Second Chance on Cypress Lane--Includes a Bonus Novella

by Reese Ryan

  Dakota wanted to tell Dexter Roberts where he could shove his little job-assistance program. But the truth was, she needed to be here, seeing about her father for at least the next few months. Just until she knew he was on solid footing. And as for Nick’s available job…well, she could definitely use the money.

  “I’m not staying permanently. But if Nick would consider a temporary arrangement, maybe I can help. But right now my only concern is my father.”

  “Of course.” Dex extended Nick’s business card. “In case you need it.”

  She reached for the card, but Dex flipped it over, revealing a number jotted on the back.

  “That’s my number. In case you ever want to talk.”

  Dakota slipped the card into her pocket without looking at it or acknowledging his offer. “I’d better get back before my dad starts to worry.” She hiked a thumb over her shoulder toward the sounds of a band warming up at the festival. “Goodbye, Dex.”

  She hurried back to the event, hoping it was the last she’d see of Dexter Roberts.

  Chapter Five

  It’d been two days since the Fourth of July Festival, and Dakota had asked her father five different times in five different ways if everything was all right. He’d grunted that everything was fine and changed the subject each time. She could’ve asked him directly, but then he would’ve wanted to know who’d told her. And she wouldn’t throw Dexter under the bus.

  She appreciated him telling her about her dad, even if she hated that he’d been the one to do it. Every time she thought of sitting on that bench a few inches from him, heat filled her chest, her tummy fluttered, and her face heated.

  Dakota sighed and fanned herself with an open hand as she glanced at her father’s closed bedroom door. Maybe she’d failed miserably where Marcello was concerned, but she’d spent the past six years of her career as an investigative reporter. A damn good one. She’d busted dirty politicians, shady contractors, tricky grifters, and thieving corporations. Surely she could find some evidence to corroborate Dexter’s concerns so she could confront her father without pointing the finger at her ex.

  Her father had gone fishing early that morning with a few of his fellow retiree buddies. They’d been gone a few hours already, so he could return any minute. It was now or never.

  Dakota sucked in a deep breath, turned the doorknob, and stepped inside her parents’ bedroom. She hadn’t been in this room in more than five years. Since her mother lay in bed ill, her body slowly being ravaged by cancer.

  Her father hadn’t changed a thing.

  Her mother’s makeup and perfume bottles were still lined up against the mirror of the vanity near the far window. The bedding and curtains were the same, and everything was arranged exactly as it had been when her mother was alive.

  Dakota didn’t dare touch the partially open closet door. She already knew that it would be overflowing with all of her mother’s dresses and shoes. Many of which she’d never worn.

  Tightness gripped Dakota’s chest, and her throat felt dry. She bit her lower lip and fought back the tears that stung her eyes.

  How could her father sleep in the room that felt so much like her mother every single night for five years? She hadn’t been in the room five minutes and she was on the brink of tears.

  Don’t be sad, baby. Think of all the great moments we’ve had together. I couldn’t be more proud of you, sweetheart.

  Dakota sniffled and wiped angrily at the warm tears that had spilled down her face.

  Why did everything have to be so damn complicated? Even a sweet and touching moment at the end of her mother’s life detonated a minefield of conflicting emotions. She was glad to finally hear her mother say she was proud of her, full stop. Rather than pointing out to her where she could be better.

  Sit up straight, honey. No man wants to marry the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

  Straighten your hair, honey. No studio wants an anchor with a head full of kinky curls.

  If they passed you over for that promotion, you obviously didn’t want it badly enough. You’ve got to work harder.

  Dakota wrapped her arms around her middle and released a heavy sigh. Work harder. Those words were lodged in her brain. They’d been her unofficial motto since she’d entered her first beauty pageant, at her mother’s behest, at age five.

  No matter how far she’d gone in her career or what she’d achieved, her mother’s response had always been That’s great, honey, but…

  But…but…but.

  She’d barely had a moment to celebrate the win before her mother would launch into a plan of attack for next time.

  Always be the best. Anything else is varying degrees of losing.

  Dakota raked her hand through her messy hair and turned her attention toward her parents’ bathroom. She crept inside the room, which seemed relatively free of memories. It was sparse. Nothing on the counter but a ceramic container that held her father’s razor and toothbrush, the soap dish, and a tube of toothpaste.

  She opened the linen closet and eyed the space, feeling guilty about touching anything unnecessarily. There was a collection of meds. She took a quick snapshot of her father’s medicines, so she could look them up later. Then a little black pouch caught her eye.

  Dakota picked it up and unzipped it. The pouch held a glucose meter, a lance, lancets, and a bottle of test strips.

  Dex was right. Her father was diabetic.

  What else isn’t he telling me?

  She grabbed the pouch and crept out of her parents’ room. When her father returned, they were going to have a talk.

  Dexter’s cell rang minutes after he’d ended his last conference call of the day. After a three-hour meeting, he relished the idea of silence. But he was glad to see his cousin Garrett’s name and photo pop up on the screen.

  “Rett, it’s been a while.” Dexter put the phone on speaker and continued typing notes from the meeting into a follow-up email for his assistant. “How are you?”

