That Was Then: A Second Chance Romance (Fated Loves Book 2)

by Zee Irwin

  I took the keys out of my pocket and turned, heading back to the car, but their barbecue jumped in my path, almost doubling me over. Was that there before? Both Tony and Hank reached me at the same time and tackled me to the ground. I fought them both off, but Tony emerged victorious, holding the keys up like a trophy.

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Fuck it, I’ll walk.” I took off in some direction, not having a clue where to go.

  “Shit. Do you need to see her tonight?”

  I nodded at Tony. “Yes.” I saw myself from afar, hovering above my body. And jeez, a blubbering, drunken mess stood there. They should stop my shit show now, but that train had already left the platform.

  Hank took the keys from Tony’s hand. “I’ll drive you both there, seeing how I’m the only one who hasn’t had a drink tonight. Besides, I wouldn’t mind seeing Cass again.”

  I heard myself laugh, some strange sound which had never left my body before, ranging between a snort and a snicker. “If I weren’t so drunk right now, I’d punch you again, asshole.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, I’ve been texting Cass since the hospital, and I think we have the start of something beautiful going on. So who’s the asshole now, huh?”

  “You have her number? Give it to me.” I pushed him against the car, but I felt myself falling slowly to the earth, saying Cassidy’s name over and over. My vision went dark, only to wake up later in the back seat of a moving car.

  Another jump in time occurred, I didn’t know how long, but I found myself lying on the grass looking up at the disappointed faces of Cassidy, Hank, and Tony.

  I rolled on the grass, adding to my count of weak moments. I heard myself pouring my heart out in slurred words. But maybe I was the only one who could recognize my plea. “I need you . . . miss you Cassidy . . . my Cassidy.”

  I heard them saying things that made no sense.

  Snowstorm coming . . . can’t drive home . . . blankets and pillows . . .

  Their faces blurred, then things went dark again.

  While I slept off the high of expensive whiskey, Cassidy fed my drunken dreams with visions that wouldn’t quit. Cassidy’s fuzzy outline smiled at me in her college girl form, but in the next moment morphed into a womanly shape I didn’t recognize. Crazy things were going through my head, and I swear I reached for her and brought her against my body. If she was my weakness, then it felt right at home with her. But then she left me again. My brain spun like a wheel with nothing coming into focus, and eventually, I fell into a deep slumber of dreams featuring Cassidy dancing in red high heels.

  11

  One Feel

  Cassidy

  The snowstorm hit us hard, an oddity for Cape Cod where proximity to the ocean breeze usually kept the snow away. We gathered in the family room, looking out the large bay window at the scene, the snow coming down as a wall of white powder. While inside, the scene defined awkwardness. After depositing Bronson’s drunk and sleeping ass on the couch, Tony and Hank cowered by the front door under Dad’s scowl.

  “You guys made it here just in time,” Dad’s voice boomed a tinge scarier, perhaps because three not-so-wise men had shown up on our front lawn randomly on Christmas night. His eyes also filled with the warning signs only a father of three girls could produce. He had met Tony before when he accompanied Bronson to a classic car show, but I never got the impression Dad thought much of him.

  Mom interceded. “The pies are on the counter, leftovers in the fridge. Gobble up. In the morning, I’ll have breakfast ready.” She yanked Dad by the elbow, and they headed upstairs to bed, leaving five awkward adults standing around looking at each other.

  The snow and the topic of the weather distracted us for a few more minutes. Then the guys loaded up plates of leftovers and pie. I grabbed blankets and pillows. Bella grabbed beers, and Emily did nothing but stand around, gawking at Hank. Hm. I kept one eye and ear on both of them.

  The entire crew followed me to the basement where Dad had recently installed a theatre room. After two rounds of laughing through Bella’s Drunk Jenga game, something she picked up at parties she frequented, they declared me the winner, having successfully removed the most blocks while still having a full beer in front of me.

  We all lounged comfortably in Dad’s new theatre-style recliners, and settled on watching a movie while eating popcorn. Tony yawned and sprawled out, eventually startling us with loud snoring, like the acceleration of a motorcycle. We cracked up and tried not to wake him.

