Second Shot

by Shandi Boyes

  Ignoring Jenni’s gaped mouth, I gesture for her to enter the limousine after Emily. Once she does as requested, I slide in after her and slam the door shut. Gemma jumps in fright from the loud bang before her massively dilated eyes lift from the ground. The urge to guard her from the torrent of pain raging through her eyes grows exceptionally when she locks her downcast gaze with me. Just like the morning we kissed in the sunroom of the Marshall residence, her eyes are brimming with tears, and her face is awash with panic.

  Even knowing I shouldn’t care she is upset, I silently mouth, “Are you okay?”

  A raw and intense feeling hits the middle of my chest when the faintest smile creeps across her lips as she nods her head. The impact of my three small words to her is so great, fragments of the protective wall she has built around herself crumble before my eyes. I don’t know what it is about Gemma that provokes such a response out of me, but I do know one thing. She didn’t build the walls surrounding her heart to keep people out. She built them to protect whatever is left within. That may seem conceited of me to say, but it’s not because I’m bragging about the response my concern created; I’m saying it because I understand, as I do the same thing. Maybe that’s why our connection is so bizarre? There is no greater connection two people can have than understanding. Words, sexual attraction, and desire mean nothing if you don’t understand how the person came to be who she is.

  Although Gemma’s name was never mentioned during Emily and Jenni’s discussion on the way to Cormack’s private airstrip, I knew the person Emily described was Gemma. Not because Emily described her looks and personality with accurate precision, but because something deep inside me awoke with every mile we traveled.

  I’m not going to lie, when Gemma first stepped out of the plane, I was left breathless. I knew she was going to exit the jet before the hostess even opened the door, so that wasn’t what caused my breathless state. It was the range of emotions pummeling into me from seeing her for the first time in weeks. You know that tingling feeling your hands and feet get when, after an extended period of absence, you see the welcome home sign of your home town coming over the horizon? That’s the feeling I got when I saw Gemma. A feeling like I was going home.

  That feeling was squashed the instant my eyes zoomed in on the man exiting the plane behind her. Even though I didn’t get a clear visual of the man Gemma was greeted by five weeks ago, I knew Wesley was the same man. They have a unique bond even a man who spent months of solitary in trenches couldn’t miss. A bond a soulless man would give anything to feel again.

  “Huh?” I ask when Jenni nudges me with her elbow.

  She looks up at me with her light blue eyes. Just like they do every time she senses Nick’s closeness, a pink hue graces her cheeks. “We’re here.”

  Shaking my head at her eagerness to see a man she only left an hour ago, I slide out of the limousine. Jenni and Emily practically dive out of the limo and sprint into the converted warehouse the band is hiding out in. With their album being one of the biggest selling albums of all time, things have become extremely hectic for the band the past three months. You know you’ve reached the pinnacle of stardom when you can’t trust a pizza delivery man anymore. Yes, we had an incident last month. A member of the paparazzi paid off a local pizza store so he could deliver pizza to Noah and Emily’s cabin at Bronte’s Peak. After barging his way past Emily, he took numerous shots of Noah holding their newborn daughter, Maddie. Although the paparazzi was technically trespassing, it is lucky Noah is friendly with the local law enforcement agency, or he may have ended up with battery charges. Security for all members of the band has been ramped up since that day.

  My head slants to the side when Gemma says, “There’s nothing sweeter than young love.” A film of mistrust dampens the brightness of her pretty green eyes. “I’d give anything to go back to an age where something as simple as being held could make you feel safe and protected. Like nothing could ever hurt you.”

  “Don’t you have that with Wesley?” I ask before I can stop my words.

  Gemma peers past my shoulder for several moments before briefly nodding her head. “Wesley will always make sure I'm safe and protected,” she murmurs ever so quietly. “But he doesn’t understand that one day I'm going to need more than he can give me.”

  She runs her hand down my forearm, sparking every nerve in my body before pacing toward the converted warehouse.