  “Things are great,” Garrett said. “But the real question is, how are you?”

  “Fine.” Dexter stopped typing and turned to look at the phone. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Word on the street is your old flame is back in town.”

  “How’d you…Never mind.” Dex dragged a hand across his forehead. His mother undoubtedly had talked to Aunt Ellen, who’d told Garrett. “Yes, Dakota is back in town, temporarily. And no, it’s no big deal.”

  “See how defensive you sounded right there?” Dex could practically see his cousin wagging one of his Arsenio Hall–length digits. “If it really wasn’t a big deal, you wouldn’t feel the need to convince me that it wasn’t.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You used your Uncle James voice,” Garrett said.

  Dexter couldn’t help chuckling.

  His father, James Roberts, was a good man. A solid family provider and the kind of person who would give a neighbor in need the shirt off his back. But the man had a far more difficult time sharing himself with the people who loved him.

  As a kid, one of Dexter’s favorite sounds in the world had been his father’s deep belly laugh. Dex treasured the contagious sound because he’d heard it so rarely. James Roberts was always so serious, with a sober expression and stern tone.

  Only two things seemed to truly make James Roberts happy: football and jazz. His father had played the saxophone in a band with a few of his buddies. So Dexter had taken up the sax, too, as a way to get closer to the enigmatic man. And he’d played football, even though he preferred baseball.

  He’d had an aptitude for both the saxophone and football, which pleased his father and made him genuinely proud of him. The man had been heartbroken when Dexter’s injury ended his college football career and extinguished any hopes of a professional one. And yet all Dexter had felt when he’d finally learned his fate was a deep sense of relief.

  “I wasn’t using my Uncle James voice,” Dexter said. Because in their family, that was definitely a thing. “J
ust being clear.”

  “I don’t know,” Rett said. “Sounds like my boy needs me. Say the word and I’m there. I know how hard the breakup was on you. It couldn’t have been easy seeing her again.”

  “It was fine, and I’m fine.”

  “But is she still fine?” There was playfulness in his cousin’s tone.

  “She’s beyond fine. She’s gorgeous. Seeing her again after all this time…It knocked me on my ass for a minute, if I’m being honest,” Dexter admitted with a sigh. “But what’s crazy is that she looks so much like her mother now. I swear, she could be her twin.”

  “If you ask me, Dakota’s mama thought they were twins. I’ve heard of parents wanting to live vicariously through their children, but the woman took it a bit far,” Rett said, then added, “God rest her soul.”

  “You know that doesn’t give you a pass for speaking ill of the dead, right?” Dexter pointed out.

  “Wasn’t speaking ill of her, bruh. Just stating facts. Let the chips fall where they may,” Rett said matter-of-factly. Neither of them spoke for a minute. Then his cousin broke the silence. “You sure you’re good?”

  “Positive. We’ve already gotten through that first awkward meeting. We even spoke privately.” Dex clenched his fist, remembering how good it had felt to hold Dakota’s hand again.

  “Her idea or yours?” Rett’s interest was obviously piqued.

  “Mine. I wanted to talk to her about an issue with her father.” Dexter cleared his throat, then added, “Told her she should hang around town for a while. For Oliver’s sake.”

  “Wait, you snitched on her dad, then guilted her into sticking around longer?” Rett whistled. “That’s grimy.”

  “It’s not like I did it for me.” His cheeks heated and his pulse quickened, even as he denied his cousin’s claim. “I was looking out for her dad. Besides, she has the right to know.”

  “Speaking of Dakota’s right to know…” Rett quickly transitioned to the topic they both knew he didn’t want to discuss. “Don’t you think Dakota has the right to know what really happened between you two back then?”

  Dexter heaved a sigh and tapped his thumb against the blotter on his desk. The pain in Dakota’s eyes and the tears that streaked her cheeks, red from the frigid weather, were as vivid in his mind as they’d been that day seventeen years ago.

  “She knows what happened. I broke up with her. It was my decision, no one else’s. It was the best thing for the both of us.” Dex gritted the words out.

  “Say it a few more times and maybe you’ll start believing it.” Rett’s words were firm but empathetic. “But the truth is that we both know you regret how you handled the situation.”

  That much is true.

  They both knew it, so there was no need to confirm it.

  “You missed a great Fourth of July Festival,” Dexter said instead. “The new committee has outdone itself. I can’t wait to see what they’ll do for Founders Day.” Dexter lightly rapped his finger on the desk. “You should come home for it. Aunt Ellen would be thrilled.”

  “We’ll see. I don’t know if I’m up to being grilled about my love life and hounded about producing grandchildren for my mother,” Rett said.

  “You don’t have a love life, so it’ll be a short conversation. But if she asks about your sex life…well, that would be a conversation and a half.”

  “Or maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do. Maybe I’m ready for something more,” Rett countered.

  There was a beat of silence; then they both broke into laughter.

  “I could barely say that with a straight face,” Rett said. “You know I’m all about that bachelor life.”

  “I do. Which is why I don’t understand why you’re pressing me about Dakota. Seems like it goes against your bachelor code.”

  “Being a quintessential bachelor is the right move for me. For a marshmallow-soft dude like you…not so much.” Rett laughed.

