One More Chance: A Secret Baby Second Chance Romance

by Amy Brent

  “Hey hey, Brandon.”

  “Please tell me you’re done ‘settling in.’ You’ve been settling in for a fucking week already.”

  “I’m done settling in,” I said.

  “Good, because the dynamic duo is back. You up for a drink or two?”

  “After the dinner I just had with my parents? God yes.”

  “Oh, shit. You had dinner with them? How’s your mom?”

  “Worse off than she was when I left.”

  “Oh, fuck. Okay then. Drinks, right now. Our usual spot?”

  “We don’t have a usual spot.”

  “Precisely why we need to make one. Where do you want to go?” he asked.

  “What about the Varnish?”

  “Speakeasy atmosphere, huh? I like it. They always have soft live music going on. See you in fifteen?”

  “See you there.”

  I hopped into my car and punched it into my GPS. I’d never been there, but anyone who was from L.A. had heard of Varnish at one time or another. It was one of the most expensive bars in town, complete with a strict dress code. It tailored itself to the professional environment, and I liked that. Bars with dance floors, strobe lights, and rooftops parties didn’t interest me. Never had. Mostly because I didn’t enjoy that kind of atmosphere, and mostly because the women there were always looking for men like myself in tailored suits, assuming we had money.

  But there was only one woman on my mind.

  Brandon wrapped his arms around me the second he saw me. I smiled and clapped his back, enjoying being back in his presence. I’d missed the hell out of him. The memories we had created in high school and the friendship we had maintained over the years had kept me afloat during the hardest times at law school.

  Well, those and the memories of Ana.

  “I’m so glad you’re back. I know I came to see you a few times in Massachusetts, but I can’t say I enjoyed the women out that way. The women in California are more our speed, and I can’t wait to be your wingman.”

  “Wingman?” I asked.

  “Yeah! You went to school on the other side of the world and I had to survive eight entire years in L.A. without my wingman. Aspiring singers and actresses and models all going to bed cold and lonely at night because we weren’t there to hold them close. Think of the disservice we’ve done them.”

  “You think they went to bed alone because we weren't there?” I asked, grinning.

  “Only the best look for the best, and you can't tell me we’re not the best.”

  I chuckled and shook my head before we placed our drink orders. I knew Brandon was excited to have me back for a variety of reasons, but the idea of scoring women together didn’t feel right. I wasn’t feeling that type of lifestyle for myself. I never had. I didn’t enjoy picking up random girls. I didn't enjoy making out with a woman whose last name I didn’t know. I wanted that personal connection with someone. I wanted the kisses and the lingering glances and the caresses to mean something.

  They had only ever met something with one person—one woman I was determined to see now that I was back in Los Angeles.

  I just hoped she felt the same way about me after eight years of being gone.

  Ana

  “And when the little boy crossed the road and saw his mother, he ran to her quickly. He was so happy he cried, and the mother scooped him into her arms.”

  “Good job, Brody. You didn’t need any help with that sentence,” I said.

  “Want me to read the next one?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. We need to get through this chapter before we’re done with your required reading for the day.”

  “Then the workbook? Today’s activity is supposed to be really fun.”

  “I see someone’s been peeking ahead at the activities,” I said, grinning.

  “I wanted to see when the water balloon exercise was.”

  “There’s a water balloon exercise?”

  “No, but if there was one, I wanted to see when it was!”

  I threw my head back and laughed. Brody and I fell back into the cushions of the couch before he clamored into my lap. Eight years old and he still couldn’t get enough of his mother. Most eight-year-olds were already independent and branching away from their parents, copping attitudes and throwing tantrums over the smallest of things. But not my Brody. At eight years old, he was the spitting image of his father and the kindest, smartest boy I’d ever met.

  “The mother kissed the top of her little boy’s head and took him inside. And there waiting for him was a massively enormous chocolate sundae!”

  “Wait. Let me see that. It doesn’t say that,” I said.

  Brody giggled as I took the book from him and flipped through the pages.

  “You’re being sneaky.”

  “I want ice cream, with lots of chocolate and peanuts.”

  “I still don’t know why you like peanuts on your ice cream.”

  “Well, I still don’t know why you don’t.”

  I didn’t like peanuts on my ice cream, but I used to know someone else who did. One particular person.

  “Okay, okay. I hear your hint-dropping. Once we finish this chapter, we’ll do your workbook activity, then go have fun in the sun. Sound good?”

  “Water balloons and ice cream?” he asked.

  “Yes, if you get your work done. Now come on, you’re doing really well. Don’t get restless on me now.”

  Brody finished the last chapter of the book before he scrambled down from my lap. We opened his summer workbook and answered the questions regarding the reading material and then a few critical thinking questions. Brody answered almost every single one of them correctly.

  He was growing into such a smart young man.

  While most kids were whining to their parents about school work over summer break, Brody loved it. He digested it all and truly enjoyed the learning process. He also played sports during the school year: football in the fall and soccer in the summer.