  Bella let out an exasperated sounding sigh. “WTF. My boyfriend sucks. Ugh, I’m bored with him.” She tossed her phone on the chair.

  “What’s going on, sweetie?” No matter what people said about sifting through the frogs to find the prince, the path proved challenging. And, knowing the guys—um, losers, in my honest opinion—Bella attracted, I hated hearing of yet another difficulty with boyfriend number, I think, seven? I had lost count since not living at home.

  “Who the hell in their right mind thinks it’s okay going out to dinner with a girl he claims is only a friend and sitting so close together? And please, I can tell from his Snapchat photos she was looking at him more than a friend. Her hand was even on his thigh. Bitch.” Picking up the phone, she leaned over and showed me her screen full of photos and, yep, looked a little more than friendly to me.

  I considered my little sis carefully. A rare beauty, with a more voluptuous build than Emily and me, and with bright blue eyes, men frequently noticed her in public. I mean, if a man enjoyed curves, he’d hit the jackpot with Bella. Her wild soul contained an edgier attitude than us, too, but it’s what made her unpredictable and sassy. “Have you ever sat down and made a list of what you want in a guy? Like seriously, if you could have the perfect guy for you, what would he have?”

  “Bulging muscles and a big you-know-what?” She quipped.

  “Well yeah, goes without saying.” I winked back at her. “But seriously, Bella, half the battle of finding someone who’s right for you is knowing what to look for. Think of all your boyfriends. What have you liked most? How did they treat you? Make a list of the best things and—”

  “Sheesh, is this another of your ‘what you think about, you bring about’ speeches? I get enough of that from Mom.” Her rolling eyes hid behind her phone again, scrolling mindlessly and avoiding any further conversation. A few minutes later, her thumbs were moving fast, and I stretched my neck to peek. She was making a list in her notes app. I glowered; it was a beautiful thing when my sisters listened to me.

  Barely tuning in as Emily and Hank talked about professors and classes and people at Boston University, I sat with my own worries about Bronson being in my house. His sleeping upstairs on the couch, where plenty of scenes of stolen kisses had taken place between us years ago, freaked me out. But he was the past, not the future, though the knowledge of him being here set me on edge like a firecracker about to explode. Why would he come here, on Christmas night of all nights?

  “. . . and another year after getting my engineering degree, I’ll finish up a master’s in sustainable architecture,” Hank said.

  “Impressive.” Emily batted her eyes at him.

  “Yeah. How about spring semester? What classes do you have? I’m not looking forward to Economics. I hear Professor Johnson is a real douche,” he shared.

  My ears perked up. “Is Johnson still teaching? Bronson and I met in his Econ class years ago.” And why did I dredge up the memory of my first time laying eyes on Bronson? I wasn’t helping myself.

  Emily sat straight up. “I’ll have Johnson on Wednesdays.”

  “Whoa, me too,” Hank exclaimed.

  “Shut up.” Emily reached out, slapping Hank’s thigh. “I’m so glad I’ll know someone in class to commiserate with. We’ll have to study together.”

  Was it me, or was there something interesting going on between Hank and Emily? I texted her a message.

  Me: Hank is a cutie pie, really sweet.

  Emily: oji>

  Well, at the moment, I conceded how difficult acknowledging Hank’s cuteness could be with his nose black and blue and twice its usual size. But what about the way Emily kept flipping her hair over and exposing her neck to the right side in view of Hank? A classic sign of flirtation if I’d ever seen one.

  After the movie, my sisters trudged upstairs to their rooms. It had been a long Christmas day. What started out with all the comforts of home for the holidays ended as if it were the last scene of a road trip movie with the guys stranded on our doorstep. I helped Hank with blankets and pillows, making sure they would be comfortable on the basement couches. Hank threw a blanket over Tony and his snoring ass. I held onto another blanket to put over Bronson when I went upstairs, which I was about to do, but Hank reached for me and brought me in for a hug. He’s so friendly and sweet.

