Dangerous Games: A Standalone Second Chance Romance

by T. K. Leigh

  I pull my lips between my teeth to stop my chin from quivering. “Then why do I feel like this is the end?”

  He shakes his head. “You can’t think like that. It’s not. I have to believe it’s not. We have a plan. And it’ll all work out. It has to. There’s no reason it won’t. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I respond, but I still can’t shake this feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Okay.” He captures my mouth one last time, then steps away.

  Sucking in a quivering breath, I reluctantly turn from him, heading toward the security checkpoint. As I’m about to get into line, I hear him call my name. I glance over my shoulder, heart warming as my gaze falls on my Asher, his soft guitar case slung over his back, hair askew, shoulders drooped.

  I love you, he mouths.

  I swipe at a new wave of tears sliding down my cheeks. He wants me to wait to utter those three words, but I can at least tell him I feel the same way.

  “Ditto.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I dash out of the cab, the frigid winter air blasting me with a harsh wind. I tug my jacket closer to my body and drop my head as I make my way toward the Italian restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen. The instant I step inside, a wall of warmth hits me, the aroma of tomatoes, basil, and garlic filling my senses. It reminds me of Asher. Hell, everything has reminded me of Asher since I said goodbye to him at the airport five days ago. But this memory is particularly poignant. On our last night together, he made one of my favorite meals — gnocchi in a vodka cream sauce. It only makes me miss him even more. We’ve exchanged the occasional text over the past few days, but they’ve been innocuous on the off-chance Jessie might catch a glimpse of one.

  “Good evening, miss. Do you have a reservation?” a polite voice pulls me back to the present.

  I smile at the pleasant hostess dressed all in black. “I believe my mother reserved the private room. The last name is Nolan.”

  “Yes, of course. This way.” She leads me through the restaurant, the tables crowded together, as is often the case in Manhattan. Patrons dine on beautifully prepared pasta dishes, steaks, and seafood as they sip on wine. It makes my stomach growl. “Right in here.” The hostess comes to a stop past the long bar lining the wall, gesturing toward a doorway.

  “Thank you.” I offer her a smile, then walk into the private room, surprised to see only Chloe sitting at the long table.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Evie’s running a little late. So is Nora.” She pushes her chair back from the table and stands.

  “And Lincoln?” I arch a brow.

  “He’s not coming.”

  I blink repeatedly, my heart dropping to my stomach. “Did something happen?” I whisper.

  She laughs, shaking her head. “No. But I realized something after the last time we spoke.”

  “You did?”

  She slowly nods, running her hands down my arms. “I lost sight of what’s important. You needed me as a friend, and I wasn’t there.” She pinches her lips together, her expression laced with sincerity. “I don’t want to become someone who forgets about her friends because I got married. And I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. If we all made you feel that way.”

  “You didn’t,” I insist. “I—”

  “We did,” she interrupts. “Hell, how much time passed before you finally caught my ear long enough to tell me what happened when you saw Jessie? I should have asked you the first time I saw you.”

  I shrug. “You’d just gotten married. That was more important than my meeting with my ex.”

  She peers intently at me with her steel gray eyes. “But it shouldn’t have been. And I promise, I’ll do my best not to lose sight of what is important. We all will. Okay?”

  My lips quirk into a smile. “Okay.”

  She raises herself onto her toes and wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly. I bend down to make it easier for her five-two frame to meet my five-seven height. Then she pulls back, grabbing my hand in hers, pulling me to the table.

  Once we’re both seated, she turns to me. “So, what did you end up deciding?”

  I chew on my lower lip, trying to reel in my smile, but I can’t. I’m actually glad no one else is here yet. It gives me a chance to update Chloe on everything that transpired at the lake house.

  Meeting her eyes, I admit, “I chose my future.”

  “Your future?” She cocks a brow.

