Marry Me Again: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Was there even a trigger to pull? I don't know. Nobody says how he died, and I don't want to know.

  There aren't many public details at all about what went down that night.

  Matt knows more than me, supposedly, but he's the last person I'd ask. We haven't been on speaking terms since he called me three months ago, trying to give me a pep talk. I wasn't in the mood, packing my stuff away at the dorm to come home. Constantly reminded of the fatal Fs bombing my GPA into the stone age.

  My big brother is one more casualty of Ryan's stupid, selfish disappearing act. I can't trust anyone, not even myself. The uncertainty disgusts me more than anything.

  By the time I drag myself out of the office, wrapping my coat tight against the winter chill, I notice daddy left the garage open. His truck is running, but he's not inside.

  What now?

  I race outside, pouncing into the messy snow piled up about three feet away, where I find him half-buried, struggling to get on his feet.

  “What is it? What's wrong?” I start banging my fist on his back while I wrap the other arm around his waist, struggling to pull him up. He's making sounds like he's choking. For a second, I'm afraid there's something caught in his throat, but it doesn't make any sense.

  He's a man of habit. He wouldn't be chewing anything large enough to spoil dinner when we'll be eating in a couple hours.

  It takes forever to wrestle him backwards, drag his huge body to the truck, where he has just enough leverage to grab onto the flat bed for support.

  I don't know who's shaking worse – him or me.

  Christ, just seeing him rattling around like he's about to fall injects more fear into my veins than I've felt since the day I found out Ryan was gone.

  “Daddy?” I'm reaching for my phone, wondering if I should call 9-1-1. There's something very wrong, and I know he'll give me crap about it if I'm overreacting.

  “Help me, Kara. I'm sick.”

  My heart drops another five feet. If he isn't downplaying what's happening, then it's worse than I imagined.

  Just like the night I lost the love of my life, I dial emergency, and let the next twenty minutes blur by in a daze.

  I tell them my father is suffering some kind of attack. No, I don't know why.

  Then I stand with him, my hand gently on his back, doing my damnedest not to cry, even when the ambulance pulls up with an ear bursting shriek.

  I help him into the ambulance and ride to the hospital. Mom is already there in the waiting room shortly after we arrive. I watch them strip daddy away from me, lay him in a stretcher, and wheel him full speed ahead through the imposing metal doors. It's like I'm looking at a whale's mouth, eager to swallow up another piece of my world.

  Mom and I sit outside and wait. Not very patiently. We don't say much.

  Her nervous hand brushes mine several times. I take it, holding on like I haven't since I was a little girl.

  For once, the worry in her eyes for me is absent, replaced by fear for daddy instead.

  Matt calls later that night, as soon as his commander relays the news. Mom does the talking, which isn't much relief. My stomach tightens when I think about the forced, cold way we'll have to pull together as a family for my father's sake.

  I can't forgive my brother for being the messenger, but I'm going to have to try. It's his voice that stole Ryan away from me forever, plunging me into this hell that's grown a few degrees hotter tonight.

  I know it isn't right. I want to forgive him, to pick myself up and “just move on,” live the three simple words my brother said during our last argument.

  Mom is just finishing her update on the phone when Doctor Hanson appears through the door. I get up slowly, shuffling over to the spot where he's motioning us. The look on his face tells me whatever comes out of his mouth won't be pleasant.

  “Bets. Kara.” He says our names softly, as if it will help soften the blow. “I'm afraid there's bad news.”

  I hold my breath, waiting for it to hit me in the face. Mom looks like she's about to faint.

  “He's stable, but we're going to have to get him to Marquette in the morning for surgery. We did several scans with the best equipment here. Each one confirms everything I wish I didn't have to pass along. There's a mass growing in Bart's lower right lung. It's a big one.”

  His lips keep moving. He's filling us in on the technical details about daddy's probable cancer, slowly dropping medical jargon, staring intently to make sure we're following along.

