One More Chance: A Second Chance Romance (One More Series Book 3)

by Roxy Sinclaire

  “I think I know what you mean,” I began slowly. “And you’re probably right, it’s just that it doesn’t feel right. Not quite right. I know it’s for the best, though.”

  I paused to make sure that tears wouldn’t force their way from my eyes. He glanced at me for a moment; I could swear that he moved his arm as if he were going to reach out to me and hold me once more, then he stopped himself at the last minute.

  “It’s not like we’re never going to see each other again. We both call this place home, but things will be different now. We won’t be hanging on the phone with each other all the time…” he said, as if he were trying to sound convincing enough for the both of us to believe it.

  We both knew that this was more of a goodbye than anything else. I was leaving for college at the crack of dawn; he was leaving a few hours later and miles in the opposite direction.

  Yeah, our paths would cross, but I knew we would never be as close as we had been, it would never be the same. I offered him a smile. We sat there for a bit longer; I wasn’t sure how long, but it felt like centuries. The sun disappeared under the horizon, and we made our way quietly back into the house. We stopped in the hallway before parting ways into our respective bedrooms.

  “Goodnight, Ethan,” I muttered.

  He gave me a brief hug before responding, “Goodnight, O. And goodbye. Stay safe.”

  I retreated to my bedroom, but struggled to fall asleep. My mind ran back and forth, trying to figure out whether we were doing the right thing by deciding not to keep in touch. I didn’t know. I had no idea what was wrong and what was right when it came to Ethan and me anymore. I don’t know how long I ended up lying awake; all I do know was that my dreams were far from peaceful that night.

  Next morning before I left was hectic. I barely had time to think about anything and only saw Ethan in passing before my mom packed me into the car and dropped me off at the airport. Lack of sleep from the previous night caught up with me on the plane. It was late afternoon when I finally arrived on the campus and settled in my room.

  My new roommate, Mia, was a timid-looking girl who seemed nice, but everything seemed surreal to me as I unpacked my essentials and desperately searched for things I could occupy my mind with. Mia and I went exploring, and I tried to focus on everything other than my thoughts. I reached for my phone to call Ethan countless times, each one sending a wave of regret through me.

  Regret.

  Anger.

  Despair.

  I regretted agreeing to stay out of contact. I wanted to hear his voice, even if was over the phone. I wanted to shout at him and I wanted to call him and tell him that I couldn’t manage without talking to him. I didn’t do either of those things. While I regretted agreeing to it, the whole thing was his idea, if either of us was to break the silence, I felt that it should be him.

  I was scared that if I cracked first, it would only push him away even more. I fluctuated between anger and hurt as I settled into bed. Mia was out like a light the moment her head hit the pillow, and I finally allowed the tears to come. I don’t know how long I cried quietly in my bed, but I know I must have drifted off while the tears kept falling.

  Chapter 6

  Ethan

  8 years later…

  The evening was cold and quiet as I made my way back home to my condo, where I lived with Claire. Claire and I’d been dating for years. I met her and my best friend Martin while we were in our freshman year of college. They were the only two people on the planet I was close.

  Wall Street’s ruthless, the job as well as the people. I learned a long time ago that people there should not be trusted because they would sell you for pennies. I shook those thoughts away as I reached a small florist shop at the corner of my street. I smiled as I stopped by it and picked up a single white rose.

  Claire loved them, and since I was already surprising her by coming home early, I figured I’d get one for her. Martin had introduced us in freshman year, but we didn’t start dating until our last year of college, and I knew Claire like the back of my hand.

  I checked my cell and scrolled through countless messages from people asking if I wanted to hang out with them. I sighed again; everyone loved you when you were doing great. I wondered if they would still want to hang out if my next deal fell flat on its face. I looked around; New York was never the place I’d hoped to live in, it seemed synthetic and cold.

  Claire liked it here. She liked being able to go on long shopping trips, lunches, and brunches in diners and dinners in well-known and popular restaurants. I smiled as I remembered that I’d booked us a table in one of the places she’d talked about wanting to check out for months. It was meant to be a surprise for our anniversary next week. I was pleased with myself at the thought of how thrilled she would be, with the dinner as well as the gift I’d bought for her.

  My girl had refined taste, and I loved spoiling her. I pulled into the parking lot and made my way to the condo, still thinking about the smile her gifts were going to bring to her face. Spending time with her was the only thing that made it worth living in this horrible concrete jungle. My phone vibrated with another bunch of invitations, which I ignored as I unlocked the door and dumped my apartment and car keys into a crystal bowl on the chest of drawers next to the coat rack.

  As I took my jacket and shoes off, I noticed Martin’s coat and shoes. It didn’t strike me as unusual. Claire, Martin, and I had been friends for a very long time, and it was common for us to hang out at each other’s places all the time. I made my way to the bedroom, taking my suit jacket and tie off on the way.

  There was no sign of Claire or Martin on my way there, but it wasn’t uncommon for them to run to the store, I didn’t find that unusual either. That was, until I got close to the bedroom, where I heard them talking and laughing. Assuming that they were just chatting as Claire searched for something in her bottomless drawers, I stepped inside without hesitation.

