That Second Chance

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Are you listening to yourself right now?” I grip his arm, forcing him to look at me. “You’re talking about believing in an actual curse, about letting some crazy lady in New Orleans dictate your entire life. Are you really just going to give up on ever being with someone ever again?”

  “Yes.”

  The way he says it, with such finality in his voice, is like a punch to the gut, knocking all the air from me.

  “So that’s it, then? You’re not going to feel anything for me?”

  “I can’t let myself feel anything for you, Ren. That’s the point.”

  “No, you can, you just won’t.”

  “You don’t get it,” he practically shouts. “If you stay with me, you’re going to get hurt.”

  “Well, guess what, Griffin? You’re hurting me right now, and the pain is way worse than any two-by-four. Do you even care about that?” His eyes soften, but it isn’t enough. I push forward, pressing my hand against his chest as I step up close to him. “What we have between us is real, it’s so real, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone ever. I want to be with you, Griffin. I don’t care about some dumb curse you think is controlling your life. What I care about is being with you.”

  He looks away, but I reach up and grip his chin, his stubble biting into my fingers as I stare into his eyes.

  “Tell me you don’t want to be with me, Griffin. Tell me that what we have is worth throwing away over some silly spell you experienced with your drunk brothers. Tell me that the friendship, the relationship we’ve built from the ground up, is worth stepping away from—just because you’re too scared.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his blue eyes staring me down, a clench to his jaw.

  “It’s not worth it.”

  At first I wonder if I misheard him, if I just dreamed what he uttered from those perfect lips. But when he pulls away from me, turning his back, I realize that I did hear him correctly.

  He’s giving up.

  He’s letting his past dictate his future.

  And from the looks of it, no matter what I say, I won’t be able to change his mind.

  My lips trembling, my teeth chattering, the first tear falls down my cheek, followed by many more. “So that’s it?” I ask, the anguish in my voice making him turn back to me. Pain crosses his face when he takes in my tears. For a moment, he starts to move forward to comfort me, but he holds back, the final nail in the coffin of our relationship. “That is it, isn’t it?”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “You know, Griffin, I didn’t move to Port Snow looking for a boyfriend. I didn’t plan on finding someone I care so deeply for. I came here to start a new life, a new chapter, after living through something tragic. I came here because I was brave enough to start anew, and along the way, I met a beautiful group of friends and a man who stole my heart. After what I’ve been through, I had the courage to try something new, to open my soul to you and give you everything I have.” I take a deep breath and attempt to calm the anger raging inside of me.

  Why is he being so stubborn? Why is he insisting on pushing me away when I can see in his eyes how much he wants me?

  “Hiding behind your past is never going to get you anywhere in life, and you’re going to miss out on a lot.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Having you carry me up the side of a ditch was one of the most humiliating and exhilarating things that ever happened to me. I realized I could still survive after having another car accident. And do you know what else I realized? That I could fall in love with my best friend so effortlessly.” I step up to him and once again grip his chin. “I love you, Griffin Knightly, and it kills me that I’ll never truly know what it’s like to be loved by you.” I shake my head. “I wish you would just be brave and be with me, instead of sabotaging yourself, believing a myth. There’s your curse . . . self-sabotage. It’s not about what the palm reader said; it’s about you and what’s inside your head. And I can talk until I’m blue in the face, but until you realize it yourself, it’s hopeless.”

  I turn away, my heart shattering into a million pieces as I take step after step away from him.

  I look over my shoulder one last time, and I catch the devastated look in his eyes, the dark circles, the way his face seems to be sunken. I want to run up to him, kiss him senseless, and tell him we can work this out.

  But this is beyond my control.

  There is no hope for us, not when he’s so caught up in what happened two years ago.

  With a broken heart, I make my way out of the kitchen to the front of the shop, where I spot Jen. I try to wipe away my tears, but they keep falling. She hurries over to me, but I shake my head, warning her off.