  Just like someone else I used to know.

  “Ready to go get some ice cream?” I asked.

  “Yeah! Do we have balloons?” Brody asked.

  “We don’t, but I think I have some leftover ones at the clothing store.”

  “We won’t stay long, right?”

  “Nope. Not at all. This isn’t a work visit, remember? Today is for you and me.”

  “Oh good, because I was going to be okay with it and not complain, but inside I would’ve been upset.”

  “Well, thank you for being honest with me, Brody. It’s important to acknowledge how you’re feeling. Thank you for letting me know.”

  “You’re welcome, Mom.”

  I grabbed my purse and we headed for my car. Our first stop was ice cream, as promised. Brody never enjoyed going into places like that. What he really enjoyed was sitting in the car and eating his food, like some old-fashioned drive-in restaurant. I got him an ice cream sundae with extra chocolate and peanuts, then passed it back to him before I grabbed my chocolate-dipped cone.

  Watching through the rearview mirror while he ate, I studied his every movement.

  The more he grew, the more he looked like his father. When he was first born, I thought it was me seeing things, trying to see Tyler in him. But as he got older, even my parents started making comments on it, saying how uncanny their similarities were. From the lilt in Brody’s voice to the two butt dimples he had in his lower back, there wasn’t a physical ounce of me in him.

  Sometimes if he smiled the right way I could see myself in him. And his legs were a lot like mine, long and thicker, which would hold good muscle for football as he got older. But that was it. The rest was Tyler.

  “Hey, Mom?”

  “Yeah, buddy?”

  “Can I tell you something?”

  “Of course you can. You can tell me anything.”

  “Well, my soccer coach told me that they’re having a father-and-son cookout at his house. With burgers. They have a pool and all, and he said I could come with yo
u if that was okay, or just by myself. But he said you could come, you know, since it’s just us.”

  My heart sank a little as I reached for the empty ice cream cup he had in his hands.

  “When’s the cookout?” I asked.

  “This Saturday.”

  “That sounds like fun. Do you want me to go or do you want to go by yourself?”

  “Could I go by myself?”

  “Of course you can. I can drop you off, make sure you get out back okay, and then I’ll come pick you up.”

  “I just don’t want you to feel bad.”

  I smiled at him in the rearview mirror as a sigh escaped my lips. He was getting more and more inquisitive about his father lately. There were times he beat around the bush like he was now, but the past few nights he had been asking me questions about him outright. His name. How we knew one another. Where he was.

  I had prepared myself for these times, but not when he was eight. I figured I wouldn’t have to field those questions until at least ten or eleven. But I had raised Brody to be open with me, to be in tune with his feelings despite that I knew he would grow up to be big and strong and intelligent.

  Like his father.

  “Whatever you want, sweetheart, I’ll do. And I don’t want you to worry about me, okay? I’ll be just fine. If you want me there with you at the cookout, then I’m there. If you don’t want me there, then I’m not. You just tell me what you want. That’s what’s important to me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Have I ever lied to you?” I asked.

  He bit down onto his lower lip as he contemplated my words—one of the handful of traits he got from me.

  “Then can you come?” he asked.

  I smiled at him as I eased us out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  “I’d love to go with you, sweetheart.”

  We headed to the clothing store to get the extra balloons in the back while Brody sat in one of the chairs in the corner of the store. He was always so good when I brought him in. He sat quietly, didn’t disturb the customers, and never once kicked up a fuss about being there.

  “Hey, Aunt Kristi.”

  “Oh! There’s my cutie patootie. I take it you being here means that your mother is here as well?” I heard her ask.

  “She’s looking for balloons in back,” he said.

  “Well she’ll find plenty of them. I bought way too many to blow up and advertise our summer promotions.”

  “She said you might do that.”

  “She did, did she?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  I emerged with a smile and embraced my best friend. Kristi and I had grown up together. She’d been my best friend since kindergarten and the one person who kept me afloat during my pregnancy with Brody. She was the first one I told. In fact, she was the one I went to right after Tyler and I had our argument.

  The one that split us for good.

  “I take it a water balloon fight is about to happen?” she asked.

  “How ever did you know?” I asked playfully.

  “How are his summer studies going?”

  “You know how he is with school. He loves it. It’s insane to me. I hated school, everything about it. But he devours it. His teachers are even considering bumping him up a grade depending on how he does with his evaluation at the end of the summer.”

  “Wow, that’s—”

  “You can say it,” I said.

  “He sounds just like his father.”

  It was a phrase that had haunted me ever since Brody had been born, and it wasn’t one that was going away. I looked over at my son as he curled up in the chair, playing with a piece of string hanging off the side. With his shaggy light brown hair and deep emerald eyes, there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about Tyler because of him.

  Because of the way he smiled at me.

  “You doing okay?” Kristi asked.