  Hours later, I lower the speed on my treadmill, adjusting it from a sprint to a leisured walk. While running a white towel over my head, I drift my eyes to Hugo working out on a leg press machine a few spots over. A grin curls on my lips when I notice every piece of equipment beside him has been swarmed by scantily clad women, looking more like they should grace the cover of Vanity Fair than undertake a sweaty workout. I’ve also noticed a few women flocking to my side of the gym the past hour, but with my mood still on edge from my exchange with Gemma this afternoon, their eagerness to socialize with me isn’t as robust as usual.

  When Hugo notices me walking to the weights station, he finishes his rep on the leg machine and comes over to spot me. A chuckle parts my lips when half the female population scrambles to secure the machines next to Hugo and me. I’m not laughing at their desperateness; I'm laughing at Hugo’s ignorance. I swear, even if the pretty blonde working on the barbell bench press two spots up from us were stark naked, Hugo wouldn’t notice her. That’s how ignorant he is when it comes to any female not named Ava.

  After doing enough reps that the pain in my chest is replaced with exhausted muscles, I mutter, “How well do you know Gemma?”

  The quickest flare of emotion passes through Hugo’s eyes before he shuts it down just as swiftly as it sparked. “She’s a good friend of mine. We lost contact a few years ago, but just like me and you, it’s like no time passed at all,” he answers, his voice lower than his normal tone.

  He assists me in raising the weight bar back onto its holder while asking, “Why? What’s your interest in Gemma?”

  I incline to a seated position. “Cormack hired her to shoot a special edition album cover for the boys. She arrived in Ravenshoe today.”

  Hugo smiles a grin that shows his genuine affection for Gemma. “She called Ava a few nights ago to say she was coming, but I didn’t put two and two together when she said she was doing a shoot here,” he informs me as his lips curl even more. “It’s amazing how small the world seems sometimes.” He hands me a towel embossed with M.S. Gym on it. “Have you seen her work? She’s very talented. Ava is dying to see the photos she took at our wedding.”

  My eyes dart around the gym, preferring not to look directly at Hugo while I slide a white lie under his nose. “I haven’t really had the chance to talk to her. She seems a little skittish and unapproachable.”

  Hugo closes his mouth before briefly nodding his head.

  “Is she normally like that?” I ask, struggling to keep the interest out of my voice. “Or just cautious around people she hasn’t met before?”

  Hugo’s brows join, enhancing the frown marring his face. “You’ve met Gemma,” he says, his voice high in uncertainty. “Mom said you gave her a lift home from our reception.”

  My heart rate kicks into overdrive as the first ravel in my net of deceit comes undone.

  Hugo peers at me in confusion. “Gemma was also at brunch the following morning. . .” His words trail off as the suspicion in his eyes doubles. “She said it was a pleasure to meet you on the front porch when she was leaving.”

  Quicker than a lightbulb switching on, recognition dawns on Hugo’s face. “You never forget anyone you’ve met. Let alone a woman who looks like Gemma.” He runs a towel down the side of his sweat-drenched face, dumps it into a linen basket at the side, then crosses his arms in front of his bare chest. “Gemma is Betty White, isn’t she?”

  I shake my head. My efforts of deception are utterly pointless when I mutter, “Yes,” at the same time.

  My response can’t be helped. I’m fu
cking desperate to talk to someone about what the hell is going on with me. It’s been a month since I’ve seen Gemma, and all it took was one glance into her eyes to stir up the conflicting array of emotions I’ve been spending the last month wading through. Even knowing she is in a relationship doesn’t dampen my interest in her the slightest.

  The entire drive back to Ravenshoe last month, I assured myself it was just haunted memories messing with my composure at Hugo’s wedding. It wasn’t. It was the pretty blonde with the tormented eyes, the only person in years who gave me back the ability to breathe without feeling guilt. The only person who filled me with hope that my life was still worth living. The only person I want to protect and push away at the same time.

  Analyzing the storm of emotions pumping through me, Hugo says, “I knew there was something different about you that morning.” His loud voice gains us even more attention than our half-naked frames. “It was the night of my wedding, wasn’t it? Gemma’s the reason you turned up to brunch wearing the same suit you wore the night before. You old dawg, playing Austin’s overly used skit from Wedding Crashers.”