  “Thanks again for taking us in. And for tonight, for entertaining us, and feeding us. I’m kind of grateful Bronson made us bring him out here.”

  I separated from him, but he held onto my hand. The way he glanced at me, silently asking if I wanted to take advantage of the fact we were the only two people awake in the house, I wished with all my might I could look at him the same. It had been a long time since I let any man look at me that way, and it wasn’t because Bronson had broken my heart. I had other priorities, like my career, and I had high expectations for any guy deserving of my time. It was something my mother instilled in me, and I tried passing it along to my sisters. Other than Bronson, no man had ever achieved what I asked of him—to be worthy of me. I doubted another man would. Although potentially I could mold Hank to be worthy of Emily someday.

  I dropped his hand with a smile. “If it gets too cold down here for you and Tony, there are more blankets in the trunk over in the corner. Good night Hank.” He didn’t seem upset, but it was hard to tell if his eyes drooped because of all the swelling in his face.

  I took the stairs to the kitchen and quietly left our dishes in the sink. I got myself a glass of water and took out a can of frozen orange juice concentrate, hoping it’d thaw overnight for breakfast. With the blanket still in hand, I knew I’d put off the last chore long enough.

  The thought of Bronson being so close, a mere ten feet away, lying on the couch, was too much for one mortal soul to handle. I fought with myself, scolding myself. Forget the blanket. Go up the stairs and lock myself away in my bedroom. But damn, the sound of his breathing hitting my eardrums, the memory of the warmth of his body with mine, sent me spinning out of control.

  Okay, one peek . . . I’d look over the edge of the couch, take one glance at him, and leave the blanket at his feet.

  I tiptoed over, but it turned into a prolonged stare at his boyish, sleeping face. Recalling the night when he’d fallen asleep with me in my twin bed upstairs, I had stared at his adorable face until I fell asleep, marveling that he was all mine.

  I moved to the front of the couch and left the blanket at his feet, then placed the softest peck on his forehead with my lips. The smell of him enveloped me and drew me in further as if I wanted to know the feel of his arms around me again.

  I didn’t need to open old wounds. I didn’t want to try again and risk being left heartbroken all over. But I ached for one touch from him. I could say I knew what he felt like now, and it would be enough. Then I could move on. I’d prove to myself I could work past any lingering lust for him.

  Slow, methodical movements helped me lean in. Almost lying along the edge of the cushions, the heat of him burned behind me, and when his heat took a slight chill off my heart, he put his arm around me. I froze, listening. His breathing remained even. Hoping he lingered still in a passed-out dream state, I allowed my body to relish how dang good it felt nestling together again.

  For a minute, a vision of a second chance romance shot like a meteor through my mind. We had been so good once before. Until we weren’t. And we couldn’t be again, because that was then. Before the accident, before everything that happened after . . . before he broke up with me and left my heart in little pieces on the floor.

  I parted from him without rustling him awake. I thought I heard him mumble my name. From his lips to my ears, it was too much.

  I made it up to my room and closed the door. But then there I was, sleeping upstairs, in my old bedroom, on the single bed where Bronson and I had made love for the first time. The entire house embodied the past and the present colliding, in a wrestling match for my heart. The whole situation remained awkward and wicked and made for one long night of tossing and turning.

  12

  I Love You, Buddy

  Bronson

  She was in my arms. I heard her little snores, and they were so damn cute. I didn’t want to disturb her, but I curled my body around her, anyway. Carefully, because her twin-size bed was smaller than she and I together. I knew I should move to the couch before her parents woke up, but not yet. I wanted to linger in this moment.

  She didn’t need me. She was strong in where she was going with her life. But she let me spend time with her, like it was a gift being with her, and it was. She made me strive to be a better version of myself for her. I had to get creative with ways to spend time together, typical dating wouldn’t do. I took my time with her, gaining her trust, her love. And finally, last night, was the night Fate grants one time. I was lucky, and I didn’t dare let Fate down.