  I stopped trying about thirty seconds ago.

  Outside, the wind has picked up. I hear it banging against the huge sheet of glass behind him, loose in its frame, like Jack Frost himself pounding his fists, trying to work his way inside.

  There's nothing left for the cold to take. I wish I had something more than hot, empty tears for my poor father, but Ryan stole my sorrows, my joys, my capacity to give more than the smallest fuck at my world caving in a little deeper.

  Losing daddy now – and deep down, I know I will – rubs salt in the wounds the sickening killer who stole my heart tore open half a year ago.

  He played me then. Hell, he played us all, pretending to be a good, upstanding, loving young man who meant the very best for me. I'll never understand why he murdered Nelson. Frankly, I don't care.

  All the imaginary excuses in the world aren't changing this train wreck.

  The fact that he did, that's enough. An innocent man who loved me wouldn't run. Wouldn't abandon me while I flunked out of school and came home to this hopeless little town. Wouldn't have stayed gone while our family business died. Or when I'm going to lose my father.

  I have to hand it to mom – she's the one who keeps talking to Doctor Hanson. Nodding like she understands every time he runs through what's next. She tells him how strong daddy is, that he's going to pull through, and it doesn't matter how grim the outlook might be in Marquette, where they can do a lot more for him than here.

  Me? I'm not in earshot anymore. I've limped back to my seat, my hands over my face. My head throbs, preparing to explode. Anyone looking at me would guess it's meant to cover the angry tears seeding my eyes.

  They don't know I'm cursing Ryan Caspian for the thousandth time. I can't stop seeing red and white every time I remember his despicable face.

  If I ever see him in this town again, I'm going to be Split Harbor's second fugitive wanted for murder.

  4

  Celebration (Ryan)

  Three Years Later

  “Two million fucking dollars in one week!” Leonard slaps me on the back, his big off white grin taking over his mouth. “Tanner, my man, we have arrived.”

  I don't know what my small team gathered at the table in this Seattle coffee shop expect. A grand speech, maybe. Or else they're expecting me to jump up and start doing cartwheels like a madman, letting out the emotion that's been building like lightning over the past two manic years since I started working on Punch Corp night and day.

  They don't have a clue that name – Tanner – still seems alien. Doesn't matter how many times I hear it.

  Tanner reminds me I'm living a lie, even if it's a very profitable one. Makes me think about everything I left behind, especially the girl I lost. I don't care how many millions I make, I'd trade every red cent to hold her in my arms again.

  I sit up, calmly taking a sip off my venti mocha. “We're just getting started, boys. Put that excitement to good use. I want new interviews next week, checking every candidate until we've got top notch accounting. We'll need them to handle the new revenue coming in. Remember – this is seed money. You'll get your bonuses at the end of the month, but everything we don't need to live a little is going right back in the ground to grow some more.”

  “We're going to need a better lawyer,” Leonard says, always getting ahead of himself. “I'm worried about the language in the license. We're big league now, Tanner. If we don't have this thing iron-fucking-clad, the giants are sure to walk all over us. If somebody gets the bright idea
to rip off our patent – Jesus!”

  “They wouldn't dare,” I tell him, folding my hands and looking into his anxious brown eyes. “They know how valuable our product is. More of them are jumping on board every week. We're giving them what they need to get across the finish line and put self-driving cars on the streets. It won't be long before we add Ford, Chevy, Tesla, and whoever the hell else wants a piece of the future to our executive services.”

  Everybody laughs. A piece of the future is the corporate slogan I came up with one sleepless night.

  Today proves it isn't just empty talk anymore. Not with our first big order from an honest-to-God national manufacturer, licensing our patented sensors for their first line of driverless prototypes, about to serve several large cities.

  For a second, I let myself think back to Bart's Auto. Would I be here today, an overnight multi-millionaire, if I hadn't gotten my hands dirty under the best boss I ever had? If I hadn't seen the damage a sheet of Michigan black ice can do to a beautiful new car?

