That Second Chance Page 27

  “For real. So dumb.”

  Jesus Christ, my palms are sweaty.

  “So did you have a good time? Have you seen her since?”

  I wrap up a wad of twenties and stick it in the money bag. “Every night this week.”

  “Really?” Jen perks up, her little romantic heart going a mile a minute, I’m sure.

  “Yeah, really. I like her a lot, Jen. I’m falling for her, hard and fast, and I’m finding it damn hard to concentrate on anything other than her.”

  “Oh my God, Griff! That’s so exciting.” She grins widely. “It’s happening—you’re loving again.”

  “I think I am.”

  “And what about the booth? I spoke with Dad the other day, and let me just say, with the addition of Ren in your life and you taking over the Lobster Fest booth, he’s almost too giddy, as if another fudge catalog came in.”

  I pull on the back of my neck, thinking over all my plans. “It’s all in motion. The decorations, the games, the apple stamps. Spoke with Bernadette over at the cidery, and she’s really excited to partner up. I submitted the menu to the committee along with my fund-raising goals.” A small smile peeks past my lips. “I’m pretty sure this will be the best booth we’ve had to date.”

  Jen returns my smile. “I couldn’t agree more. Dad almost seemed jealous that he didn’t come up with the idea himself, but he also was really proud. I think he’s ready.”

  “Ready to hand over the shop?” I ask, butterflies floating in my stomach.

  “Yeah, I really think he is.”

  And that right there just makes me think all the puzzle pieces of my life are finally starting to come together . . .

  My pager goes off, and I quickly pull it off my belt loop. Dispatch calling in for help. I’m supposed to be on duty in thirty minutes. My brow pinches together when I see the code for me to call in. I pull out my cell phone and call dispatch. “This is Griffin,” I say when they answer.

  “Griffin, there was an accident over on Main and Turnpike by the school.” The second she says school, my heart starts to pound. “Vehicle collision—debris went everywhere. You start in thirty, but they need some help down there now.”

  I swallow hard, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, while a horrible feeling sinks into the pit of my stomach. “Any injuries?”

  “Yes. EMT is on it.”

  My heart pounds; the room starts to spin. “Okay, I’m on my way.” I hang up the phone, my feet planted firmly in place for a few seconds, my mind trying to comprehend the magnitude of that phone call.

  “What’s going on?” Jen asks with a worried expression.

  “There was a collision by the school. They need help.” I pocket my phone and start moving, my firefighter instincts kicking in. “I have to get down there, now. I need to make sure . . .”

  Jen rounds the counter and chases after me as I head out the front door. “Griffin, don’t jump to conclusions.”

  I don’t say a word; instead, I sprint the half mile down the street, my mind whirling with every single possibility, with every negative and damning thought of what could have happened to Ren—and that it’s my fault.

  From this day on, your love will be broken.

  The words that have been hanging over me for so long spur me forward.

  Before I even reach the school, I can hear the commotion of onlookers gathering, the putrid smell of burnt rubber floating through the air. When I turn off of Main, the school comes into view, as well as a logging truck and SUV smashed together, lumber scattered everywhere.

  I look around, my eyes scanning for one person and one person alone. I need to make sure she’s okay.

  Volunteers are picking up the scattered wood, the police are talking to the drivers, and a tow truck from Brig’s garage is already starting to remove the vehicles.

  No sign of Brig.

  No sign of Ren.

  My heart starts to ease. She wasn’t involved. Thank Christ.

  I press my hand against my forehead as Tracker appears at my side. “Hey, man. Dispatch call you in early?”

  “Yeah.” I let out a pent-up breath, the tension in my shoulders easing. “Said you needed help with cleanup.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a clusterfuck down here. Medical is still tending to people.”

  “What do you mean? Wasn’t it just the two drivers?”

  Tracker shakes his head. “The drivers were fine; it was the people on the streets that got the brunt of it from all the wood flying out of the back of the truck.”

  Once again, the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. “How many injured?”

  “Three teachers, five students.”

  “Where are they?” I don’t wait for an answer and head toward the ambulance. Inside, two students are being patched up. Off to the side, I see two teachers, one with a bandage on her arm, the other with a bandage on his leg. I continue to scan the area, and a woman on a gurney is rolled into view, brown hair hanging over the edge. Everything in me stills as I take in the blood that has dried on her face and the red-stained cloth wrapped around her head.

  Ren.

  I rush to her, jumping over some wood and making my way to the gurney, my heart beating a mile a minute. When I reach her, I can’t contain the desperation in my voice. “Ren, baby, are you okay?”

  Her eyes are shut, but when she opens them, a small smile plays at her lips. “Hey, you.”

  Hey, you? Is she serious right now? She’s going to say Hey, you so casually when I’m being ripped to shreds inside? I scan her body, taking her in. Straps hold her steady on the gurney. She has a bandage on her arm, and her head is bleeding once again, just like the first time I found her.

  “Ren, what . . .” I catch my breath. “What the hell happened?”

  “Not sure, honestly. I was walking home just as after-school activities got out.” She winces. “And I heard the crunching of metal right before I blacked out. One of the EMTs said a piece of wood hit me in the head as well as the arm.”