  They were talking, and they were both in the bedroom. Claire stood in the bathroom door, holding a glass of water; she was naked and only had her silk dressing gown thrown over her shoulders. Martin was on my bed…naked.

  “What the fuck!” I yelled out as Claire’s gaze met mine.

  She gasped, and the glass slipped out of her hand and shattered on the tile floor.

  They both started speaking at once and over each other, but I wasn’t listening to what they were saying, probably some lame excuses, maybe explanations or even apologies.

  I felt as if my world shattered like that glass on the floor just did. The illusion of the only genuine things remaining in my life fell into millions of pieces. I had to get out of there. I spun around and rushed into my living room.

  My chest felt tight as I leaned against the wall trying to process what I’d just witnessed. My legs felt like cotton wool, and I felt myself sliding down, with my knees pressed against my chest. I could still hear Claire and Martin shouting something to each other, but I couldn’t care less. I’d thought I had something real, I’d thought Claire and I were happy, I’d thought that the man whom I’d just found naked and still smelling of my fiancée’s perfume was a friend I could trust.

  We’d been inseparable.

  Like brothers, he was meant to be the best man at my wedding. A wedding that was no longer taking place… I don’t know how long I had been sitting on the floor, but, finally, I heard steps. I looked up to see Claire. She was dressed, and her lips were shaking.

  “Ethan?” she began softly and stepped toward me.

  I felt myself tense up; I didn’t want to be near her.

  She cleared her throat. “Baby…” she began as she reached out to me.

  The thought of her touch made me nauseous; that word set off a fresh wave of hurt and anger; I felt my vision blur as I jumped to my feet.

  “Don’t call me that,” I snapped shortly.

  She reached out to touch me again, but I grabbed her wrist.

  “Don’t touch me. In fact, just get the fuck
away from me,” I told her and pushed my way past her.

  She was saying something else, but I didn’t want to hear it. Whatever she had to say didn’t matter anymore. I felt trapped.

  I had to get out of there! I strode past the hallway, grabbed my keys, and rushed out, slamming the door behind me. I sat in the car for a few seconds, or maybe even an hour, I wasn’t sure. I scrolled through my contacts, trying to find someone to call. Anyone to call, but I didn’t feel comfortable about talking to any of them.

  My plastic, fake friends wouldn’t have the time of day for my misery. They couldn’t care less. I threw my phone onto the passenger seat, ignoring countless calls from Martin and Claire.

  I drove out of the parking lot and into the street. I wasn’t looking where I was going, fuck, I didn't even care. I didn't know how long I'd been going, my head was all over the place, my chest still felt heavy and tight and my vision blurred, when I felt something warm on my cheeks. Fucking tears!

  I let out a bitter laugh as I passed the restaurant I’d wanted to take Claire to on Friday. What a fucking joke. There I was making plans for us, thinking about the future, and all she was doing was fucking my best friend.

  I stopped by a small gas station and lingered outside it for a bit. I didn’t see the point of going on. I didn’t see the point of anything. I took a long breath and purchased a large bottle of whiskey, a pack of cigarettes, and, for reasons I couldn’t quite define, a pair of bright pink fluffy dice, the kind you would hang off of your rearview mirror.

  Still semi-blinded by the events of the night, I decided to find the most logical place to do what I thought was the best option at the time. I drove further onto a secluded road; I parked by a small clearing. I don’t know how long was I stuck there with my booze and a pack of smokes, but I do know that things were getting even more blurry in my head and that the sun had already set by the time I staggered back to my car. Normally, I wouldn’t have so much as a beer before getting behind the wheel, but that night I just didn’t fucking care.

  I started the engine and drove straight ahead. In a surreal way, I was fully aware of the lamp post in front of me. I couldn’t care less, though, because the next thing I knew, there was a bright light and a loud sound of breaking glass and metal hitting metal as my head hit the steering wheel.

  Chapter 7

  Opal

  I put the last file into the folder and looked up at the clock. It was the first night in; I wasn’t even sure how long, that I wasn’t working late. My internship meant the world to me. I wanted my mom to be proud of me and everything I did. It did mean that my career took up pretty much all of my time. I no longer played instruments, and dating hadn’t taken my fancy, either. I didn’t have time for drinks with friends or whatever else it was people did with other people.

  The only person I spoke to was Mia; we’d studied medicine together and lived together in college. We’d stuck together ever since. I gathered my things and double-checked that all the paperwork was in the right places. I only had to check on a few patients before I could leave. I wasn’t sure what to do with my free evening, but Mia said she'd meet me and we could work it out then.

  I passed her in the hallway; she laughed at me and reminded me that I need to make sure I didn’t stay late. I sighed, I appreciated her concern, but I liked working late. I hoped to become a woman my mom could be proud of. I knew that the emergency room was short staffed, but I fought back the urge to offer to stay longer and do overtime. Mia was right; I needed a break.

  As I walked into the changing room, one of our doctors caught up to me. He seemed out of breath and tired. I knew he’d been on the ER duty most of the afternoon and was staying late. He punched the code into the vending machine and grabbed two cans of coke. His pager went off as he opened one of them and downed half of it in one solid gulp. He sighed and looked longingly at the door, then at me, with envy written all over his pale face.