  If I hadn't confronted that asshole after I found the dirty secret in his Porsche? If I hadn't ran? If I hadn't lost her?

  “Ryan's on it,” Leonard says, making me blink a little quicker than I'd like.

  Of course, he means Ryan Hayes, the smart thirty year old at the other end of the table. He gives me a smile and jokingly salutes.

  Yes, that Ryan. Not Caspian, who died on Lake Superior three years ago. I pushed him out of my head the second I found a man who could give me a new name and social security number.

  Ryan Caspian was the second death that night. If he'd lived, Tanner wouldn't be sitting here staring at the greatest success of his life, managing men older and more experienced, who look at me like I'm some kind of freak who's going to lead them to billions.

  Maybe I am.

  “Take the night off to celebrate, people,” I say, picking up the manila folder in front of me and tossing it over my shoulder. “Then I want your asses back here tomorrow, in your seats, making the calls that are going to grow this company. This week, we're two million dollars richer. There's a lot more where that came from, and we're going to get every dollar for Punch Corp.”

  They cheer. They grin. They slap each other on the backs. I think I see a few genuine tears threatening to roll down Becky's cheeks, our lead in customer service. Until next week, our only receptionist. We're going to need a lot more like her to field calls where we're going.

  “Jesus, we're going to need more units,” Leonard says, pushing tense fingers through his dark slicked hair. “Should I start making inquiries around SeaTac about who's willing to work on manufacturing until we can get a real factory?”

  I shake my head. “Forget it. If revenue keeps rolling in the way I think it will this month, I have somewhere else in mind. Much lower costs of production.”

  Leonard cocks his head. I'm not going to ruin the occasion by dropping the surprise that we're going to be looking at Michigan for facilities in another year. Half the people here are Washington born and raised. I know they'll think Superior is a poor substitute for the Pacific, and the area around Marquette is a cultural wasteland.

  “We'll meet on Monday again, and I'll have more suggestions then,” I say, getting out of my chair. “It's been too damned great a week not to get out and unwind. Go crazy, everybody. You've worked for it.”

  I turn around and head for the door, making my usual exit. Tonight, they aren't going to let me go home by myself. There must be three sets of hands pulling on my arms, jerking me backward, attached to the mouths yelling invitations into my ears.

  I start laughing. I can't help it. It's a strange sound, one I only mimic once in a blue moon to pretend I'm still human.

  It's a beautiful moment. Tanner should smile and laugh along with his employees tonight. For once, I won't hold the lying bastard back.

  Deep down, I don't deserve it. Every day that goes by after walking out on my fiancee, abandoning my adopted family, after doing what I did in Michigan is one where I ought to be burn, instead of celebrating.

  Nobody needs to know I'm indulging a privilege I don't deserve until I can make things right.

  I'm only human. Turning around, I flash a rare smile to their happy faces. “Okay, okay! Give me a minute to get everything together, and I'll meet you at the usual spot along the pier.”

  “Hell yeah you will, boss. It wouldn't be a celebration without you.” Leonard claps me hard on the shoulder. Reaching up, I squeeze his hand before I step out into the main part of the coffee shop. Bystanders are staring at us, wondering about the commotion back in our meeting spot. The cash we give the manager will probably be our last payment, now that we can afford a proper office.

  Forget about Split Harbor tonight.

  Forget the dead asshole.

  Forget about her.

  I turn the phrases over and over in my mind while I order a black cold brew for the road. It's the same shit I've told myself every single day since I took the new name, staring into the mirror and seeing the reflection that's still Ryan's.

  It's an incredible day, but it doesn't matter. The words I've burned into my brain aren't going to magically start working, even if I wake up tomorrow a billionaire.

  Talk is cheap. I need action if I ever want to make myself whole again, and this is just one more mile on the long, crushing odyssey home.

  Once everybody around me is good and drunk, I pull out my phone. I've been nursing the same scotch all night, pecking at a platter of shrimp and oysters.

