Second Chance Hero (19 page)

~

            “Where are we going now?” Jenna asks as
we make our way back to town, full from three courses at the restaurant.

            “Surprise,” I tap the side of my nose
and pull up outside the park, “you fancy some trespassing?”

            “Are you kidding?” I nod, “Seriously?”

            “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

            That’s what I said to her that night on
the beach. We just look at each other, knowing I asked her that before I kissed
her. The ultimate test of her sense of adventure. And ruined everything.

            “If I fall or go to prison, I’m blaming
you.”

            She winks but slides out of the car and
gets to the fence of the old park we used to walk through twice a day, before
and after school.

            “Wait.” She says as I shut the door and
point the key at the car.

            She throws her heels at me and I catch
them one by one, and put them in the back of the car. I get back to the gate
where she’s waiting for me.

            “We’re really going to do this?” She
asks, thinking I’m calling her bluff.

            “This was part of my plan. We’re really
doing this.”

            I smile as she rolls her eyes and turns
away from me, towards the fence. She puts her hands on her hips and looks up at
the top, obviously wondering how she’ll make it over. But instead of asking for
help, she pulls the bottom of her skirt up so it’s bunched around the tops of
her shapely legs. Jenna lifts her hands in the air, stretching up on tip toes
to grab the fence as high as she can and pulls herself up. I watch, mesmerised,
as she manoeuvres herself over the fence, drops elegantly to the floor and
looks back at me, her hands on her hips again.

            “You thought I wouldn’t be able to do
it.” She grins.

            “Let’s just say I’m impressed you
could,” I make short work of the climb over and join her on the other side,
“you’re tiny.”

            “I’m not tiny. You have no say because
you’re huge.” She bumps her shoulder into me as we walk along the path, “why
did we come here?”

            “I wanted a night of just us. No drama,
no one watching. How much trouble can you get into in a closed park?”

            “You mean like the time you dragged me
to the skate park so you could impress some girls. Fell off your little BMX,
broke your ankle and cried because the girls laughed at you?”

            “You’re a real treasure, you know that?”
I settle my arm over her shoulders and notice the shiver spread through her
body, “I was ten.”

            “You asked about trouble in the park. I
gave you an example.” She smiles, obviously amused.

            We get to the playground, the swings
swaying and creaking in the breeze. I hold the gate open and Jenna steps
through, making a beeline for the swings – apparently still her favourite.

            “It’s spooky here at night.” Jenna says
as I sit on the swing next to hers and watch her work her legs to get going.

            “It’s quiet. Quiet is perfect.”

            “I thought you loved the city.” She says
on an exhaled breath as she swings past, her intoxicating scent surrounding me.

            I don't answer her question; just
continue to watch her swing, while digging my feet into the sand beneath us.
The wind flies through her hair, blowing it in all different directions and it
whips across her face. Her excited smile takes over and she giggles, swinging
her legs in and out. In and out. Everything about this woman is like a work of
art; and she has no idea how perfect she is.

            “How are you feeling after yesterday?”
Jenna has stopped swinging and I guess I zoned out, because I didn’t notice her
stop and look at me. Through me. Whatever it is she does to make me feel like
this.

            I shrug; I don't really want to talk
about yesterday.

            “Okay,” she says, understanding that
it’s not something I want to discuss, “but I’m here if you want to talk about
it.”

            “I’m more interested in discussing your
refurb.”

            “Deacon-”

            “Let me talk,” I interrupt her, “I know
you need it done. Just let me do it.”

            She’s quiet, and isn’t looking at me,
“I’m not in a rush for it.”

            “I know that’s bullshit. How much money
are you making?”

            She shakes her head, and jumps off the
swing. I don't know if I’m supposed to leave her – if she’ll be angry at me for
asking about her finances. But I follow her to the skate park, and watch as she
runs up one of the ramps and sits at the top, her legs swinging as she looks
down at me. This girl amazes me.

            “Am I supposed to join you up there?”

            She nods, smirking and it takes me all
of three strides to get to the top, and I sit down next to her.

            “It’s too much,” She says.

            “What’s too much?”

            “This. Us,” She takes a deep breath and
looks at me, her eyes sparkling under the orange lamps scattered around the
park, “I can't stop thinking about you. I dream about you. I look for you
wherever I go. Working with you... You’d consume me. I don't know if I could
take it.”

            I’m silent. She’s stunned me. Her
admission is everything; everything I hoped she felt and everything I knew I
felt. She hasn’t said the words, but I see it in her eyes. I open my mouth to
speak, but she beats me to it.

            “I know you designed your house.” It’s a
whisper, I’m almost unsure if she really said it.

