Her Second Chance Prodigal Groom

by Taylor Hart

  He thought of the day of the funeral and Aspen. She’d held her stomach, tears streaming down her face. He’d known she was pregnant, and the darkness inside of him had turned to nothingness.

  He’d forcibly blocked all of those emotions that day, building huge walls around his heart. At first, it’d been hard, but the more time passed, the easier it’d become. He ignored his father’s calls most of the time. When they spoke, he didn’t really listen to what his father said. It’d become easier to focus on his good friends, solid friends—first in college and now in the San Antonio Rebels, his brothers on the defensive line. Those men had his back no matter what.

  But standing here, seeing that kid’s face—a face that could have been a carbon copy of his brother’s face at that age—took his breath away.

  “Hello.”

  Startled, DJ turned, meeting his father’s brown eyes. His deeply wrinkled skin seemed more like leather than ever before, but now even the wrinkles didn’t deny the happiness on his face.

  “I’m sorry, are you here to visit me?”

  “Uh.” He blinked. “Yeah.” His father braced himself to stand, and DJ saw how much effort it took. Reflexively, he reached to help his father up. “I got you.”

  His father got his footing and then searched his face. “Well, thank you so much for coming.”

  The part of him that couldn’t deal with the past was relieved. “No problem.”

  His father pointed to a couch. “Let’s sit there.”

  DJ kept his hand at his elbow.

  “I’m okay,” said his father, nodding.

  They moved to the small couch only two feet away.

  His father paused. His eyes narrowed, then widened, and he wrapped his arms around DJ. “You’re here? I can’t believe you came.”

  Bam! All kinds of emotion clamored for control. DJ let out a light laugh, surprised at how happy he was that his father recognized him. He slowly returned the hug, reminding himself of what Aspen had said about not upsetting him. “Hey, Dad.”

  His father pulled back and looked confused. “Where’s Travis?”

  DJ didn’t know what to say. “I’m not sure.”

  His father still gripped his forearms and stared at him intently. Then he looked confused. He put his hand to his head and winced. “Do you know where your mother is?”

  “I don’t.”

  His father lifted his hand and gently patted his cheek. “Okay.” He smiled. “Do you want to go out on the boat with me?”

  The earlier angst and anger dissipated. The gesture was so tender and sweet, and it reminded DJ of all the times he’d secretly wished things were different, and he could call his dad and just talk. He got himself back together and smiled. “I’d like that.”

  His father nodded. “We love that boat, don’t we?”

  “We do.” DJ gestured to the couch. “Sit, Dad.”

  His father sat carefully, holding to DJ’s hands for support. “Maybe Travis will come out too, and we can get another picture.”

  Tongue-tied, DJ managed to say, “I’d like that.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

  DJ saw a folding chair leaning against the wall. He grabbed it, shook it open, and sat. He wasn’t sure who “they” were, but he smiled. “I’m sure they will.”

  After a few moments of staring into space, his father turned to him. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  DJ swallowed back the emotion in his throat. “I’m just here to visit.”

  Silence. The way his father just stared at him made him ache to the core of his soul.

  His father squinted. “Do I know you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Wait, do you play professional football?” His father snapped his fingers. “Because you look so familiar.”

  He nodded, and warmth blossomed in his chest. How many times had he wanted to just sit with his dad and talk football? “I play for the San Antonio Rebels.”

  “Yes.” His father smiled, looking pleased. “I think I know someone on that team.”

  “I bet you might.” DJ found himself hunting for something to say. “Do you like it here?”

  “I think so, but I’m kinda tired today.”

  “Just relax. I’m just relaxing myself. Is that okay?”

  His father nodded but stared at him in confusion.

  DJ hated seeing his father like this. The realization took him by surprise.

  Finally, his father just lay back on the couch and closed his eyes, almost like he’d given up.