  “Asher. I chose Asher. At first, I was uncertain.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I grab the bottle of wine from the table and pour some into the glass in front of me. After swirling the red liquid, I bring it up to my lips, savoring the robust Cabernet. “I knew I wanted Asher but couldn’t ignore all the reasons it would never work. So I told him all I could give him was what we had in our bubble. When it was just us.”

  “And he was okay with that?”

  A grin lights up my face at the memory of his reaction. “Cocky bastard saw it as a challenge.”

  She snorts out a laugh. “I bet he did.”

  “So he said he’d have to find a way to convince me we could have everything outside of the bubble, too.”

  “And did he?”

  I pause, milking the anticipation covering my friend’s expression, her gaze bright, body leaning toward mine, breath held. “I believe he did.”

  Her expression widens, mouth agape. “He…did?”

  I can understand why she’d be so shocked at my response. I was surprised myself. “He did.”

  She stares at me for several long moments, then she practically tackles me to the floor with the strength of her hug. “Oh, Izzy. I am so fucking happy for you. You deserve this. You deserve happiness, and we both know Asher has always made you happy, even when that was supposed to be his brother’s job.”

  She pulls back, excitement oozing from every inch of the woman who, a year ago, didn’t get excited about anything. I suppose love changes you. “I can’t believe you’re dating Asher York.” She lowers her voice. “Are you dating him…openly?”

  “Not yet. We still have some…things to discuss.”

  “I can only imagine.” She clutches my hand. “It will all work out. It has to.” She crosses her legs, then leans toward me once more. “So, tell me, what made you change your mind?”

  I replay my final morning with Asher. How I woke up convinced it was our last one together. Then how everything changed in the blink of an eye. “He told me he loves me.”

  Chloe clasps her hand over mine, squeezing, her eyes brimming with happiness. “We all knew he did. He has for a lot longer than you realize. And we all know how much you love him, too. So does he. I’m so glad you guys have decided to take this risk. You’re soul mates!”

  “I think so, too. But that’s the funny thing.”

  “What is?”

  “When I went to tell him the same, he stopped me.”

  She straightens, cocking her head to the side. “Why?”

  “He said he didn’t want me to tell him inside our bubble. That I needed to wait until we were in the real world.”

  A furtive stare crosses her face, then she nods, pushing a few strands of her blonde waves behind her ear. If there’s anyone who’s proof of how love can change your perspective, it’s Chloe. A year ago, she sported gray and lilac ombre hair, a way to mask who she was behind the façade she’d erected. But Lincoln made her realize it was okay to be herself, to be vulnerable. In a way, Asher’s done the same thing. He’s made me realize that maybe there are some things worth taking a risk for. And maybe I’m worth the risk to him.

  “I can see why he’d do that.”

  “Me, too.”

  “What happens next?”

  I lean back, lifting my shoulders before allowing them to fall. “Once he wraps on the album, he’ll come to New York to meet with the label.”

  “When?”

  “This coming Wednesday.”

  “And?” She gives me a sideways glance.


  “And I’m to meet him in the bar at the Four Seasons and bring those three words with me.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What more is there? Does anything else matter?”

  She covers my hand with hers again, giving me an encouraging smile. “It doesn’t. I’m glad you’ve finally realized that.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Sorry we’re late!” Evie declares, out of breath.

  Chloe and I pull apart from each other, but not before sharing a look. She arches a single brow, to which I shake my head. That’s all she needs to know to keep quiet about Asher. At least for now. I don’t mind telling Chloe, but I don’t want this to be public knowledge yet.

  I turn my eyes to the doorway as Evie and Nora rush into the room carrying gift bags. Rising, I scoot around the table and am instantly assaulted by Nora’s enthusiastic hug.

  “Happy Adoption Day!” she squeals.

  “I told you guys. No gifts.”

  “When have we ever listened to that?” Evie asks, hugging me when Nora steps back.

  “Never.” I roll my eyes. “Although I know how you all are with gifts. I doubt these are appropriate for me to open in front of my parents.”

