by Amelia Wilde
Never His
A Second Chance Romance
Amelia Wilde
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Flashback
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Flashback
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Flashback
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
Claim Your Free Book
Dirty Rich
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
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About Amelia Wilde
Prologue
Brett
“Sir?”
The sound of the woman’s voice breaks into my thoughts like a bell that’s been ringing for a while before you notice it.
“Yeah?” My tone is harsher than I planned, but if I’m being honest, this stranger means nothing to me. I’m still in a damn limbo about what—if anything—is meaningful.
Her face goes pink. She gestures to the empty space in front of me between me and the gate agent, who’s waving at me from behind her podium, the scanner clutched in her other hand.
I nod crisply and stride forward. I’ve been hurrying up and waiting for the last ten years. I don’t feel too badly about these nobodies waiting for me.
After all, I’m one of them.
The gate agent scans my pass and flashes me a wide smile. The corners of my mouth twitch upward, but that’s as much as I can give her.
“Thank you for your service,” she says, her eyes fixated on me like some kind of airline serial killer who would just as soon take a bite out of me. My chest tightens as heat flushes my face. Don’t fucking thank me for my service. It ended way too early for that—nothing I could do.
I raise my chin and lower it, a semblance of acknowledgement, and snatch my boarding pass back. I sense eyes on my back all the way down the damn jetway, burning through my jacket, through my shirt.
The only good thing about this situation is that, for once in ten years, I booked my own fucking ticket. I’m seated in the last row of business class and there is plenty of room under my seat the overstuffed backpack I’m carrying with all of my most precious shit in it. A few pictures, mostly, and my computer—although right now, if someone ripped it off of me and ran, I don’t know that I’d even bother following him.
I slide into the seat and wedge the backpack underneath it, leaving the paperback I bought at one of the grab-and-go shops along the concourse on my lap. It’s some thriller that was on the front of the rack. I don’t know why I thought today was the time to read a book, but at least it’s a way to appear distracted so I can avoid associating with everyone else on the plane. It’s a long way from California to the town on the lake where I grew up.
My stomach clenches when I think of it, and for the millionth time, I think about booking another ticket the second I land. Destination doesn’t matter.
But something is drawing me back to Lockton. No matter how many places I looked up when I got my final orders from the Air Force, they never seemed right.
Not that Lockton sounds right, either. But where the hell else was I supposed to go?
My whole life is unhinged, unanchored. The only thing that tugs at me is Lockton, even though there’s nobody left there for me. My dad might be there. Who the hell knows? I haven’t bothered talking to him in years. Not since I left.
There’s only one other person I might want to run into, if she’s even still there.
I realize I’m clutching the paperback so tightly that it’s nearly bent in half, my face red and hot, when the flight attendant leans down and asks me if I’d like anything else to drink while the rest of the passengers finish boarding the plane.
“Coke,” I manage to get out, my throat tight.
She disappears into the front of the plane and I lean back in the seat, staring out the window, trying to get hold of myself.
I hope to God she’s not still in Lockton. Not after I left her to join the damn Air Force, only to get fucked over by my own eyes. We were never even really together. There’s no reason for me to feel this way—sick, gut churning, filled with regret.
When you know, you know. And I know that walking away from her was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life. I also know there’s no way to make up for it—not now, and probably not ever. All I can hope for is that she’s not still in Lockton.
Because if she is…
I can’t even think about it.
The flight attendant delivers the Coke on a small square napkin, and I sip it, holding it as gently as I can. One more errant thought and I might crush the flimsy plastic cup. I’ve never focused so hard on anything since I left the Air Force.
I should be excited about going back to Lockton—home. I should at least be relieved.
Instead, the only thing I feel is dread.
Chapter One
Addison
Mrs. Cole looks at me from across the expanse of my desk, makeup applied as meticulously as it ever was when she would work at the concessions stand at the high school football games in what seems like a million years ago. Her hair is swept into a bun at the back of her head, the only clue that she’s in dire straits—or as dire as she’s ever been. Normally, her hairstyle would be full of elaborate curls held in place by the expensive sprays that you can only buy locally at Seven, the high-end salon on Woodland.
Her eyes are glistening with tears, but not a drop touches her mascara. Beneath the makeup, two bright red spots color her cheeks, and she keeps glancing toward the door like someone she knows might walk by at any second.
“Are you sure—are you sure there’s nothing?” She rests a hand on the edge of my desk and leans closer while I scroll through another set of assistance requirements from the state.
