One More Chance (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 3)

by Sydney Bristow

  “No,” her father said, placing a hand behind him, taking hold of Ashley’s shoulder and gently moving her backwards. “This young man deserves to hear about his family background.”

  “What does that mean?” Her dad ignored her, so she tried to determine what knowledge he had that her boyfriend remained oblivious about.

  Scott hitched his shoulders at the mention of his family. “What are you talking about? What do you know that—”

  “I’m very sorry about your mother,” her dad said, lowering his head, his face twisting in what looked like deep compassion. “No child should lose a parent at such a young age.”

  “You know something I don’t.” Scott said, his face turning white with trepidation. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Ashley watched as her dad turned toward her. “What’s going on, Dad?”

  “It’s probably best that you leave us alone for a few minutes.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” An urgent need to hear him out made her nerves stand on end.

  Scott gave her a tiny, appreciative smile before returning his gaze to her father. “What are you talking about?” he repeated.

  Her dad said, “The night your mother died, your father was driving their car. He’d been drinking. He got into an accident, and that’s how…”

  Watching Scott’s face crumble in agony, Ashley moved to his side and put an arm around his back, holding him tightly, disregarding her father’s warning that they weren’t allowed to see each other.

  “I was the responding officer to the scene. That’s how your mother died. It never would have happened if your father hadn’t been drinking.”

  Scott didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. He just stood there, frozen in place, looking too stunned for his brain to consider what her father had said.

  “I’m very sorry,” her dad said.

  Scott looked down to the ground. Eyebrows raised and now breathing heavily, he seemed unable to comprehend the truth. And it appeared like he might cry. But for only a moment. Then his features hardened, and every measure of sensitivity vanished. He steeled himself, no longer looking the least bit affected by her father’s story, his face chiseled into stone.

  Ashley hated seeing him hiding from his feelings that way. After all, she’d always been able to read his expressions so well. And now she felt like an outsider, someone who’d never even known him. She hated that feeling. She stepped forward, placing her hands to his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

  Scott took a step back, automatically removing her palms from his face. “I don’t believe it. If that really happened, my father would’ve been locked up for murder or something.”

  The compassion in her father’s expression tensed. “If I was the judge on that case, your father would have been imprisoned for criminally negligent manslaughter.” He gritted his teeth, as though doing his best not to lose his temper. “I really am… sorry.” But his empathetic tone vanished, and he no longer looked the least bit sympathetic.

  Scott shook his head, stepping backwards, keeping his head down. “No, I don’t believe—”

  “Ask your father. Now do you see why I don’t want you to have anything to do with my daughter?”

  Scott finally raised his head, meeting her dad’s gaze. “Yes. I understand.” He turned his eyes upon Ashley’s.

  And in that one look, Ashley felt all of the passion they’d ever shared, but it was tinged with regret and uncertainty. It seemed that Scott knew, just as she did, that if anyone knew the truth about the situation, it would have been her father, the person who found Scott’s mother’s lifeless body. “Oh, Scott,” she said, “I’m so sorry.” She stepped forward.

  But he backpedalled. “No.” He waved her off, lowering his arm, catching her gown just before it slipped off his forearm. “This was a mistake.” He half-turned away, giving serious thought to what he’d heard, looking disgusted, ashamed.

  Ashley’s heartbeat thudded at the idea that he would let these statements convince him they shouldn’t be together. Scott pulled away, and she couldn’t do anything to console him. “It’s not. We could—”

  “No,” he said in a harsh, disappointing tone, still avoiding her gaze. “You’re father’s right. I could never be what you… deserve.”

  Ashley glared at her father with such anger, such animosity that she wished she could knock him away from the doorway. But of course that would never happen. She approached her boyfriend. “This doesn’t change anything between us. I’m sorry, but—”

  “No,” Scott said, stepping away from her. “I can’t do this.” He spun around and immediately walked away, not even bothering to glance back at her. He kept walking down her walkway toward his motorcycle. Before long, he got on, started it up, and rode off.

  Ashley stood there in disbelief, watching the empty space that Scott had inhabited only moments ago, wondering how events had swung so swiftly in the opposite direction of what she’d hoped would happen: she’d attend her prom with the man she loved.

  Her father closed the door and set his eyes on hers. “I’m sorry you had to—“

  “You’re not sorry,” she said, anger shooting through her veins. “You’re glad you hurt him. You’re glad that he’s—”

  Her dad placed both hands on her shoulders. “I never wanted to hurt you… or him. I just wanted to let you know what you’re dealing with.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “I’m dealing with a liar. You.” She stomped away from him and rushed up the stairs to her bedroom. When she reached it, she slammed the door as hard as she could. The doorframe rattled, but she wished that the blow had ripped the door off its hinges. Considering that she’d never told her parents how much Scott meant to her, she understood how they wouldn’t care if she never saw Scott again, but they had no idea how much he meant to her, how much she loved him.