  “You didn’t even like Dakota when I was dating her,” Dex reminded his cousin.

  “I didn’t dislike her personally. I was selfish, and I didn’t appreciate sharing my best friend and wingman.” There was regret in Rett’s voice, but he quickly recovered. “Besides, after that chick you were going to marry, I’d much prefer that you get back with Dakota.”

  “Evelyn wasn’t that bad.” Dexter felt the need to defend her. His ex was high maintenance, but she wasn’t a bad person. And it was him who evidently hadn’t been ready to commit to her. Because they weren’t the right fit.

  “She who shall not be named or she who was a piece of work will do just fine,” Rett responded quickly, then sighed. “Seriously, you and Dakota were good together. I didn’t recognize it then, but I do now. And if there is any chance that the two of you are still right for each other…well, seems like it’d be worth investigating.”

  “We were kids then. We didn’t have a clue about love.”

  “Maybe,” Rett conceded. “But you made each other happy. And from what I hear, you could both use a little of that in your lives right now.”

  “Could you please tell me where my real cousin is and put him back on the phone?” Dexter teased. “The sentimental sap on the line right now is giving me the blues.”

  From the moment he learned that she’d returned to town, he’d been in his head and in his feelings about how badly he’d screwed up with Dakota. The last thing he needed was for Mr. Quintessential Bachelor, of all people, to point out the very thing that was constantly on his brain. His desire for a second chance with her.

  “It was a momentary lapse. I promise to be the same annoying prick you know and love the next time we talk. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “So…” Rett dragged out the single syllable. “If Dakota is back, she’s probably hanging out with her girl Sin again.”

  “From what I hear,” Dexter said. “Why? You still sweet on Sin?”

  “I was never sweet on Sinclair Buchanan.” Rett put a little bass in his voice. “She was a pain in my ass that I was forced to spend time with while you and Dakota were together.”

  “Oh, so we’re gonna pretend that all that bickering you and Sin did back then wasn’t one big game of juvenile flirtation?” Dexter laughed when his cousin stammered in response. “That’s what I thought.” Dexter glanced up at his assistant, who’d knocked on his open door. “Gotta go. But you should come home. In the meantime, I’ll tell Sinclair you said hello.”

  “Don’t you dare—”

  Dexter ended the call, still chuckling at how flustered Rett had been around the topic of Sinclair Buchanan. He answered his assistant’s questions about the recent conference call, then got back to work. But his cousin’s words kept cycling through his brain.

  Don’t you think Dakota has the right to know what really happened between you two back then?

  Maybe she did, and maybe it would absolve him of some of the guilt he felt. But it would be devastating if she learned the truth. And he wouldn’t hurt her again.

  Chapter Six

  It’d been a long time since Dakota had eaten fried catfish. Or fried anything. The additional pounds didn’t translate well on camera. But she was unemployed, feeling sorry for herself, and she deserved a bit of down-home goodness.

  Her father had returned with the fish he’d caught that morning already cleaned and filleted, for which she was grateful. She didn’t mind eating fish or meat. She just didn’t like the idea of meeting her meat while it still had eyes and a mouth. She wouldn’t have minded cooking her father’s catch, either. But he’d insisted on cooking it himself.

  “The meal was delicious.” Dakota took the final bite of catfish. “But I’m beginning to think that you secretly doubt my cooking abilities.” Dakota poured herself a glass of sweet tea—something else she hadn’t allowed herself to enjoy since her last trip home. She’d probably drank five gallons of the stuff the week she came home for her mother’s funeral.

  “It’s no secret.” Her father chuck
led. “You have many talents, Kota. God knows cooking has never been one of them.”

  “Dad!” Dakota balled up her napkin and tossed it across the table at her father.

  He caught it, both of them laughing.

  “Speaking of secrets…” Dakota put down her fork and produced the pouch she’d hidden on the seat beside her. She shoved it across the table. “Can we talk about this?”

  “You went through my things?” Her father frowned, furrowing his white and gray brows.

  “I was looking for the heating pad. I think I might’ve tweaked my back rearranging the furniture in my room.”

  Mostly true.

  “All right, Dakota.” Her father sighed, obviously doubtful of her story. He shrugged. “So I’m diabetic. Shouldn’t be a shock. My father was and my brother, Phil, is.”

  A twinge tugged at her gut. Her grandfather had suffered multiple amputations before his death twenty years ago. And her uncle Phil was a noncompliant diabetic who suffered with debilitating nerve pain. Neither would happen to her father as long as she could help it.

  “Then why didn’t you tell me? Even before I came home, we talked several times a week. You never once thought you should mention this to me?”

  “You were busy, living your life in the big city.” His eyes didn’t meet hers. “I didn’t want to be a burden or to make you feel you needed to come home to see about me. I have everything under control.”

  “Well, I’m certainly not busy now, and I’m right here.” She reached across the table and squeezed her father’s hand, forcing him to drag his gaze to hers. “If it’s completely under control, why hide it from me?”

  “I wasn’t hiding anything.” He pulled back his hand. “Some things are just private.”

  Dakota groaned quietly. “How long have you known?”