  DJ waited until his father began to snore. He stood and headed for the door, driven by a new sense of purpose. Nobody would be selling his father’s house. There was a phone number on that foreclosure sign. He would get answers.

  Chapter 4

  It was almost nine-thirty p.m., and Aspen was done with her online class. She hit submit on her final assignment and lifted both hands into the air. “Boo-yah!”

  Light music played on her iPhone from her favorite pop station, and her body itched to move. She turned the music up and jumped to her feet, wishing her son was here to kick off a dance party with her. She picked up her phone and texted Harrison. Done, baby! He’d wanted to come over and have some alone time with her, especially when she’d told him that Travis was staying at her parents’ house tonight, but she’d refused.

  He texted back a gif of a man cheering with his hands over his head.

  She laughed and strutted into the kitchen, dancing like a maniac. “Whoop!” she yelled, doing a spin and opening the dishwasher.

  The memory of seeing DJ’s face earlier that day popped back up. She stopped dancing, lost again in his pale blue eyes. She sighed, thinking about how his hands had felt against her shoulders as he’d stopped her from falling. No. She pressed her hand against her head as if she could push him out of it. He’d come home. He’d really come home.

  Absently, she picked up a small dishcloth out of the sink, got it wet, then scrubbed the countertops. Lauren, her babysitter, did an amazing job of keeping things tidy with Travis during the day, but she always fell short on the crumbs on the counter. Aspen never complained. Lauren had been a summer and Christmas vacation babysitter for roughly two years. Plus, she lived around the corner, and Travis adored her.

  Aspen tried not to think about DJ. She tried not to imagine what had happened with his father. She tried not to wonder where he was staying and why he’d come home now.

  Wait. She needed to think of something she was grateful for. She paused to bow her head and send up a little prayer. “Thank you for my son.”

  Aspen had gotten herself into the habit of saying little prayers, acknowledging God with little bites of gratitude. About a year ago, a new pastor, Pastor Paul, had come to town. He was about her age, and he was kinda cute, even if she would never admit it to her mother, who harped about his good looks every Sunday. Pastor Paul had challenged them at the beginning of the year to make gratitude their focus and count God’s blessings more than the hardships. She’d taken that challenge, and it had helped her through so much. She now realized that there was always good and there was always bad in life. The only thing anyone ever got to pick was what they focused on.

  She threw the dishcloth into the sink and turned to head out of the kitchen. Abruptly, she stopped, flipping the light back on and inspecting the half-finished tile backsplash. It was all coming together. YouTube had taught her well. She would finish it with her next paycheck. She was always careful to put aside a bit with each paycheck. The money added up slowly but surely, and she was proud of herself. She thought of her mother telling her earlier that she was proud of her. Sheesh, her mother.

  Another pop song came on, and she busted into more dancing, feeling so free. She took off her socks and moved into her living room, relishing the feel of the new soft carpet between her toes. The carpet covered the engineered, distressed laminate flooring she’d put in six months ago. There were still unfinished baseboards to prove it. Her mother hated them and would
constantly threaten to call some contractors because her grandson should not live that way. Leaning her head back, Aspen laughed at her mother’s drama and felt the relief of everything tonight.

  Again, DJ’s face pushed into her mind. No. She didn’t want to think about his messy gelled hair. She didn’t want to think about how they still had…that thing between them. She’d denied that chemistry for a really, really long time, especially once she’d chosen to marry his brother, Travis.

  Annoyance rippled through her. No. She did not need to think of all the guilt she’d felt since the day she’d actually married Travis. Another song started on her Pandora stream, and she hyped up her dancing, taking off her sweater and really letting herself get into it.

  The town was quiet right now. At Christmas, it didn’t get the tourist traffic that it did in the summer, so she didn’t worry about the big window she hadn’t pulled the shades on. At least she didn’t until she saw a man’s face in the window, staring at her.

  Aspen froze.

  He just stood there, unflinching. It was almost like he was looking through her.