  “I wish I were off tonight; it’s an absolute shitstorm out there,” he groaned. He took another long sip of his drink and checked his pager again.

  “There’s been at least six crashes and St. Mary is rerouting their emergencies to us,” he explained.

  I struggled to resist the urge to ask whether they need an extra pair of hands. Instead, being friendly, I commented, “That really does suck.”

  As I was almost changed out of my uniform, Mark, another one of the doctors burst in, barely catching his breath.

  “Sean, I’m sorry, but we had another couple of accidents. We need all the hands we can get,” he spat out without as much as a hello.

  Sean downed the rest of his coke and made his way back into the hallway. Mark looked at me quickly as I reached for my lab coat.

  “I thought you already clocked out?” he muttered.

  I shook my head. “You need all hands on deck, and I’m pretty sure I can manage another couple of hours,” I told him.

  He let out a long breath and sighed. “As long as you make sure to take a day off this week, Opal. You’ve been pushing yourself way too hard,” he told me.

  I just laughed. “I will, I promise, now let’s get to work.”

  We rushed back to the emergency room. I took a deep breath. ER was always intense, stretchers with patients being rushed past, announcements of estimated time of arrival for ambulances blurred into our ears at short intervals in a particularly deafening and unpleasant manner. Another crash was called in, and Mark and I rushed to the entrance. Paramedics shouted out stats.

  “Caucasian male, early to mid-twenties, car crash, trauma to the head, and torso, left collarbone fractured, internal bleeding, his vitals are dropping.”

  Mark rushed to the stretcher, but, before I could join him, another patient required my attention. Mark signaled to me that he was fine dealing with the new arrival, and I rushed off to another casualty.

  The night passed quickly, and it wasn’t until about nine o’clock that things settled a bit and Mark and I decided to get some fresh air outside. I decided to stay another half an hour in case my help was required for a bit longer. As we were catching our breath, Sean joined us, I could tell by the look on his face that something wasn’t right. I glanced up at him, but before I could say anything, he sat down next to me. He didn’t seem shaken up, just heavily confused.

  “One of our patients has your mom as next of kin,” he told me slowly.

  I glanced up at him, equally confused. The only person I could think of who would have her as next of kin was our neighbor, Beatrice, but I hadn’t seen anyone who resembled her, and I hadn’t seen nor heard her name pop up. I took a sip of my orange juice and asked him the patient’s name.

  “Ethan Stone,” he replied.

  My heart stopped. I felt dizzy, but managed to keep a straight face; I glanced at Mark.

  “Have you gotten hold of my mom?” I asked as calmly as I could, but a slight tremor still made its way to my vocal cords.

  Mark shook his head. “No, that’s why I figured I better find you, I figured you’d have her cell number. We only have the house phone on file,” he told me as he stared at me as if he was expecting an explosion.

  I cleared my throat as I rummaged through my pockets for my phone. “How is he? I’ll ring Mom and let her know, but I’d rather have something more than the fact he’s in the hospital to tell her,” I told him, trying not to let on that this piece of news had shaken me up. I also wanted to know how Ethan was, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about the entire situation, my head felt fuzzy, and I wasn’t sure whether what was being said set in at all.

  Mark leaned back. “He’s in surgery now, we won’t know for sure until he’s out of there, but it’s not looking pretty. He’s got internal injuries, a concussion, some broken ribs, and a spinal fracture. We’re not sure about the neurological damage just yet, the surgery’s going well, to my knowledge, but I’ll update you when he’s moved to Intensive Care.”

  He said it slowly, but my heart was racing out of control. I nodded as
I managed to dig out my cellphone. I called my mom and let her know. I felt numb, it was surreal, and I don’t think my emotions had caught up to events. With nothing else to do in the ER, I decided to wait for my mom in the waiting room.

  I called Mia and, instead of letting me explain, she just showed up in the waiting room. Mia knew about things between Ethan and me, but she had never met him. I met her the day he and I parted ways, after all. As I sat there waiting for my mom and waiting for Ethan’s surgery to be over, my mind raced.

  Would he recognize me now? Would I recognize him? How badly hurt was he? I tried asking Mark to let me glance at his chart, but he only made me a coffee and told me that he'd update me as soon as he could. He almost avoided showing me the chart, which only made me more nervous. Was Ethan going to die?

  Surely Mark would have told me if that was the case… or would he? Despite working in the hospital for about three years, I didn’t know people that well. I mainly saw them at work, and there was often very little to no time for small talk and discussions of personal affairs. We only knew each other by how skilled we were at what we did and specializations we wanted to follow.

  Nothing personal. I didn’t even know whether people were married or dating or whether they had children. I closed my eyes for a bit, and, without my conscious involvement, my mind brought up the image of Ethan as I remembered him before things went belly up.

  His bright smile and his deep, dark eyes, his soft hair falling onto his shoulders. Without realizing it, I found myself wondering whether he was still as toned as I remembered and whether he’d cut his hair short. I’d seen him a few times at home since we parted, but those meetings were brief, and usually tense.