  I can't pretend to be happy here tonight without at least checking the news. It's the lone ritual I allow myself when work is done for the day, always around the same time, when I have a few hours left before crashing into sleep's merciful unconsciousness.

  There isn't much new in the Harbor Herald. Hell, there never is.

  Same old weather forecast for spring: gloomy with a chance for early thaw.

  I scroll down the main page, and see a few local ads for Pepe's Garage, the new chain that's filled the hole left by Bart's Auto closing down. My fist tightens, and I clench my jaw.

  “What's the word, boss? We brought you out of hiding, and you're still spending the evening alone?” Leonard slides onto the empty stool next to me, his hair a little messier above the drunken glow taking over his face.

  “Just relaxing,” I say. It wouldn't be another night as Tanner if I didn't lie about something, after all.

  “Bullshit. You're working,” he says, wagging a finger my way. “Put that thing down and take in the scenery.”

  He elbows me gently. I give him a dirty look and lift my head, following his line of sight across the bar.

  There's a woman waiting for me to flash her my ocean blue eyes. My gaze locks on hers, long enough to turn her cheeks red and send her eyes to the green margarita in front of her.

  She likes what she sees, of course. They always do.

  Gorgeous looks got me further than they should've back in Michigan. Today, they get any woman I want wet, ready to follow me to bed like they've been waiting their entire lives for the chance.

  I've filled out. Changed. Gained a few more tattoos and one choice piercing. I've become a man who only resembles the sad, broken kid I used to see in the mirror.

  Maybe it has something to do with the hours I put in at the gym, or running through every corner of this dark seaside city. I never miss a day, not even when it's pouring rain. When I break down and take a chick to bed for one night, giving into urges no man can neglect forever, I barely recognize the body fucking her.

  It's huge. Inked like a storm criss-crossing the sky. Angry.

  Would Kara recognize any piece of me?

  Catching myself thinking about her, I realize I'm evil-eyeing the broad across the bar, giving me come hither eyes. Unfortunately for her, I'm in control tonight, which means I'm not in the mood for another anonymous fuck that has about as much meaning as blowing my nose.

  Yes, as a matter of fact, I am a complete bastard when I
get my rocks off. I never do it twice with the same chick. Drain my balls, and then move on.

  No exceptions. Doesn't matter how good they moan for me when I'm fisting their hair, pushing every inch against their tongues, letting a bitter roar slip through my teeth when I blow, overflowing their lips.

  After Kara, sex is mechanical. It has to be.

  Falling for anybody else – really, truly moving on – is the equivalent of burying her alive, shoveling dirt on her face with my own bare hands. No, I can't have her, I can't even speak to her again if I want to remain a free man, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let go and accept this new life as a liar.

  I don't give the stranger a second glance. Next to me, Leonard shakes his head, sadness and amusement warring in his smile. “Really, boss? You're going to pass her up?”

  He can't believe it. Some nights, neither can I, but only the ones where I forget who I really am for a few empty hours. My right-hand man at Punch doesn't have my gift, but it's hard for me to fathom why a smart, well dressed guy isn't as on his game as I am.

  “She's yours, boy,” I whisper, turning to him with a sly smile. Nervous sweat instantly forms on his brow, and he pushes up his glasses. “Go over there, buy her another of those sugary green things, and tell her she has beautiful eyes.”

  “Boss...you're a hell of a guy, but sometimes I think you're fucking crazy.” He looks past me, his face heating from alcohol and approach anxiety when he sizes up the woman I'm ordering him to chase.

  “Don't make me put you back on the clock, Len. You want to see crazy? I'll make your bonus dependent on bringing me her panties in the morning.”

  Leonard's jaw drops. Reaching up, I slap him on the back, giving his drunken ass a little help up off the stool.

  “Now, go. It'll be good for your confidence, and great for her to have a millionaire in the making. I don't want to see you again tonight unless you're back early to tell me how good it was.”