  I drag my hand over my mouth, my mind racing. This is because of me.

  She is hurt because of me.

  “Are you okay?”

  She takes my shaky hand in hers. “Yes, I’m okay.”

  I lean down and cup her cheek, looking her in the eyes, checking to see if she’s lucid. “God, Ren. I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” Her brow creases for a second before she winces again.

  “I . . .” I scan the area again, unable to voice the terrified thoughts filling my mind. “How come no one is taking care of you? Why aren’t you at the hospital yet?”

  “I told them to take care of the kids first.” She grips my hand. “Hey, Griffin. Everything is okay.”

  I shake my head, unable to look at the blood on her face any longer, at the pain I’ve caused her. “Uh, I’m going to go see if they need any help with cleanup.”

  “Griffin, wait. Talk to me.”

  “I can’t.” I bow my head forward. “I can’t.”

  A few tests and three stitches above her eyebrow later, I’m pulling up in front of Ren’s house and helping her out of the car. She already has a black eye forming and some bruising on her arm. She’s sore and tired and concussed. Out of all the victims involved in the accident, she got the brunt of it. She already has the next few days off from work, and I volunteered to stay with her tonight.

  Not that volunteering was much of a hardship; it’s a necessity at this point.

  “Are you doing okay? Feeling queasy?” I ask as I open the front door.

  “I’m doing okay right now, but I think I want to go straight up to bed, if that’s okay. I’m really tired.”

  “I know, and you can sleep, but I’m going to be waking you up every hour to check on you like the doctor said,” I say, guiding her inside the house.

  “As long as you’re next to me, that’s all I care about.”

  I help her up the narrow staircase, holding her arm so she doesn’t fa
ll. Her legs are unsteady, so I make sure to keep her as close to me as possible.

  We make it to her bedroom, where I quickly change her clothes and then pull back the covers of her bed and help her onto her plush mattress, a mattress I’ve spent a few nights on already.

  “I’m going to go get you some water and lock up the house,” I say once she’s settled. “Do you need anything else?”

  “Just you.” She snuggles into my hand before letting it go and turning on her side.

  With a heavy sigh, I make my way to her kitchen and pull my phone from my pocket. A slew of texts from my family lights up my phone. I don’t even bother reading them. Instead, I send them a quick update.

  Griffin: Ren is back at her house. I’m staying here for the night to make sure she’s okay in the morning. Please cover for me. Thanks.

  I turn my phone off and put it back in my pocket, not wanting to deal with any of their responses. I grip the edge of the counter for support as I bend my head forward in exhaustion.

  I’m physically tired and mentally at my breaking point.

  Torn between needing to make sure Ren is safe and needing to distance myself from her to keep her safe from me, I contemplate my next move.

  She needs me now, she wants me now, and I need to be there for her. Even though there is a war raging inside of me, telling me to stay away, to keep my distance, that if I get any closer, something even worse is going to happen.

  Nauseous and distraught, I rub both hands over my face before kicking off my shoes and filling up a glass of water for her.

  For now, I will take care of her, but I can’t make any promises about tomorrow.

  One day at a time.

  One minute at a time.

  I stir awake, Ren’s long brown hair tickling the underside of my chin. Rain is pelting the window, making the morning much darker than normal.

  I spent the night waking up every hour and making sure Ren was recovering okay from her concussion. I barely got any sleep and must have forgotten to set my alarm for the last wake-up.

  Slight panic hits me until I look down to find a light smile play across her lips as she peacefully sleeps.

  She’s okay.

  Still shaken, I pull at my hair.

  A two-by-four hit Ren on the head, knocking her out clean. What were the chances of something like that happening to her? Or the chances of her having the worst injury yesterday?

  And right after we started dating?

  I bite my bottom lip as my head falls back to the headboard, my eyes shut, the truth hitting me harder than I want as the palm reader’s face invades my mind.

  It’s a sign.

  A warning.

  A blatant red flag telling me to stay away.

  What else could it have been? Out of all the people to get hurt, Ren was the one who suffered most. I glance down at her beautiful face, bruised and battered, like she went ten rounds in a boxing ring. My stomach clenches, my chest tightening with pure fear.

  I did this to her. She’s hurt because of me, because of the black cloud that hangs over me.

  If I stay with her, what else could possibly happen to her?

  Fuck, I don’t even want to find out.

  Even though this woman has come into town like a beautiful windstorm and swept me up into her little world, I know it can’t last. For her safety, for my peace of mind, I can’t be with her, even though it will destroy me. In just a few months, Ren has rocked me to my very core, burying herself deep within my bone marrow. And there’s no doubt in my mind that when I walk away, she’s going to stay there for a very long time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  REN

  I look up at the red-and-white sign that lights up the end of Main Street. THE LOBSTER LANDING. It seems so calm and peaceful right now, sans the hustle and bustle of tourists, and yet my world feels the exact opposite.

  Just some advice to anyone listening: If you have the choice of being hit on the head by a two-by-four, say no. Bypass that little experiment, because I’m going to tell you right now, it’s no walk in the park.