            “What makes you think I designed it?”

She said that before, when she was sitting at my
kitchen table.

            “Why is it such a secret?” She asks, her
eyes narrow as she studies me, “Why are you embarrassed?”

            “I didn’t design it,” I close my eyes. I
can’t lie to her face.

            “Deac,” her voice begs me to look at
her, so I do. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her, “I found the drawing.”

            “What?”

            “You didn’t come back to the city. Brad
and Jonas came to clear out your room and I helped them. I found the drawing in
a pile of papers to be thrown out,” she purses her lips and frowns, “I couldn't
let them throw it out.”

            “Why?” I have to clear my throat, trying
to keep the threatening emotions at bay.

            “It was you. On paper.” She pauses, and
we’re both emotional, over an old piece of paper with a drawing of a house on,
“I couldn't have you for real. You didn’t come back. That drawing made you feel
closer to me than anything else.”

            “Shit.”

            “Sorry.” She sniffs, rummaging in her
bag for a tissue.

            “What for?”

            She doesn’t answer me; if I couldn't see
her rummaging in my peripheral as I look out onto the deserted playground, I’d
think she was gone.

            “Here,” I turn to look at her, and see
the drawing in her hand. She’s holding it out to me, and the corners of the
paper are blowing in the light wind. “I feel like you should have this.”

            “Jenna.” I reach out to take it from her
and hold it in both hands and bring it to my chest, “You have no idea how
important this shitty little paper was to me.”

            “I feel it. I had to keep it safe.”

            The paper is worn, curled in the corners
and thin where it’s been folded for six years. There are dots on the paper;
they’re hard and I rub over them with my thumb.

            “Sorry,” Jenna laughs through her
emotion and wipes her eyes with her thumbs, “they’re tears.”

            She’s crying for me. She feels the
significance of this drawing before I’ve even told her the story behind it.

            “I designed this with my dad.”

            She gasps, “You did?”

            “I did. I wanted to go into partnership
with him when I got back from travelling. We set ourselves a challenge
designing that house the summer before he died. To see how long it’d take us to
get it done once we were working together. It was the first thing I did with my
inheritance money.”

            “I’m so sorry, Deac.”

            “Thank you for giving it back. Can I
keep it?” Jenna nods and I tuck in the pocket of my shirt, “I’ve got a box of
stuff he kept for me. Brad got one too. I can't look in it, but this is
enough.”

            “You’ll look in it when the time is
right.”

            I nod, then shake the sombre atmosphere
from my mind by shaking my head, before I jump up and stand behind her.

            “I know what the time is right for,
now.” I sit down again, behind her this time with my legs either side of her.

            “What?” I hear her smile and curiosity
in her voice.

            I
push us off the edge and we slide down the ramp, Jenna gripping my thighs and
releasing a giggle that makes my heart constrict and the overwhelming emotion
bubbles to the surface.

Jenna

Something has changed tonight. I don't know what it
is but this feels different. Deacon and I land at the bottom of the ramp and
I’m in a fit of laughter. Deacon climbs up from behind me and pulls me to my
feet, leading me to the roundabout.

“You remember what I’m like on roundabouts.” I warn
him, because when Jenna and roundabouts collide, it’s not pretty.

“I remember.” He smiles, squeezing my hand. I didn’t
even realise we were still holding on to each other, but it sends a shiver down
my spine and I grip him tighter.

I step up onto the roundabout and sit down, the
steel cold on my bare legs. Deacon holds on to the bar and pushes off gently
with one foot, sitting next to me as we both look up at the stars. I reach out
and take his hand again. I know it’s wrong; I know
I’m
the one who’s
wrong, but it just feels so right when my hand is in his. There’s an incredible
size difference between us – everything about Deacon is big; his hands, his
height, his build. I’ve always been petite, but I have a backside which has no
hopes of shrinking, and boobs which fall out of anything without adequate
support. Considering there’s twelve full inches of height between us, and a lot
of muscle, we just...fit.

“Deacon?” I ask as the sky spins above me slowly,
sending me into a trance.

“Hmm?” I raise my head to see Deacon is looking at
me, not at the twinkling beauty above us.

“This feels...” I cut myself off, take a deep breath
and start again, “Does this feel different to you?”

Deacon smiles and understands what I’m trying to
say, without saying the words, and lifts his free hand to my cheek. I nuzzle
into the warmth, suddenly feeling cold from the night air and whatever it is
that has shifted between us tonight.

“Yeah, it feels different.” He strokes his rough
thumb across my cheek, slowly and rhythmically, “This is how we should have
done this the first time.”

“Done what?”

“Fallen in love.”