  I’d have waited another year for her, at least, until she decided I was the one she’d give herself to, but I didn’t have to wait another day. We both knew last night was the moment for us. And now this morning, I knew she was the only one for me. She’s mine, and I prayed I wouldn’t fuck this up.

  “Cassidy,” I whispered her name and tightened my arms around her. She awoke. She did a brief stretch against my body, then turned herself to me. Her sleepy eyes peered up at me like she didn’t know what to say after last night. But I did. I said the three words last night while we made love, but I needed her to hear it again this morning, so she knew it wasn’t because of sex, but because I truly did . . .

  “I love you . . .” I murmured. Hands shook me awake.

  “Oh. Uh . . . I guess I love you too, buddy, only in a father-son sort of way.” The unmistakable growly male voice of Sam Masters startled me awake, and I sat straight up. So many questions shot into my brain like darts seeking a bullseye. How did I get to Cassidy’s house and the Masters’ family couch? What am I doing here with Cassidy’s dad? And where can I find something to make this pain in my head go away?

  Sam shuffled to the picture window, then drew open the curtains, letting the light in. I could make out a gray, cloudy day once my hands shot up, shading my eyes from the light. He stood there, staunch in his dad-bod way, chuckling at whatever scene played before him. The bones and muscles in my body cursed me out for whatever I did to it yesterday as I sauntered over to the window.

  I glimpsed a beautiful sight of several inches of snow on the ground, like a crystal carpet. The three sisters bundled up in colorful wool, with scarves, mittens, and hats, and hid behind a garden wall, gathering snowballs. Tony and Hank, shivering in sweatshirts and slipping and sliding in their tennis shoes, strategized for the battle. The girls had the upper hand and threw their balls before the guys were ready. I would laugh at Cass nailing Hank on the side of the head with a ball of snow, but it would hurt my pounding head too much.

  “You want to join them? I can let you borrow a hat and gloves.”

  “No. But, um, do you mind if I shower?”

  Sam looked me up and down like he did on the first night I arrived on his doorstep to pick up his daughter for our official first date. “Sure. But one more thing. If you hurt my daughter this time . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence, and he didn’t have to. Mr. and Mrs. Masters had been like a Mom and Dad to me before the accident. I spent more time with them than with my family. They loved me back, but after the accident and the way I treated Cassidy—Sam had some harsh words for me back then, and rightfully so.

>   I cleared my throat and then pretended to cough because the first words that dared to leave my mouth were about to be, I won’t hurt her this time. You have my word. I stopped myself. “I’m here to clear the air. Get closure. That’s all.”

  The bear of a man laughed at me, his belly shaking as if manufacturing the laugh took all the gas he had. “Oh, is that what you think you’re doing here?” He slapped my back in a rough, friendly way, almost sending me through the glass window. “Yeah, sure. Come on, I’ll get you a cup of coffee. You look like shit.” He headed into the kitchen and took a ceramic mug out of the cupboard. “After you shower, you can join me in the garage. We’ll work on the Mustang before you leave.”

  What? “Y-You still have the Mustang?”

  “Well, not the Mustang, no. The accident totaled the convertible, so I bought another one. A 1968 Fastback. She’s a beauty. Wait until you see her.”

  I shook my head and smiled at how some things never change. I thought of the hours he and I spent rebuilding the Mustang and all the conversations we had. We talked about things I thought a dad should with a son, things Buck Maxwell never did with me.

  A pang of guilt flashed through me. Did Sam know the truth? Had Cassidy come clean with her father? I searched his face, but found nothing showing he knew.

  Sam leaned forward as he put a mug of coffee in front of me. “Don’t worry, buddy, I got you covered. I’ll give you all the secrets about how to win back the love of a Masters woman.”

  Nancy Masters walked in then, looking five years older than I’d last seen her, but still a pretty sight, even with more wrinkles around her eyes. “I don’t know if I’d trust any wisdom from this man.” She teased and kissed her husband on the cheek. These two never failed to be the complete opposite of my own parents. She reached for my hand and squeezed it. “But I can tell you this; Cass hasn’t gotten over you. Which means there’s hope.”