  Ashley knew better than to call Scott when he got home. Doing so would upset him and entrench his belief that they didn’t belong together. At the same time, she had no idea what went through his mind and how much pain settled in his heart. She just wished that he’d call, just so she could hear his voice. Not that it would accomplish much, other than to settle her nerves. But at least she would know how Scott felt. Then again, if he dialed her number, Ashley’s parents wouldn’t let her take the call. Part of her felt ripped to shreds at the idea that he suffered alone with no one to talk to, with no one to understand.

  When he’d arrived at her door, intending to surprise her tonight, Ashley felt all tingly inside. She couldn’t have hoped for a more romantic gesture. But seeing his shock and disappointment at hearing what must have been the truth about his mother’s death, Ashley felt too far away from him.

  And now, it seemed that she would never again spend time with the one she loved. Wouldn’t feel his kiss. Wouldn’t even feel his arms around her. And the result left her feeling desolate.

  She had no prior experience to guide her in how to handle this situation. But it seemed obvious that if Scott needed to lean on the one person he loved more than any other, he would have tried contacting her.

  Maybe she’d overestimated how much he cared for her. Maybe his definition of “love” differed greatly from hers. Those thoughts set her adrift, uncertain if they were, indeed, meant to spend their lives together.

  * * *

  Scott closed the front door, trying not to disturb his father who, if the past had any bearing on the future, had fallen asleep in front of the television. But rather than seeing his old man with his eyes closed while passed out on the recliner, Scott found him standing upright with his black leather belt in hand, reaching with his free hand for his fourteen-year old son, the child he had never laid a hand upon, the child he had always favored over Scott.

  Seeing his father about to take out his frustration on Gabe, Scott rocketed forward, reaching his father in mere seconds. He took the belt from his grasp before spinning his father around toward him.

  “Go!” Scott shouted to his brot
her. After watching Gabe rush through the room and race upstairs, he settled his gaze upon his father once more. “No more.”

  “Who do you think you are?”

  “Your son, unfortunately.” That his dad had never attempted to harm Gabe only to do so now meant that his father had finally hit rock bottom. But unlike every other instance where his dad had surpassed his alcoholic limit, he managed to remain completely coherent and eager for a confrontation, despite reeking of alcohol. Surprised not to see the familiar glazed look in his father’s eyes, Scott spotted an empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey beside a couple cans of Red Bull: a potent cocktail unlike any other he’d created in recent memory.

  “Ashamed to be my son, huh?” He made his way toward Scott in a straight line. “Ungrateful little…” His father threw a quick jab into Scott’s nose.

  The blow sent him backwards. Scott actually welcomed the pain, glad to feel an emotion other than disappointment, sadness, and anger since hearing Ashley’s father tell him the truth about how his mother had died.

  Scott slipped a finger below his nose, sending a line of blood across it. The pain rippling across his nostrils puzzled him. In the past, the abuse his dad unleashed had always triggered a quivering that vibrated across Scott’s body. But after learning of his father’s mistakes, Scott’s fear fled to another region of his mind. Fury now became the dominant emotion filling his brain.

  “Is that all you got?” Scott asked, alarmed but excited by the streak of fearlessness whipping through him, energizing him. “Weren’t you a boxer back in the day? I thought you were tough.” He had no idea what caused him to infuriate his father. Scott just knew that he wanted the worst his father had to offer. And he wanted it now.

  “You ungrateful little shit…” His father fired off a vicious left hook, followed by another jab and an uppercut, sending Scott to the ground.

  Floored, spitting blood on the carpet, Scott hadn’t even seen the punches before they connected with his cheeks and eyes. On all fours, he struggled to his feet and met his father with a smile. “Just what I thought. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. Beating up on your sons.”

  His father, emboldened by these comments, charged Scott, rearing back his right arm, ready to let it fly.

  This time, Scott ducked, slipped under his punch, and landed a jab to his father’s cheek, backing him up a few steps. “How’d you like that, Dad? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  His father smirked. “You’ve got some of me in you, after all, huh?”

  “I’m nothing like you,” Scott said, a fuse of anger lighting inside him. “We’re nothing alike. And that you’re clueless about that makes it even sadder.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He launched another assault, raising both arms in an effort to confuse his son, so he couldn’t determine which fist to avoid.

  Far from trying to deflect the attack, Scott beat him to the punch, pummeling his father’s abdomen, hunching him over and making him backpedal. “Tell me,” he said, “about the night my mother died.”

  Stunned, his father looked up at Scott with a clear expression; a deer caught in headlights, unable to pretend the comment hadn’t caught him by surprise. His anger vanished. If anything, he appeared humbled.

  Scott didn’t like what he saw. It meant that Ashley’s dad had told the truth. “You killed my mother?”

  His dad lowered his gaze, muscles going limp. “I…”

  “What?” Scott shouted, anger making his voice loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his brother on the stairs opposite him, watching them. But Scott had no problem with Gabe learning the truth. It was unfair for his brother to live with a false impression: that an unidentified drunk driver had crashed into Scott’s parents’ vehicle.

  A low, wheezing moan slipped from his father’s mouth. He heaved oxygen through his nose, as though facing this truth for the first time. “It was my fault.” He may have thought about it and felt guilty about it, but judging by the way he stared at the floor, as though speaking to the woman he’d put under ground, his father never voiced that truth.