  She screamed and ran for her gun.

  Chapter 5

  DJ walked quickly down Main Street, locking the car he’d rented with the key fob as he went. No person he’d called tonight had given him answers. The realtor whose name was listed on the sign kept telling him that the house had been in trouble for a long time and had to be sold because of extenuating circumstances.

  He knew his father had extenuating circumstances—that’s why he was calling her, because he wanted to fix them.

  She told him that she couldn’t, in good faith, talk about it.

  Frustration coursed through him. Didn’t she get the memo? He’d casually dropped the fact that he was a professional football player, he wanted to buy the place back, and he didn’t care how much it cost, even if he had to pay a larger commission. She should have rolled over. But she hadn’t.

  Something had been off with the realtor. Tami Meyers? He couldn’t place the name. Not that it mattered, because he had blocked so many names and people from this town. Normally, when realtors, bankers, and car dealers discovered he played professional football they were more than happy to help him out. Give him extra information. I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine.

  In fact, the pro football player thing had worked even minutes ago at the care center. When he’d realized he didn’t have Aspen’s address, and he couldn’t find it on Google, he’d gone back to the care center and seriously schmoozed his way into the good graces of the night nurse.

  Luckily, she’d been a girl from high school he had recognized. Natalie. She’d been one of the cheerleaders, and she’d always liked the Madden brothers. When he’d agreed to a selfie that she could post on social media, she’d handed over the information in seconds.

  He moved faster down the street. Main Street wasn’t that long in Southport. How hard could it be to find her address?

  Christmas music was playing softly on the speakers, and the lampposts had been wrapped in red plastic, making them look like candy canes. It was Christmas. Right. Every time he got a reminder that it was actually the biggest holiday of the year, it felt jarring.

  He should be on a beach. That’s where he’d spent Christmas over the past ten years, and he’d liked it. He wanted the warm beach, the drinks, and the sunshine. Then the wind kicked up, and he smiled. It was still around the mid-fifties. Not bad for Christmas, but not Hawaii, either. He peered up at the house numbers, trying to decipher whether this side had the even numbers or the odd numbers.

  Out of nowhere, a scream sounded through the air. Fear pulsed through him, and he took off running. He knew that scream.

  A guy burst out of a bush a couple of doors ahead, booking it down the street.

  “DJ?”

  He looked up, unprepared to see a shotgun moving down the long line of stairs in front of him. Quickly, he realized Aspen was behind that shotgun. She wore a tank top and sweats; her hair was wild, and she was barefoot. “Aspen?”

  Her expression turned exasperated, and she pointed to the guy running. “Get him!”

  He took off, cursing. Who was this guy, and why had Aspen screamed? He sprinted, but the guy took a corner sharply. DJ caught up, taking the corner tight and feeling his training kick in. He could keep up this pace all night long.

  He made another turn and skidded to a stop. The street was empty. He began searching through the dark bushes. The guy had to be somewhere. He spent fifteen minutes scouring the park, and then crossed the street and ran along the beach to do a cursory check.

  Where was that lowlife? His mind whirled with the scene he’d come upon: Aspen with a shotgun and some pervert who’d been peeking inside her window or something. Visions of smashing the guy’s head into the sidewalk danced into his brain.

  Finally, DJ ended his search and took off into a jog on the other side of Main Street, still looking for the guy or anyone who might have seen him.

  A couple came out of the Fish Restaurant. “Excuse me,” he asked them, “did you see a guy come through here?”

  The woman looked about suspiciously. “Is he dangerous?”

  Not knowing what to say, he held out a hand and kept walking. “It’s fine.”

  “Are you DJ Madden?” the man asked.

  “Nope.” He didn’t need to get recognized right now.

  DJ felt a flash of panic when he spotted flashing police lights in front of Aspen’s home. He cursed, the memory of graduation night and the flashing lights assaulting him. His dad had thrown a bottle at a cop, and the cop had escorted his dad to jail.