  I don’t want to talk about it . . . with anyone.

  I need this moment of peace, at least until the town starts talking about the naive girl who thought she could fall in love with a Knightly brother.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  GRIFFIN

  “What the hell was that?” Jen asks, shutting down the shop early without discussing closing time with me. Hands on her hips, she’s ready to do some damage, and I know it’s all directed toward me.

  “Jen, please, just drop it. Okay?”

  “Do you really think that’s going to work on me?” She points to a barstool. “Sit. Now.”

  She pulls out the big guns, using her mom voice, and I know there’s no use fighting it. She’ll win in the end. She always does.

  I take a seat at the countertop bar and dig my hands through my hair, elbows in front of me, propping me up.

  “I can’t risk something happening to her,” I start. “I’d be worrying constantly, wondering what’s going to happen next. She’s late; is it because she got in another accident? She’s sick; is she going to pull through? There are so many variables that go into keeping her safe, and I can’t control them. The only thing I can control is staying far away from her.”

  “All because she was hurt a few days ago? Are you blaming yourself for that?”

  I give her a pointed look. “Isn’t it obvious, Jen? We started to get serious, and all of a sudden she’s hurt.” I shake my head. “I . . . fuck, I love her, and I don’t know what I would do if something happened to her.”

  Leaning forward, Jen gently presses her hand to my forearm. “You love her?”

  I nod. “And she fucking loves me, but hell if I said it back to her.”

  “Oh, Griffin, why are you doing this to yourself?”

  “Because . . .” My throat grows tight. “There was nothing wrong with Claire, and I lost her. I can’t lose Ren.”

  “You say that, but . . . didn’t you just lose her anyway?”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “It’s exactly the same. You live in a small town. Are you really going to be okay with her walking around Main Street holding some other man’s hand? Seeing her kiss him at Jake’s Cakes? Walking on the beach?”

  My jaw flexes, the thought of seeing Ren with someone else destroying me. I stand abruptly, my voice strained as I say, “I need to get the fuck out of here.”

  “Griffin . . .”

  Jen’s voice trails off as I exit the store and head straight for my house, passing by every landmark that holds memories of Ren—from Jake’s Cakes to the street we danced in. Fuck. I need to be alone. I need to be anywhere but here . . . in Port Snow.

  “Open up, you motherfucker.” Reid pounds on my front door, but I ignore him.

  Beer in hand, I stare off into nothing. I knew this was coming. My phone was buzzing like crazy from all of my family’s texts, so I turned it off.

  “My hand is getting sore from knocking. Just open up so I can talk to you.”

  “Fuck off,” I shout before taking another sip of my beer.

  “Come on, Griff. You can’t just give up on Ren. She’s perfect for you.”

  “I’m going to save you some time. Anything you say is going to be ignored. Leave me the fuck alone.”

  “Fine. Your loss. But
for the record, you’re being a moron.”

  “Noted.”

  I down the rest of my beer.

  Knock. Knock.

  Ring. Ring.

  Knock. Ring. Knock.

  Ring. Ring. Ring. Knock. Knock . . . “Who’s there? Oh, look, it’s your fun-loving brother, Brig. Open the door for a good time.”

  “Go away,” I groan. If he rings the doorbell one more time, I’m going to open the door just to punch him in the face.

  “But I have ice cream.”

  “I’m not a woman.”

  “You sure as hell are acting like a moody bitch.” He grumbles something I can’t hear. “You know, I spent a long time trying to pick out the perfect flavor. It would be really rude not to open the door and at least share a scoop with me.”

  “Leave, Brig.”

  “Fine,” he answers indignantly. “Your loss.” He taps on the door. “And for your information, it was rocky road.”

  Fuck . . . rocky road is damn good ice cream, but not good enough to deal with Brig.

  Knock. Knock.

  I wait for a ring or something obnoxious to be said, but I hear nothing.