Before I can react to what he’s just said; the
declaration he’s made without declaring. Before the confusion registers in my
brain, Deacon’s lips are on mine and I'm lost in a sea of sensation. I want
this, I need this. Even as our lips move to our usual starved rhythm and my
body yearns for his touch, I have no intentions of taking this further, or
letting him give but not take. Tonight felt right, without any sex, any
physical contact beyond the odd touch. It has been perfect, spending time with
Deacon, not as we used to as best friends, but as something on a deeper level.

“I should take you home.” Deacon pulls back and
looks at me, his thumb resuming the pattern on my cheek.

I nod my agreement, realising I’m not panicking
about leaving him. I’m not worried that one of us will go home, wondering what
happened or having to replay events in order for them to make sense. Tonight
has been special; nothing has been spoken about, nothing has been resolved. But
I think we needed it, just the way it’s been.

I’m in the shop the next morning, dressed in
oversized tracksuit bottoms and a paint splattered vest of Jonas’, scraping
wallpaper off the walls, when my phone rings. I jump off the step ladder I’m on
to see who’s calling, and guiltily want to let it go to voicemail when I see
it’s Kip ringing. I know this relationship isn’t working, but I can't end it.
I’ve never done it before and I’m reluctant to call of something that works,
when I’m still not convinced the only man I’ll ever want is in this for the
long haul.

“Hi, Kip.” I answer, putting the phone to my ear and
climbing back up the ladder.

“Hi, baby. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just in the shop. Did you make the
booking for Saturday?”

“Uh, no,” he’s quiet for a long minute, “I thought
I’d just come to you again. Can you make a reservation at that fish
restaurant?”

“Okay. You don't like fish.”

“It’s a special occasion. I got that bonus at work.
Invite the family, on me. And your mum’s friends and their sons, you’re
friendly with the big blond one aren’t you?”

“I’ll speak to them about it, Kip. But my father
won't let you pay for feeding his family.” He’s silent, waiting for me to
answer his other question, “Yes, Deacon and I used to be close. I guess we’re
getting on alright. I’ll ask Emma.”

“Great, I can't wait.”

“Me either.” I lie.

Kip rushes me off the phone, and his energy annoys
me. He’s not a bouncy, inquisitive kind of person so it’s pissed me off that he
asked about my friendship with Deacon. I’m used to Kip only thinking about
himself, and thinking of me when it comes to accompanying him to a company
dinner, or to the theatre, or out to dinner. Not that we talk about anything
when we do go. We mostly talk about Kip. I thought I could sort my head out,
figure out what’s going on, without him being suspicious and me getting
paranoid, but I guess not.

I head to the deli for lunch; it’s full of holidaymakers
and regulars, and the town is bustling with energy. I forgot how great it feels
to be surrounded by people, but the good weather has brought all kinds of
people to Folquay, and I love it. I pick up a cheese sandwich and get to the
back of the queue. Dennis, who runs the sandwich shop with his wife, is busy
chatting away to customers and when it’s my turn he steps back and studies me.

“My, my, Jenna Rivera.” He laughs playfully and I
twirl for him, “I forget people in this town grow up. Doing some decorating?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to start getting some work done on
the shop.”

“Oh, yeah.” He grabs a carrier bag and puts my
sandwich and bottle of water in it, “I heard you were taking over the bakery.”

He hands me my bag and closes my hand when I offer
out the right amount of money in change.

“This one’s on me. It’s good to have you back.”

“Thanks, Dennis. It was good to see you.”

I rush out of the deli when I notice Carl is calling
me, and head round the corner to the shop before I answer it.

“Hey, Carl.” I put my sandwich on the side and open
up the bottle of water.

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” I’ve missed him, “How’s it
going?”

“To shit. To absolute shit.”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah. I don't think there’s enough time to explain
what’s been going on here, and wouldn’t know where to start if there was. Is
everything okay with the shop?”

“Yeah, we’re quiet. Lunch time rush just finished
and I’ve got the girls baking for later.” There’s a pause, “I was just
wondering when I’ll see my favourite boss again.”

“Soon. I’ve got to come sort out my room. And I want
to see you guys too.”

            “Have you got a date in mind?” I hear
the till going, and know he’s cashing up after the second rush of the day,
“I’ll sort out movie night. Maybe get some Thai and a bottle of wine.”

“Make that a crate.” I sigh, “I’m thinking one day
next week, maybe. Will probably be a weekday though, Kip comes down most
weekends and doesn’t like being fobbed off.”

“Yeah, he was in here last week, asking to look at
the accounts.”

“What?”

            “Yeah, said you sent him to get some
info for the accountant. Only I’d sent all the paperwork off that morning. He
was just checking up on me.”