  The last few days I’ve had a headache and unending nausea.

  Although that could be from all the worrying.

  Let’s just say I haven’t had the best of luck when it comes to cars. Car accident back home that left me fighting for my life. Car accident here in Port Snow that left me fighting for my independence. And car accident in front of school—technically I wasn’t in a car, but the two-by-four left an impact—and this accident, I think, has been the worst of them all, because it’s left me fighting for my love.

  You would think I would never want to be near another road again, but funnily enough, it’s the exact opposite. Being in all these accidents has only convinced me of one thing: I am resilient.

  I am strong and capable of taking care of myself.

  And I’m also determined, because no matter what gets in my way, I’m still going to face my fears. It’s why I told my parents right away about the accident—pretty sure my mom fainted—but I was open and honest with them. And I’m damn proud of myself for doing that.

  It’s why I’m standing outside of the Lobster Landing, nervous as hell but with pride and determination in every single one of my steps. I will not cower. I will not let a speed bump steal my happiness.

  I haven’t seen Griffin since the morning after the accident. He’s sent me texts checking up on me, but he hasn’t stopped by, and when I call, he texts me to say he’s busy but to let him know if I need anything.

  Yes, I do need something.

  I need him.

  Three long days and no Griffin. I’m trying to convince myself that he’s just really busy with all the things he’s in charge of, that he’s not in fact pulling away.

  But who am I kidding? Before the accident, he made time for me every day. Even after his shift at the fire department, he would sneak into my house and into my bed, where he would hold me all night.

  There is no sneaking into my house.

  There is no cuddling.

  There is no Griffin.

  And I’m worried.

  I’m worried that he’s letting the “curse” get into his head. That he thinks he’s to blame for the accident. He hasn’t said it, but he doesn’t have to. I could see it all over his face when he found me on that gurney.

  He was terrified, his eyes full of fear as he inspected my body, taking in every little cut and bruise. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s letting his past get to him.

  And I’m not about to sit back and let that happen.

  That’s why I’m standing in front of the Lobster Landing an hour before closing time, wanting to talk to him. I figured if I could corner him where his family is, they’ll at least force him to talk to me. I need all the help I can get at this point.

  I open the door to the shop, a bell ringing above my head as the smell of fudge immediately greets me, as does Jen’s friendly face.

  There are a few customers milling about, but Jen immediately walks over and wraps me in a sweet hug. “Ren, how are you feeling?” She winces when she gets an up-close view of my eye. “Ouch, that can’t feel good.”

  Doesn’t feel as bad as your brother ghosting me.

  “It’s not the best thing to ever happen to me.” I smile tightly. “But at least the headaches are getting better, and I have this cool scar. Plus, the students know I took a two-by-four to the head and survived. Word on the streets is they think I’m a total badass.”

  Jen chuckles. “I agree with them.” She looks me up and down, a smile playing at her lips. “Are you here for some sweets or to see Griffin?”

  “Griffin.”

  “He’s been quiet the last few days. Everything okay with you guys?”

  I press my lips together, a tangle of emotions hitting me all at once. Don’t cry, not right here, not in front of Jen.

  “Well . . . could be better.”

  The sincerity in Jen’s eyes morphs quickly into anger as she looks back
toward the kitchen. “Is he pushing you away?”

  “Um, I think I kind of want to talk to him about this.”

  “Fair enough, but you let me know if I need to kick some sense into him.”

  “Thank you.” I bow my head and make my way to the back of the shop, feeling familiar enough with the place to walk there by myself.

  I find Griffin in the kitchen, bent over a counter. One of his hands is in his hair, and tension rolls off him in waves.

  “Hey.”

  His head pops up, surprise crossing his face when he sees me. Immediately he walks over and takes my hand in his, giving me a once-over, examining me up and down. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” I answer honestly, my fear of losing him starting to come to the surface.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, panicked.

  “You,” I say softly. “You’re pulling away, Griffin.”

  Stunned for a moment, he stills, eyes finding a spot above my head before he lets out a long breath and steps out of my grasp, walking toward the middle of the kitchen, a pained look on his face.

  “You need to talk to me, Griffin. What’s going on in your head?”

  “I can’t talk about it.” His voice is broken.

  On unsteady legs, I walk up to him and place my hand on his back. He shudders against my touch and pulls away, breaking me in half with the tortured look on his face.

  “Griffin. Please.” Desperation laces my voice.

  Both hands gripping the back of his neck, strain in his muscles, he says, “I can’t do this, Ren.”

  “Can’t do what? Us?”

  Slowly, my vision tunneling, he nods.

  “You can’t do us?” My lips tremble, the pounding in my head growing exponentially as I hold back tears. “Why? Because I got hurt?”

  “Yes, don’t you see? It was . . . fuck . . .” He turns away, every muscle in his back flexing with fury. “It was my fault you got hurt. It was a warning sign reminding me that I need to stay away.”

  “That accident was not your fault.”

  “It was,” he insists, growing angrier with each word. “I was the reason my wife died, and then the other day with you?” He shakes his head. “I got too close when I had no right pursuing you, letting myself feel something for you.”