  That means it’s Rogan.

  “Not in the mood, man,” I shout.

  “Thank Christ,” he replies through the door. “Jen made me.”

  “Figured.”

  “Okay, well, text if you need more beer.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  GRIFFIN

  One week.

  One fucking week without Ren, and I’ve truly lost my mind.

  I haven’t slept.

  I haven’t eaten.

  The only reason I’ve showered is for sanitary purposes while working at the shop.

  But shaving? Yeah, not happening. And my hair? A goddamn mess.

  I’ve heard it all from my family. What a fool I am. How I’m letting go of a good woman, a woman who makes me happy. How I’m an asshole for making Ren fall for me when I knew I was going to pull away.

  Yeah, that last one still haunts me.

  I made her cry. I fucking broke her heart. I saw it in her eyes when I said we couldn’t be together, that I couldn’t see her hurt. She was right: I’m hurting her anyway.

  Christ.

  What a fucked-up mess.

  I adjust my baseball cap and head into Oliver’s General Store to pick up something to drink, a.k.a. beer. Beer is my only friend right now. Depressing but true. I’ve banished everyone from my life, even my family. The only time I see them is in the shop, and I barely speak to them; I just go through the motions. Mom and Dad tried to have a talk with me the other night, but I turned them away. They weren’t happy about it, not even a little.

  But at this point, I don’t give a fuck who’s mad at me—with the exception of one person.

  There’s only one person I care about, one person I can’t get out of my head, one person I want nothing more than to pull into my arms and apologize to like a mad motherfucker.

  Thankfully Oliver’s isn’t too busy, so I make my way toward the back where the beer is, passing by the aisle with mac and cheese. Shit, I should probably eat something, and mac and cheese isn’t too much work. I scan the boxes, finding the Velveeta, and grab a box. There—I’m feeding myself. Progress. I’ve started to move toward the back when I bump into someone.

  I look up to apologize, and my voice catches in my throat when I see Ren. Her hair is pulled back, her bruise almost gone, the scar above her eyebrow much smaller.

  She’s about to apologize when she recognizes me. Her eyes widen, and she stumbles backward.

  I grip her arm before she tumbles into a display of Triscuits. “Careful.” I steady her.

  Once on solid ground, she pulls her arm away and adjusts the strap of her purse on her shoulder.

  This was bound to happen at some point. We live in a small town where everything is walking distance. We were going to run into each other; I’m just surprised it took us this long. Full disclosure: I’ve been skipping out on Snow Roast coffee and heading straight to the Lobster Landing earlier than normal.

  I just don’t think I’m ready for this yet—to see her.

  To remember how beautiful she is.

  To see the pain in her eyes.

  To hear the anger in her voice.

  To be consumed by her scent all over again.

  It’s weakening me, breaking down my defenses.

  I’m desperate for her.

  I want her to hold my hand. I want to be her man. I want to take her into my arms and know that nothing is ever going to happen to her, that she’s going to be mine forever.

  “Excuse me,” she says, breaking me out of my thoughts. She attempts to move past me, all emotion gone from her face, a blank stare in her eyes.

  “Ren . . . I . . .”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t, Griffin. Don’t apologize. It will just make it worse.”

  “But I am sorry.” I reach out to touch her face, but she steps back.

  “I need to go. I can’t do this here with you.”

  “Ren.”

  She stops and takes a deep breath before facing me again. “Did you change your mind? Do you all of a sudden have the courage to be with me?”

  My jaw moves back and forth, the answer stuck in my throat.

  “That’s what I thought. Just leave me alone, Griffin. Please, if you had any sort of feelings for me, just leave me alone.”

  And with that, she takes off down the aisle and out of the store. I watch her walk briskly down the street, her hand lifting to her face to wipe away a tear.

  And here I thought I couldn’t feel any shittier.

  Fuck the mac and cheese. I’m drinking dinner again.