  My friends share a look, Nora cringing slightly. Then she announces, “Probably not, but I’d sure get a kick out of watching you blush.”

  “I hate all of you.”

  “No, you don’t,” Evie sings. “You love us. You’d be lost without us.”

  I feign irritation, but it only lasts a few moments. “You’re right. I would be.”

  “Isabella, mi amor,” a husky, accented voice cuts through. I return my attention to the doorway, beaming when I see my parents standing there.

  “Mama.” I walk into her outstretched arms. After these past several weeks, this is exactly what I need. A night with the most important people in my life — my parents and my friends.

  “Happy ‘Got Ya’ Day, sweetie,” she whispers, kissing my cheek.

  “Love you, butterfly.” Papa hugs me next, squeezing me tightly.

  Even as a child, we never celebrated my birthday. My parents explained it was difficult to do anything because of how close to Christmas it was. Instead, they chose to celebrate my birthday on March fifth. It wasn’t until I learned I was adopted that I realized the significance of the day. It was the date the judge signed off on my adoption and I became theirs officially. To them, that was more important than the day I came into this world. And it is to me, too.

  I pull back, taking a minute to admire my parents. They couldn’t be any more opposite if they tried. Papa is the typical all-American boy. Or at least he was when he was younger. Fair skin. Red hair. Tall. Muscular body he’s maintained, even though it’s been decades since he played college football.

  Mama always said she had a thing for gingers, that she was a goner the second he opened his mouth and asked what she was doing after she got off work. It doesn’t sound strange, but considering she was a flight attendant and he was one of her first-class passengers, it’s not as commonplace as one would think.

  I float my gaze to my mama, who doesn’t look a day over forty, despite the fact she’s over sixty. Her olive-toned skin is still relatively wrinkle free, her dark hair only sporting a few gray hairs. She still has a body any thirty-year-old would kill for, evidence she’s stayed active throughout her life. She claims she needs to in order to eat all the food she wants, but I know better. She has a restless spirit. I suppose I got mine from her.

  “We don’t have to celebrate this,” I admonish them, as I’ve done every year since I turned eighteen.

  “Oh hush.” She playfully nudges me. “We absolutely do. It’s the day our family was complete.” She holds me at arm’s length. “And I plan on celebrating it as long as I live, mi amor. Even after I’m gone, I hope to enlist Chloe, Nora, and Evie to carry on the tradition.” She glances over her shoulder, winking at my friends.

  “And you know we will, Mrs. Nolan,” Evie offers.

  “I told you, Guinevere,” Mama says, refusing to use Evie’s nickname. When she’d learned her real name was Guinevere, she insisted on using it. Said it was far too beautiful a name to shorten, which is why she refuses to call me Izzy like everyone else in my life. “Call me Victoria.”

  “Okay, Victoria,” she replies with a smile.

  “Let’s sit, sweetie.” Papa clasps my mother’s hand in his and leads her to the table. He holds out her chair, then takes the seat next to her.

  Once we’re all situated, Mama looks around, her brows scrunched. “Where are your husbands? They’re more than welcome. Especially yours, Chloe angel.” She leans toward her. “I must say, when I got your wedding announcement, I thought I’d made my martini a little too strong. I love you with all my heart, but I never thought I’d see the day you got married.”

  “We all felt the same way when we saw her wearing a wedding band,” Nora pipes up.

  “You didn’t know?” Mama presses.

  “They eloped,” I explain. “He took her to Vegas and they got married.”

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” Chloe explains.

  “Well, I’m thrilled for you. But you could have brought him.”

  “We decided to keep this a girls’ day.” She meets my eyes. “Like it’s always been. We don’t want to lose sight of how important our friendship is because some of us are married. Friends first. Always.”

  Mama smiles fondly upon my friends. “I’m so grateful you’re all in my Isabella’s life. She couldn’t have asked for a better support group.” She raises her glass. “Happy ‘Got Ya’ Day, Isabella.”