“Yeah, or me.” I confess, “He’s snooping.”

We finish our conversation and unease washes over
me. What is Kip doing? There is no reason for him to be fishing about in the
shop, and I’m in half a mind to call him back and find out what his game is.
But the bell chiming the minute I sit down to eat, has me excited, and I skip
lunch altogether.

I love next day delivery.

~

“Jesus, I told them to make sure everything went by
the book. We could get thrown off this job.” Deacon is on the phone when I open
the door to his office, “Why the fuck did they get a qualification in
scaffolding if they don't follow the most important fucking rule?”

I take a step back, ready to come back later but
Deacon clicks his fingers and beckons me to come in. He doesn’t look at me,
hasn’t since I walked in, and I love that he still knew I was there. He’s
scribbling something down on paper and listening to the person on the other end
of the phone.

“How many of them?” he asks, looking up at me as I
stand in front of his desk with my box, my car keys swing from my finger. He
mouths ‘sorry’ before carrying on his conversation, “That many. That’s ridiculous.
I’ve got ten men on that one job... I want them here in this office before they
go near that scaffolding again.”

I turn on my heels and look around his office,
feeling awkward for listening in on a heated conversation, but also insanely
turned on by the authority and aggression in his voice. I scan the room,
looking over all the trophies he earned as a kid, neatly arrange on shelves
around the office. It’s no wonder Deac has the body he does, with the amount of
sport he used to do. He was always lanky as a kid, his weight never quite
caught up with the height he inherited from Dominic Reid, his dad. But the
surfing, football, rowing and boxing he used to do seem to have caught up with
him now.

I find the last trophy he earned and look at it
remembering how he got it. It was a surfing competition; the spectators had to
travel sixty miles to get to the perfect swell, and Deacon was one of the three
finalists. He came third in the first two of three heats, and the only way he
would win was if he came first in the final round and earned a ten from one of
the judges. Everyone was convinced he couldn't do it; the whole of Folquay was
there, but not one person believed he could earn a ten. I remember he came over
to me during the break, because he didn’t trust Brad not to drink his energy
drink, and gave me his surf club jumper.

“Wear this,” he’d said, “No way can I lose if my
lucky charm is wearing my lucky jumper.”

And he won. Of course he did.

I run my thumb over the plaque with his name on it,
and smile. Obviously, me wearing a jumper didn’t help him win, but I wonder if
he still thinks it did.

Deacon is still on the phone, and I don't know what
to do with myself. I should’ve called before I came, but I wanted to surprise
him. I definitely did, right when he’s in the middle of an important phone
call. I catch a bit of what he’s saying. Someone attempted to put up
scaffolding without wearing a helmet. Apparently it’s a fireable offence. I’m
just about to leave, when someone swings the door open, almost smacking me in
the face.

“Sorry.” The tall mixed race man shouts, then
realises Deac is on the phone and whispers, “sorry.”

“No problem.” I smile and his hazel eyes smile back
before his mouth does, “I think he’ll be a while.”

“I’m Daniel. You know where the information packs
are?” He asks me. My eyebrows shoot up; why would I know anything about where
anything is in this place?

I look to Deacon who is looking at me and has the
ghost of a smile on his lips, while Daniel continues to look at me for my
answer. Deacon points to a filing cabinet, in a long line of filing cabinets.
I’m pretty sure his finger points to the second one along so I try that one
first. Five drawers. So I’ve got a twenty per cent chance of picking the right
drawer and making myself look like I have a clue what Daniel is talking about. Information
packs for what? Why would a contracting business need information packs?

“Two.” Deac says, louder than the rest of his
conversation has been, but when Daniel and I look at him, he’s got his back to
us, rubbing the back of his neck.

I open the second drawer down and it is full of
brochure packs, separated into four categories.

“Which one do you need?” I ask, turning back to
Daniel.

“Property Development.” He thanks me when I hand the
pack to him, “You’re Jenna, right?”

I hear Deacon cough from the other side of the
office and I frown at Daniel.

            “I am?”

“I’ve seen your picture,” he holds the information
pack up, “Thanks. I’ll see you around.”

I watch, confused as he leaves the office.

“There’s a picture of us on the shelf over there.”
Deacon makes me jump and when I look at him, he’s off the phone, leaning back
in his chair and pointing to a shelf I hadn’t got to yet.

Wow. There is more than one picture of Deacon and I
together, along with photos of the rest of our families, his dad’s portrait in
a bigger frame that the others, in the middle.

“Wow.” I say, because that’s all I have.

“Sorry about the call, newly qualified kids being
idiots.”