  “Some days are better than others,” I said.

  “Well, I’ll have you know the store promotions are doing really well. Fantastic if I may say so. We’ve already pulled in double the revenue of last month, and we’re only halfway through.”

  “I knew I hired the right manager for the job.”

  “I wouldn’t even have a job if it hadn’t been for your inspiration to open this place, so thanks for being creative.”

  “You're welcome,” I said, giggling.

  The day I decided not to tell Tyler he was going to be a father, two things happened. I cried harder than I had ever cried in my life, and then I figured out what I was going to do with the rest of it. I’d always been an angry shopper as a child. I hated shopping with my mother, in fact. The clothes never fit right and never looked as good on me as they did on the model.

  After I had Brody, I had a serious talk with my father about where I wanted to take my future. He told me he would help me in any way possible, and I knew he meant financially. My father owned one of the largest record labels in California, but I didn’t want his financial help. I had made the decision not to tell Tyler he was going to be a father, which meant I had consciously made the decision to do this all on my own.

  I didn’t want handouts. What I wanted was a life I knew I could work for.

  What began as the idea of a pissed-off nineteen-year-old soon blossomed into a clothing store that I opened two years later. My father had been insistent on purchasing the store property for me, but I had only taken him up on it once he agreed to a repayment schedule I could keep up with.

  My parents had helped me take care of Brody while I had opened the store and taken weekend classes in design and fashion at the community college. Finally, after eight years of blood, sweat, and tears, the name of my store was recognized on a coastal scale as the premier fashion outlet for plus-sized women: Curvy Belle.

  “You know, I sometimes look at this place and still can’t believe I made it a reality,” I said.

  “Well, believe it. This was all you.”

  “And you,” I said.

  “I came in later when you needed a manager, but you were the one who paid your father back less than two years in. You were the one who became a marketing expert and a financial expert and a design expert. You were the one who did this. And I’m taking you out Thursday to celebrate.”

  “Wait, Thursday? What are we celebrating?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding me? That’s the seven-year anniversary of the store. We’re going out and celebrating like we do every year.”

  “Geez, that’s right.”

  “It’s okay. You always forget because you’re doing everything else this place needs, and I always remind you because I really like excuses to go out,” Kristi said.

  “Mom?”

  “I know, sweetheart. Time to get ready for our water balloon fight,” I said, smiling.

  “You already know your parents will watch Brody for the evening. They have every year so we can go celebrate. Let them know you’ll be dropping him off. Then be prepared to have a night on the town.”

  “Is this night on you monetarily?” I asked.

  “Depends. Will my boss give me a raise?”

  “I’ll pay you whatever you want for all the shit you do for this place.”

  “Then it sounds like the night is on me.”

  “Now, who’s ready for a water balloon fight!?”

  “Me! Me! Me!”

  Brody launched himself off the chair and came running into my arms. I wrapped him up and lifted him off his feet, peppering the top of his head with kisses. I knew he wouldn’t mind spending time with my parents. They always spoiled the shit out of him. I would pick him up Friday after breakfast and my guess was he’d have at least two new toys in tow and a bag of sweets to torture me with later that weekend.

  But as far as a support system went, I had the best: parents who had helped me instead of hurt me when I had told them I was pregnant at eighteen, a father who bought the building for my clothing store so I could follow my dreams, a mother wh
o babysat on the weekends so I could take my classes, and a best friend who managed the store when she really could go anywhere and do anything else.

  I had the family I wanted.

  For the most part.

  Tyler

  “Come on, Tyler. You’ve been in town for almost two weeks and we haven’t once gone out yet.”

  “Have you ever thought that’s because I don’t want to?” I asked Brandon over the phone.

  “You’re twenty-seven years old. You’re at the top of your career.”

  “I’m not anywhere near the top.”

  “Your paycheck tells me differently. There are so many women out there who would love to spend a night with you and that mind of yours.”

  “Yeah, and by mind you mean dick, right?”

  “That, too. Come on, I’m not asking you to find your special someone. I’m only asking you to get out there with your best friend and throw back some drinks.”

  “And possibly get laid.”

  “If you don’t want to snag some ass, then wingman for me so I can. You may enjoy your drought, but I sure as hell don’t.”

  I chuckled as I shook my head.

  “I guess I could spare a few hours to help you get laid,” I said.

  “Perfect. Want to start with a drink or two at Varnish, then come up with a game plan?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes to Varnish. No to the game plan. But glad to see you’re still listening, because I know where your mind is.”

  “Uh huh. And where is it?”

  “On her.”

  I fell silent as I gazed out the window of my apartment. It wasn’t quite what I wanted. One day I wanted to be on the penthouse level of one of the more prestigious condominium complexes in Los Angeles, but my two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment that sat close to the water was good enough for now. If I opened my window I could smell the salted air, and I found myself frequently opening it at night and falling asleep to the smell.

  It was comforting, like her.