I’m almost sure there aren’t any resources here that I can connect her to, but I’m not ready to give up. She appeared at my doorway half an hour ago, a quiver in her voice, and spilled her story—retirement accounts emptied, husband in rehab, and not enough money to pay the bills and buy groceries. Her daughter, Josephine, is back living with them along with her new baby, no husband. There’s a cold determination to find her something—anything—but it’s competing with the raw pain in my chest. Boyfriends moving out shouldn’t feel like someone has died, for God’s sake.
“I still
have a few places to check,” I say with a careful smile. Keeping this kind of thing professional is the one thing that helps people feel slightly less mortified, although in Mrs. Cole’s case, nothing might ever take away the sting of having to ask for help like this.
Josie was the queen of the popular girls in high school, and Mrs. Cole relished everything about it. I can’t tell you how many times I saw her purse her lips behind the back of another girl—or their mother—and shake her head with unveiled disapproval at one thing or another.
It doesn’t give me any satisfaction to see her sitting across from me, though. Instead, a weight has settled over my shoulders. I don’t want her to walk out of here without any hope. What the hell is the point of having an assistance liaison—me—if I can’t actually get anyone assistance? I took this job with the city two years ago when I moved back, and it’s an uphill battle almost every time someone walks in.
The issue right now is that Mrs. Cole hasn’t been down on her luck for long enough to qualify for certain services, and depending on her daughter’s income…
Something catches my eye in the middle of the page. “Here’s something…”
She doesn’t say anything, but her posture perks up and the grip of her hand tightens on the edge of my desk. “I don’t need…much.” Her voice is tight, like she’s painfully forcing every single word out, one at a time.
“I completely understand,” I murmur, squinting at the screen. Okay, so she doesn’t exactly qualify for this program, but I think if I call over, Annemarie will give her a break. “I just need to make one quick phone call.”
Mrs. Cole leans back in her seat, pretending to study the framed prints on the walls. They’re innocuous bullshit, landscapes and flowers, but at least they give you something to look at while Addison Gray decides your fate.
Not really, but that’s what it feels like.
I punch in the number for Health and Human Services and wait while the call connects, the handset cradled between my shoulder and chin while I type in a few other notes about Mrs. Cole’s situation into her case file on the computer. When the receptionist picks up, perky as ever, I ask to be put through to Annemarie. “Tell her it’s Addison.”
“Oh, hi, Addison!” says Nicole, the receptionist.
“Hey, Nicole.” Then there’s a click while she transfers me over.
Annemarie doesn’t do small talk. “Addison, if you’re calling me for another favor, just hang up now.”
“It’s only one small thing,” I say, and Mrs. Cole’s eyes flick over to me. I make my smile more encouraging this time. “I’m here with a client, and I was wondering…” I give her the skeletal outline of Mrs. Cole’s case. “…so I’m calling to see if you could waive the three-month waiting period this time. There’s an infant and new mom involved,” I add at the last moment.
“Damn, girl,” Annemarie says. “You always get your claws in deep.” She sighs heavily. “Fine. I can put in a request for a waiver. Have her call me on Friday.” Then she hangs up. She knows I have her phone number memorized.
I hang up the handset gently and turn all the way away from my computer, pulling the top note off the pad by my keyboard. “All right, Mrs. Cole,” I say, printing Annemarie’s name and phone number neatly on the note and sliding it across to her. “It looks like my contact at Health and Human Services is going to be able to help you. As soon as you leave, I’ll send your information over to her. All you need to do is give her a call on Friday morning, and she’ll explain the details. By then, you should be all set with some assistance for buying some groceries.”
Mrs. Cole’s chin quivers, and she takes the note from me in silence, folding it in half and tucking it into her purse. She stands up so quickly that she almost knocks her chair over backwards. “I’ll do that.” Her tone is sharp, confident—it’s like she’s back behind the concessions stand, as if nothing ever happened here this afternoon. Then she turns and marches toward the door.
But before she crosses the threshold, she turns back, her eyes glistening. “Thank you, Addison.” The last three words are spoken so softly they’re almost a whisper, but I nod at her just before she disappears back into the outer office.
I swivel back to my computer and write up Mrs. Cole’s details in an email to Annemarie. It’s a good feeling when I hit send and Annemarie’s reply comes in just a few minutes later. “Got it. Good to go.”
Still, though, my heart aches in my chest. Without Mrs. Cole to focus on, I’m right back where I started—heartbroken over another failed relationship.
I’m not looking forward to going home.
