound of her name. It felt good to be surrounded by family in a time of need. Mom wanted to protect me.

  “I have someone here who is keeping a very close eye on me,” I promised her. “Everything will be fine, Mom. I promise.”

  And for the first time, maybe ever, I actually believed it.

  Epilogue:

  I’m Not This Kind of Guy

  It still ached when I moved my arm in certain ways, even though my body had been mending for months. The summer heat was finally draining away and leaving us with the moderate temperatures of early September, and I hoped that my injury wouldn’t come back to bite me every time it got chilly outside.

  Michelle moved in with me.

  All it took was being attacked by her next-door-neighbor to get her to agree to live with me.

  Not bad.

  I gazed across the field of white candles I had lit throughout the entryway and living room of my house. Michelle was due home at any moment.

  It may have been moving a little swiftly, but I’d never been married before, and these past two months were the best of my whole life. I’d never been with someone like Michelle. I’d never been so satisfied. I wanted it to last forever. Or, at least, until these little meat machines we were driving finally popped their tires and rusted out.

  The front door opened and the tell-tale tinkle of little high heels moved over the floorboards. She didn’t know yet. She didn’t know what was about to happen. She was about to become mine.

  I haven’t been able to shake the image of her in a wedding veil since that fever dream I had after getting hit with Chet’s Taser.

  The high heels slowed to a stop and I looked up from where I was waiting, in the center of the living room, on one knee.

  Michelle stood in front of me in knee-length suede boots, dressed in a conservative, knee-length khaki skirt and a black turtleneck. There was something different about her since she’d moved in here. It started slowly, and then she had coalesced into a new—or perhaps only inner—version of herself. She warmed. She matured. She wasn’t the only one who was happier, I guess.

  Her eyes beamed wetly from behind square-framed glasses and she slowly picked her way across the den, lit by the warm orange light of about fifty fucking tea candles. That was a fun trip to Dollar General.

  “Michelle,” I greeted her somberly.

  Tears of joy were already slipping down her cheeks as she approached, and I knew she was going to say yes.

  “Andrew,” her voice warbled sweetly. My heart ached for her. She was too sweet for this world. Too sweet for me.

  “You’re—uh—you’re the only woman who finally let me believe in the goodness of the heart,” I told her, trying to remember all the corny, poetic things I’d brewed in my noodle over the past few hours. Maybe I hadn’t thought this all the way through, but damn it, it felt right. I had to say it. “You make me believe in magic. In fairy tales. In the triumph of good over evil.”

  I reached out and collected her hand in mine.

  “Me, too,” she whispered back.

  “You’ve only been in my life for three short months—unless you count that quickie we had in January—” Michelle swatted my shoulder and I winced. She knew exactly where that goddamn Taser gun hit me, and she wasn’t always sweet. “—but either way, it hasn’t been long. But it doesn’t need to be. You know my heart, and I know yours. We’ve laughed. We’ve cried. We’ve made huge, dramatic scenes and walked all the way home from the Baptist church on Route 11.”

  Michelle scoffed but didn’t hit me again, even though I braced for it.

  I swallowed. “Michelle Clara Harper, will you marry me?”

  As she gazed down at me, sparkling tears slipping down her cheeks, I was certain she would say yes. Who cries like that at a marriage proposal and then doesn’t say yes? She was definitely saying—

  “No,” Michelle answered, her sinuses becoming clotted from her tears.

  “Uh,” I said. “What?”

  Michelle sniffled and pursed her lips together. “We’ve only known each other for three short months,” she reminded me. In spite of her tears, she wasn’t as overcome with emotion as I thought. What the hell was going on? “You’re right, I don’t count that quickie in January, jerk.”

  “So?” I said. “We’re living together! And every night, I’m excited to come home from work, just so I can come crush you on the couch.”

  “I know,” Michelle said. “But we can’t get married, Ace.”

  My brow dented with frustration and I staggered up from my knees. “Because why?” I demanded. “You know I love you. You know it! If I don’t marry you, I’m not marrying any-fucking-one. I can promise you that.”

  “There’s no reason to rush,” Michelle asserted. “We’ve been living together for eight weeks, Andrew. We can wait another year or two.”

  “Or two?” I shrilled. “I’m thirty-two!”

  Michelle cocked her head to one side. “Do men have biological clocks?” she wondered.

  “You do!” I snapped without thinking.

  A half-smile kinked at Michelle’s lip. When we first moved in together, this might have actually spiraled into a fight, but it’s harder to get he
r to go than it used to be. Now she knows that I just snap sometimes, and it doesn’t mean anything, except that I’m basically a Neanderthal.

  “You know that’s not the issue,” she reminded me meaningfully, and a blush actually darkened my cheeks.

  I did still come inside her every night. If we were fertile at all, it was only a matter of time. And it wasn’t that we thought it was the best idea in the world, an uptight attorney and her ragged mechanic trying to raise kids together...

  But we couldn’t stop.

  I knew I couldn’t, and I thanked God that she couldn’t, either.

  “Just give me some more time,” Michelle whispered, reaching a palm to lightly kiss against my cheek.

  My eyelashes kissed closed and I breathed more easily. If anyone knew how to calm this beast, it was Michelle.

  “I do love you,” she reminded me.

  I nodded and kept my eyes closed. “I love you, too,” I said. My arms traced over hers and slithered around the back, pulling her to settle into my arms. I lowered my head and nuzzled her neck, relishing the clean aroma of coconut and vanilla and sugar. My baby. I could pick her out of a crowd of ten thousand, blindfolded.

  One of my hands fanned into an open palm and skated down to her ass, giving her buttock a tender squeeze. She murmured her appreciation and tilted her face up to mine. Our lips bumped and cracked apart, tongues tangling, and I forgot the candles. I forgot the marriage proposal. None of it mattered, as long as we had this.

  “I just want this,” I rumbled over her skin, making all the little hairs stand on edge. I felt her fingernails creep under my shirt and rake my bare abdomen, relishing the muscles there. Her palm flattened and snaked down into my pants, and my member sprang immediately to attention, like he was her puppy dog. I broke our tongues apart and whispered into her mouth, “I just want this forever.”

  Michelle exhaled shakily and her fingers wrapped around me, squeezing affectionately. I swallowed thickly. Didn’t she feel this? Did she really think her or I would find it again?

  Michelle nudged at my ear with her lips and blessed a lobe with one delicate kiss. “Ask again later,” she whispered. “Don’t forget.”

  Copyright © 2017 by AG Media, LLC, a representative of Kira Blakely.

  All rights reserved.

  AG Media, LLC owns exclusive rights to all content herein. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from AG Media, LLC, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About the Author

  Want a FREE book? Join my newsletter and receive a free sexy short story, Big Daddy! https://dl.bookfunnel.com/55xwbees2o

  All I’ve ever wanted to do for years is write my own books. I spent an ungodly amount of time ghostwriting a few bestsellers for other authors before realizing it was time to start taking credit for my own work.

  My personal struggles in life, love, and money have driven me to start doing what I love most: Writing full time.

  I started writing when I was a teenager. I fell in love with a boy who didn’t quite love me back--admittedly, I was terribly insecure and slightly overweight--and the entire experience drove me to start practicing my craft. Writing helped me to escape, to reimagine a world where happy endings actually existed. If I couldn’t have the love of my life, I’d just create Mr. Right in my romance novels… with maybe a few embellishments.

  I’ve found my calling. Having the experience of doing what I love most as a full time job has given me happiness and confidence galore. And, soon after I found those, I was able to find companionship. Shout out to my guy and my kitty!

  I so hope you enjoy my books! I wish you the very best in this crazy thing called life.

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