  When I lost Claire, I felt like I was cloaked in darkness, like rain clouds were hovering over me, ready to pour on me whenever they felt like it.

  I was in denial. Lost. Barely living.

  I was just going through the motions for two years.

  And then Ren came along, and she changed everything. She parted the clouds and reminded me what sunlight could feel like.

  She set me free.

  But instead of flying, I’ve grounded myself, taking away the one solid piece of happiness in my life.

  I don’t know how to move forward, though. I don’t know how to move past the fear.

  And I sure as fuck don’t know how to live in the same town as Ren.

  It’s been a week since I ran into her at Oliver’s, another week of me avoiding her at all costs. One more week of not seeing the way her eyes light up when she sees me or feeling her small hands skim my waist before fully pulling me into a hug.

  “Are you paying attention?”

  “Huh?” I ask, snapping my eyes to the paper in front of me.

  Annoyed, my dad huffs next to me. “You know what? I’m going to take over.”

  “What?” Panic consumes me. “No.” I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts of Ren out of my mind, at least for this brief meeting. “I’m sorry, it’s been a rough two weeks, but I’m here, present. I can do this, Dad.”

  He levels me with a questioning glare. “It might sound dramatic, but the success of this booth is important to me. When your mom and I created the Lobster Landing and built it from the ground up, we had dreams of being able to give back to the community, to reinvest in this town that helped create a beautiful place for us to raise our family. Lobster Fest is about giving back. I need you to be present.”

  “I am.” I grip my dad’s shoulder to add reassurance. “I’m present, Dad. This means a lot to me, too—I think more than you know. I want to be the man you can trust to take over your business. I’ve done everything leading up to this point for the Lobster Fest; trust me that I can handle this.”

  He twists his lips to the side, thinking over my words, and finally he says, “You’ve done a great job so far. I’m just nervous.”

  “Don’t be. It’s going to be amazing, Dad. The best booth in t
own.” I conspiratorially whisper, “By far better than Lobsters and Limerence’s booth.”

  His eyebrows drawn, an irritated look mars my dad’s face. “That two-bit, pathetic excuse for a gift shop from two towns over can go to hell.”

  Lobsters and Limerence is a sore subject. Established three years ago, it tried to model its entire business after the Lobster Landing and failed, providing the town of Coxachy with a cheap imitation not worth your time, but it still chaps my dad’s ass every time the owners come to Port Snow and buy out a booth. The only reason they’re allowed in the festivities is because they pay a hefty vendor fee that goes to preserving our beautiful stone library. But because the Lobster Fest committee is clearly Team Lobster Landing, they stick that booth in the far corner with very low visibility.

  Don’t mess with the Knightlys.

  “Do you know what their booth theme is?” my dad asks, still fuming.

  I chuckle to myself, positive we have them beat. “Yup, and it’s horrible.”

  “Give me a good laugh. What is it?”

  “The Great Pumpkin.”

  “Oh hell.” My dad has a good chuckle, knowing full well that this is the third year in a row they’re trying to pull off their overused theme. “They’re sunk.”

  “No doubt in my mind.”

  Week three.

  Week fucking three, and as I stand here watching tourists and locals boast about our Lobster Fest booth, all I can think about is . . . how goddamn depressed I am.

  I should be ecstatic, a happy motherfucker that not only did I pull off putting together a booth that will be remembered for years, but it’s been so damn successful that we sold out in the first two hours and have had to bring in reinforcements.

  But none of that matters, because all I can think about is Ren. Is she here? Is she avoiding the festival altogether? Has she even thought about me?

  Has she moved on?

  That last thought makes my stomach clench, a wave of nausea hitting me hard.

  And it doesn’t help that everyone keeps complimenting us on our theme, the theme that Ren thoughtfully came up with and that I played off, or the fact that everyone in town keeps mentioning the new algebra teacher and how our booth is going to give her a warm welcome to Port Snow.