Chapter Two
Brett
The realtor pushes another laminated sheet across her desk at me, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at this idiot woman.
I just want to buy a house in Lockton. Is that so damn hard?
“This one is really something special,” she says, her heavy perfume wafting over me with every breath. I picked Victoria Vale because her face was plastered on for sale signs all over town when I got in yesterday. How the hell has she convinced that many people to trust her? She’s about the most obnoxious woman I’ve ever met in my life.
No, she’s definitely the most obnoxious woman I’ve ever met.
“This neighborhood has seen some remarkable revitalization in the past five years,” she rambles on. I don’t even glance at the address. The behemoth on the page in front of me has at least four bedrooms. Valerie Value is just a vulture, that’s what she is—she knows I’ve got a VA loan for this place, and she’s planning to take me for everything I’m worth.
“That’s not going to work for me.”
“What about this one? I haven’t shown this property to many prospective buyers yet, but I walked through last week, and let me tell you, this could be a real home. The landscaping in the backyard is…”
Her voice fades into the background while I try to get a handle on my pounding heart. This was supposed to be the easy part. Getting into the Air Force, becoming a pilot—that was the test of a goddamn lifetime. Buying a house should be a fucking cakewalk. But yet…
This whole thing is probably a mistake from top to bottom. Why did I ever think coming back to Lockton was a good idea? It’s not like I want to run into my father at the grocery store or some awkward shit like that. If I ever decide to talk to him again, I can always get on a plane.
“No.”
My short answer doesn’t deter Valerie Vale in the least. She pushes not one but two laminated sheets across to me, tapping a finger on one, then the other.
“This one has some pretty extensive property attached to it. Lots of options for the future. I think the owners considered splitting it and selling off parcels, but obviously they’ve backed away from that for the time being. And this one has a guest apartment above the garage. That addition was just completed last summer, and the detail work is gorgeous.”
I stare down at the pages, watching the line of the fluorescent light play over the center as Valerie’s manicured finger taps, taps, taps on different lines in the descriptions.
This woman is either insane or wildly overconfident. She seems to have completely fucking ignored the fact that I told her I didn’t want a massive house, despite what the VA said I qualified for in terms of home loans, and every single one of these laminated pages is full of facts about houses I wouldn’t be caught dead buying. Every single one of them screams rich and stuck-up. I wasn’t either of those things when I left Lockton and I’m not either of those things now, either. I’m just a washed-up Air Force pilot who’s eventually going to have to find some other job, any job, and do it until I can collect my retirement. I can survive on the few hundred dollars a month in disability pay if I combine it with my savings, but not for fucking ever.
My face goes hot again, just like when I was on the damn plane, and again I feel that clenching shame in my chest. I went into the Air Force to prove…what? That I was somehow better than my father? Better than Addison�
�s father? Another pair of men who didn’t do anything special with their lives, but they sure as hell didn’t want me screwing her over.
Like I would have ever done that.
Except I did, just by virtue of walking the hell away from her and never looking back.
Until now.
Being in Lockton has me seeing her at every turn—she’s on every street corner, sitting near me in every restaurant—and it’s starting to make me feel like a goddamn crazy person. It’s never her. The strawberry blonde hair on another woman just looked like hers. The blue eyes that caught mine while I was walking into the hotel last night were only a pale imitation. I searched for her profile on social media last night. I figured I should at least update my own account if I was going to be back in town—who the fuck knows why—but there was no profile for her. Or, if there was, I’m blocked from seeing it.
This entire thing is a fucking disaster, and if I sit in this room with Valerie Vale for one more second, I might explode.
I stand up. “Thanks for your time. I think I’ll look elsewhere.” Elsewhere—across the state? Across the country? I don’t give a shit. I’ll pick somewhere on the map as soon as I can pack my stuff at the hotel.
The tone of my voice finally, finally gets Valerie’s attention, and she stands up, too, her hands fluttering nervously by her face for a split second before she gets them under control again, her mask of composure firmly back in place underneath her styled-to-within-an-inch-of-its-damn-life hair.
“Oh, Mr. Miller, just give me one more moment, and then if nothing truly strikes your interest, I’ll be sorry to see you go. Just…one more moment.” She thumbs through a folder she retrieves from a wire holder on the side of her desk. My jaw clenches. She has five seconds before I turn around and walk through the door, one more moment or not. I have no idea why I’m still standing in this room.
“Here,” she says triumphantly, pulling a laminated page with ragged corners out of the folder and handing it to me.