  He jogged faster, seeing Aspen talking with an officer. Sweat dripped down the center of his back, and he cursed when he saw who the officer was. Bill Richards.

  He let out a sardonic laugh. No way. Bill was the cop who’d arrested his dad.

  Aspen and Bill trailed off as he approached.

  “DJ?” The cop looked like he’d seen a ghost.

  DJ slowed to a stop next to Aspen, plastering on a blank expression to hide his dislike of the man. “Bill.”

  “Did you find anyone?” Aspen asked, sounding desperate. He noted that she no longer had the shotgun in her hand and she was also wearing a light robe.

  He shook his head, wishing he had succeeded. “No.”

  Bill still stared at him, then rubbed a hand over his face. “Wow. The Prodigal Son returns then?”

  DJ glared at him. “I see you’re still on the beat, making sure to tear apart families when you can.”

  “Shut up,” Bill said in a quiet, threatening tone.

  “Please don’t,” Aspen said.

  Bill grunted. “Whatever. I guess you haven’t changed.”

  “You took my dad to jail,” he reminded the man, keeping his tone even.

  With a furrowed brow, Bill said, “I think your dad deserved to go to jail that night, don’t you?”

  For a long moment, no one spoke. Eventually, DJ turned to Aspen. “So what’s the deal?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “That scream wasn’t nothing,” he accused, feeling jittery.

  She put her hand up. “Calm down. Look, some guy’s been taking packages off people’s porches. It’s not just me.”

  His mind tried to process the scene from earlier. “So if it’s no big deal, then why did you scream? Why did you rush down the stairs with that—”

  “Stop!” Aspen’s eyes widened, and she cast a pleading look at him.

  Right. Bill was a cop, and cops didn’t like the general populace to talk about guns.

  “What?” Bill’s gaze grew intense as he turned to Aspen. “What did you have?”

  Aspen fidgeted. She’d never been good at lying.

  “A bat,” DJ said, slipping into football talk. “Man, she looked fierce coming down those steps, holding that bat.” He put a hand to his chest. “I was worried she would hurt me.”

  Bill narrowed his eyes. He glanced at Aspen, and some
vibe passed between them. “Hmm. Sure, whatever.”

  Aspen turned back to DJ. “I can’t believe you didn’t catch him.”

  Talk about insult to injury. “What? The guy clearly had an escape plan. When I turned the corner by the park, he disappeared.” DJ threw his hand up in that direction. “The park was empty. I checked the bushes and ran the beach and talked to people on Main Street.”

  “We’ll catch this guy, Aspen.” Bill put a hand on her shoulder. “You know you can count on me.”

  DJ went from mildly bugged at Bill’s presence to pretty pissed off. What? Were they a couple? Not that it mattered. He pushed away all his aggressive caveman tendencies.

  Bill cocked an eyebrow at him, his notebook out and his pen poised to write. “So, what exactly were you doing here tonight?”

  “What?” DJ guffawed. “You’re grilling me now?”

  Bill shrugged. “Gotta check everyone out.”

  DJ held himself in check. Bill was a cop, he reminded himself. “I was here to see Aspen.”

  “Just to see her? I need specifics.”

  DJ was tired of this dance already. “I came to ask her who is buying my dad’s house right now. Is that specific enough for you?”

  Bill and Aspen stared at each other. Bill looked uncomfortable.

  “What?” DJ asked. He turned to Aspen. “What?”

  She gestured to Bill, grimacing.

  With a sigh, Bill said, “I am.”

  DJ’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?”

  “My sister is the realtor, and what can I say? I’ve—” He glanced at Aspen. “I’ve been looking for property on the beach for a long time.”

  “Look somewhere else, you can’t have it.”

  Bill let out a laugh. “Already doing the paperwork, old friend.”

  This was insane. “Why didn’t you tell me?” DJ asked Aspen.