  Before I can utter a word, the cheeky gleam in Hugo’s eyes switches. “Oh, fuck. Did you. . .” He swallows harshly before continuing, “Treat her right? You didn’t hurt her or anything. Did you?”

  “I’m not a complete fucking ass,” I snarl through clenched teeth.

  Hugo’s brow cocks, no doubt shocked by my abrupt reply. “I’m not saying you are, but Gemma isn’t the type of woman you shag then dump the following morning.”

  Guilt roars through my body – not just because Hugo pretty much described what I did to Gemma the morning following our one-off romp, but because Hugo isn’t just my best mate. He is my wife’s brother for fuck’s sake. I can’t talk about this kind of stuff with him. I can’t taint Jorgie’s memory by discussing my sexual conquests with the man who has eyes identical to hers.

  Gritting my teeth, I peel off the weight bench and head to the locker rooms. “Forget I said anything,” I strangle out through the tightness curled around my throat.

  Hugo tails me. “No, fuck that, Hawke. You started this conversation; you don’t get to end it too.”

  When I fling open my steel locker door, Hugo slams it shut, blasting my face with cool air from the air conditioning vents above our head. A middle-aged man with a towel wrapped around his expanded hips darts his eyes between Hugo and me. Feeling the thick tension hanging in the air, he drops his gaze to the floor and shuffles across the tiles to collect his clothing hanging on the wooden bench lining the corridor of lockers. He doesn’t speak a word as he leaves the room with his hairy backside on display for the world to see.

  After ensuring the coast is clear of any other spectators, I turn my eyes to Hugo. “Now is not the time to discuss this.”

  “Not the time, or the wrong person?” Hugo calls me out, knowing me well enough to guess what I really wanted to say. I can’t talk to you about this.

  “I’m your best mate, Hawke. I was years before Jorgie, and I’ll be years after you throw me against the locker, as you aren’t going to like what I say next.”

  Reading the determination his eyes always get when lecturing me about moving on, I brace myself for impact. Hugo would never resort to violence, so I’m not preparing for a physical blow; I'm preparing for a mental one.

  Just like Ava, Hugo shocks me by keeping his reply short and simple. “It’s been five fucking years.”

  “I know that,” I sneer viciously, my voice cracking with emotional anger. “I don’t need you to tell me how long it has been. I’ve felt every goddamn minute of every goddamn day in this fucking nightmare I’ve been living the past five years.”

  I fully expect Hugo to argue that I’ve grieved long enough, and that it is time to move on. What I'm not expecting him to say is, “Then imagine what it’s like for Gemma, because she’s been living in her nightmare even longer than you.”

  I balk like I’ve been physically hit. A frantic wave of feelings overwhelms me. Confusion. Anger. An uncontrollable urge to protect Gemma. I’m also shocked. Our conversation began with Gemma, but the instant it switched to Jorgie, I never fathomed it would return to Gemma.

  Just hearing Gemma’s name hammers me with more emotions than the clusterfuck of feelings I’ve been dealing with the past month. Although the guilt I feel for how I treated Gemma last month will never compare to my guilt for continuing to live without my family, it’s still enough to add pain to the middle of my hollow chest. To know some of the hurt her eyes carried today could have been put there by me utterly destroys me.

  “What happened to Gemma?” I ask, surprising both Hugo and myself that my concern for her has me looking past my grief. “Why are her eyes full of mistrust?”

  Hugo scrubs his hand over the shadowing of hair on his chin before locking his despairing gaze with mine. “Just like you, she discovered the world isn’t full of people determined to make it a better place.”

  He swings open his locker door to gather his keys and wallet. I can tell he wants to say more—hell, I want him to say more—but even under the influence of a bottle of whiskey, he doesn’t loosen his lips. He guards people’s secrets as well as he protected his sister.

  “I won’t hurt her,” I mumble. I don’t know why I felt the need to say that. It just came out of my mouth before I had the chance to stifle it.