  Of course, Scott always knew his mother had been a passenger in a car wreck that had taken her life. But he had no idea that is father had driven the vehicle that sealed her fate. And now it made sense: why his father mistreated and abused him every chance he got; why his dad hated the sight of him and why he wanted nothing to do with his first born.

  Scott so closely resembled his mother that each time his dad so much as glanced at him, an overpowering sense of guilt surely pummeled him, forcing him to acknowledge what he’d lost… and how he only had himself to blame for his loss. Until this moment, Scott had hated his father. Now he despised him, wanted nothing more than to pretend his father didn’t even exist.

  Without looking toward the staircase, Scott said, “Gabe, get your things. We’re leaving.” The idea of leaving his brother, whom he’d caught sneaking swigs from his father’s liquor bottle a week before, frightened him. He would do whatever it took to prevent Gabe from growing up like their father.

  His father chuckled without humor, shedding whatever guilt had overcome him only seconds ago. “You’re leaving? To go where? To do what? You don’t even have a high school diploma!”

  How his father had shaken the traumatic sorrow that gripped him and replaced it with a shocking amount of indifference didn’t surprise Scott. Nothing about his dad surprised him. Perhaps his father slowly descended into madness over the past two decades. Given that scenario, Scott simply failed to notice any change in his behavior because he saw him on a daily basis and couldn’t identify subtle shifts in his demeanor.

  The idea made Scott shiver with fright. “We’ll go wherever you’re not.”

  “You’ll fail.” A smile curled his upper lip. “That’s what you are: a failure.”

  “If I look in the mirror one day and see your image staring back at me, I’ll agree with you. Until then, I’ll do whatever I can to help Gabe forget about you.” At those words, he heard his brother’s footsteps hurry up the steps to retrieve his belongings.

  “You’re a fool,” said his father. “A ridiculous, ignorant fool.” His smile brightened. “You’ll come back begging for me to take you in.” He swayed back and forth on unsteady legs. “And you know what? I’ll give you this…” He raised his middle finger and pressed it toward Scott’s face.

  Ashamed that his father would regard him as nothing more than a stranger, Scott didn’t want to follow his brother up the steps to his room to claim all that he owned, but doing without clothes, his guitar, and other day-to-day necessities would render him impotent. So he raced up the steps, ran to his room, tossed his clothes into a large canvas bag then grabbed his guitar case and rushed down the steps.

  His brother did likewise, carrying his possessions on the way out the door.

  “Where are you going?” asked his father, meeting his gaze with a self-satisfied grin. “You can’t support both of you. Not without my unemployment checks.”

  Scott opened the front door, watched his brother pass through the doorway, and turned back to his dad. “I graduate in a week. I’ll work 60-hour weeks at the shop. I’ll do whatever it takes. And that’s more than you’ve ever done for us.” He met his father’s eyes to burn that grotesque image in his mind, so that he’d never forget where he came from.

  “You’ll fail,” said his father with a nasty smirk. “You aren’t strong enough. Your brother will carry you every inch of the way.” He chuckled with great humor. “You’re in for a rude awakening, my son.”

  Rather than shout obscenities at his father, which he preferred to do, Scott called upon every ounce of calmness available to him and said, “You might be right. But at least I’ll be the one making those mistakes. Not you.” And with those words, he stepped through the threshold and shut the door, never to see his father again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  At the talent show, juniors and seniors had enlisted to perform in
front of fellow students, family members, and guests. Eighteen students had signed up for various activities: a stand-up comedy routine, a glee-club performance, a magic act, a ballerina performance, a student reading verses of his poetry, a rap battle, and so on.

  Leading up to the talent show, Ashley spoke to her mother about having preconceived notions regarding someone she’d never met. Her mom listened and even sympathized, but she maintained a united front with her husband. And although Ashley tried to bring up the topic with her father, he refused to discuss the subject, stating over and over, “The decision is final. It will not change.”

  Ashley could not convince her parents of Scott’s quiet strength, his kindness, and good intentions, not to mention his unwavering confidence that he would one day make it big in the music industry. Still, Ashley wouldn’t give up hoping that her parents would understand the connection she shared with Scott. She pleaded with them to attend the talent show to see him perform. In the end, she threatened to skip her graduation ceremony if they didn’t accompany her, whereupon they finally gave in.

  In the crowd, Ashley sat beside her younger siblings, both of whom had wanted to meet Scott and finally see his band, Scrap Mettle, perform. Her parents, who flanked her, enjoyed the early renditions, which primed them for the final performance of the evening.

  As the principal walked up to the microphone to introduce the last act of the evening, Ashley glanced at her parents and found them staring straight ahead, emotionless. Scott would need a virtuoso performance for her parents to give him even the slightest compliment. And no matter how brilliant she considered her boyfriend, she feared that he wouldn’t meet her parents’ standards.

  Although they continued seeing each other during school, where their embraces were never before so intense and their kisses were never more passionate, the haunted look in Scott’s eyes replaced his easy-going nature and optimistic outlook. Ashley got the impression that his depth of feeling came from an idealistic place in his heart that wanted to believe in her stable lifestyle, rather than the dark realism he’d endured.