  “Thanks, Mama.”

  “No. Thank you, mi amor.”

  The evening passes quickly as we all stuff ourselves with what my father claims to be the best Italian food in the city. I’d be hard-pressed to disagree. It’s no surprise why we return to this restaurant every year for this celebration. It’s where my parents first told me I was adopted. At the time, I wondered why they’d tell me something like that in public, not knowing how I’d react. During my childhood, there was no such thing as a trip into the city without coming here. In a way, it’s always brought me comfort. It still does.

  “How’s the job hunt going?” my father asks as we sip our wine, our dessert plates barely containing any crumbs from the cannoli or tiramisu we scarfed down.

  “I have a few prospects. A number of hospitals have contacted me, but they’re not in the city.”

  “And you’re okay with the severance package?” He lowers his voice. “You’re still able to pay all your bills?”

  Heat washes over my face as I avert my gaze. “I’m fine, Papa.” I can’t shake the feeling he knows I’m not being completely honest. If there’s anyone who can get the truth out of me, it’s this man. Hell, he’s the one I told when I had sex for the first time, not my mom. He just…knows.

  Clearing my throat, I straighten my spine, needing to change the subject. He doesn’t need to know the only reason I’m able to pay my bills is because of the money Jessie paid me to spend time with Asher.

  “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” I say nervously, my eyes floating around the table. “To all of you.”

  “Of course, mi amor,” Mama replies. “What is it?”

  I draw in a deep breath, praying she doesn’t take this the wrong way. That neither of my parents take this the wrong way. This is something I need to do, especially if I hope to have a future with Asher. I need to fill in the missing pieces. And what better day to start this search than the anniversary of when I finally got my forever family.

  Placing my hands on the table, I steel myself. “I want to find my birth mother.”

  The room is still as my words ring out around me. For a moment, it seems like the entire restaurant is quiet. No scraping of forks against plates. No polite conversation. No clanging of ice against glasses.

  Then my mother stands and rushes toward me, wrapping me in her embrace.
“Oh, Isabella, this is wonderful news.” She pulls back, cupping my cheek with her hand. I look at my father, who wears a proud expression. For years, they’ve encouraged me to find answers. Hell, everybody has. I just didn’t want my parents to think I didn’t appreciate all the sacrifices they’ve made for me.

  “I hope you find the answers you’re looking for, butterfly,” Papa offers.

  “I’m not really looking for answers,” I respond, although my voice lacks the conviction I wish it had. “It’s more…curiosity than anything.”

  Mama smiles at me affectionately. “There’s a part of your past that’s missing. Part of your story. It’s like picking up a book and starting at chapter three or four.” She drops her hold on me, heading back to her chair and sitting. “You can probably still enjoy the story, but you’ll never fully understand the characters, their motivations, their struggles. You need those missing pages.”

  “I realize that now, but to fill in those missing pages…” I turn toward Evie and Chloe, “I think I might need your help.”

  They peer at me, confused. “Our help?” Evie asks.

  “Yes.” I run my hands along my dress, smoothing the lines. “I’ve tried to do some research on my own, but it’s difficult for me to get very far. Not to mention it was thirty years ago.”

  “Did you reach out to the adoption agency? Or Child Services?” Chloe presses. “I’m sure they have information that can help.” She looks at my parents. “Don’t they?”

  “That’s part of the problem,” I explain. “The circumstances surrounding my adoption are a bit…unusual.”

  “Unusual?” Nora lifts a brow.

  I glance at my parents, who give me a reassuring nod, before meeting my friends’ gazes once more. “You were probably all too young to remember, but have you ever read stories about the JFK baby?”

  Nora’s brows scrunch together as she shakes her head, which I expected. After all, I was born before her, so she wouldn’t have been around to see the headlines splashed across the front page of every paper, the reports on every news station. I only have because of all the research I’ve done over the years.