  Hugo places his hand on my shoulder. The rattle of his hand exposes way more than his words ever could. “I never had a doubt, Hawke. You’re a good man. One Gemma could use in her life. But you need to tread carefully with her. Gemma is like the world’s finest crystal, beautiful to look at and worth every penny it costs, but one crack may completely shatter her.”

  After squeezing my shoulder, he spins on his heels and ambles out of the locker room.

  While changing out of my sweaty gym clothes, I run my conversation with Hugo through my mind on repeat. Hugo has always been overly protective, but there is something more than protectiveness in his eyes when he talks about Gemma. If I’m not mistaken, it’s regret. . . and perhaps even disappointment.

  My conversation with Hugo was one of the shortest ones I’ve had since Jorgie and Malcolm passed, but it shook my core hard enough that the impenetrable wall surrounding me has permanently shifted. Similar to my evening with Gemma last month.

  I wait for the guilt my private confession should create. It doesn’t come.

  Ignoring the suggestive smile of the brunette manning the counter at the gym, I exit the single glass door. My night with her four months ago was good for reliving memories I’ll never truly forget, but not great enough I’m tempted for round two. There has only been one woman who has given me that desire. Her hair is the color of the full moon hanging in the sky, and her eyes as glistening as the stars.

  Humid, hot winds pummel my chest when I stride down the sidewalk to my Camaro parked a few doors down. The muggy temperatures add to the sweat coating my skin from a vigorous gym session. I’ve always been a bit of a gym junkie, but my obsession grew the past five years. The burn of a hard workout lasts for hours, and I figured it was better to feel pain than nothing at all.

  After throwing open my car door, I slide into the driver’s seat and roll down the window. Wanting to keep my Camaro in its original condition, I’ve never bothered having air-conditioning installed. I’m now regretting my decision. Ravenshoe is a great city, a mecca of a town that Isaac is growing into a thriving community, but its ghastly mugginess takes some adjusting to.

  When a large truck roars past my stationary vehicle, gushes of hot air blow into my car. The force of the gust is so brutal, it rattles my visor and knocks down a picture I tucked in there five weeks ago. Snubbing the peculiar feeling swirling in my stomach, I pick up the photo Gemma took of us together last month to appraise it.

  Gemma’s eyes are holding the same amount of excitement in this photo they held when she peered up at me earlier today. I thought she’d look at me differently
once she found out who I really am. This photo proves my assumptions were wrong. She glanced at me today with the same amount of wonderment and intrigue she did before she knew I was a broken man. Perhaps that is because she understands what I'm going through? The hurt in her eyes mirrors my own. She may do a better job of masking her pain, but it is still there all the same.

  After placing the photo back into the strap of my visor, I crank my engine and pull my Camaro onto the street clogged with traffic. A shocked chuckle escapes my lips when the first song played over the radio is Rise Up’s hit song “Hollow.” This song resonates a lot with the barrage of emotions I’ve been dealing with the past five years. And more particularly, the past month. I wouldn’t say I was suicidal after I lost my family. It wasn’t ever something that crossed my mind. But during times of silent reflection, I realize I may not have consciously considered suicide, but it was obviously playing in the background of my mind. I didn’t hold a gun to my head, but I walked directly into the line of fire without any concern for the repercussions of my actions. The most dangerous people are those who believe they have nothing left to live for.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I murmur into the muggy night air when the song on the radio switches to another Rise Up record-breaking hit. I shouldn’t be shocked. The disc jockeys in this town—along with half the state—have been giving Rise Up an endless amount of radio time. They either have a genius sitting behind the helm of their album launch, or a sadistic bastard set out to torture the miserable fucks who drive classic cars with no CD or Bluetooth capabilities.

  As the lyrics of Rise Up’s song “Surrender Me” plays through my ears, I’m struck by the way Gemma’s glances from earlier today are still making an impression on me. This song isn’t about despair and anguish like “Hollow;” it is about surrendering your heart to the person who finally broke through your walls and fought through your resistance. It is about promising to protect and love them with as much tenderness as they bestowed upon you. It is a song that proves you can find love again after loss.