Second Chance Mom

by EMILIE ROSE

  Kyle slowly exhaled. “I’ll be there,” he said quietly.

  “Joe...had a will, which he named me as executor for. Could you stay in Wallis Point and meet with me about it on Monday?”

  His heart feeling as if it was beating through his chest, Kyle sat up straighter. A will meant that Joe had left him something. There was only one thing Kyle had ever wanted, and Joe knew exactly what that was. Kyle was grateful he’d never told Joe he’d been injured because otherwise, knowing Joe, Kyle would have had no chance of getting what he’d hoped for.

  What he’d always hoped for.

  “I’ll be there,” Kyle said tersely. “I’ll be there on Monday.”

  There was a pause. “Kyle, I really am sorry.”

  He stayed silent. He wasn’t about to tell the lawyer this, but even before the final fight that had sent Kyle packing from Wallis Point for good, he and Joe had never really gotten along. Not since Kyle’s mother died.

  That day had hit them both hard.

  “Well,” the lawyer—Natalie—said, a forced cheeriness in her voice, “I’ll look for you at the funeral. If you’d like to come early, my husband is a Navy vet. His name is Bruce Cole. I think that you two could talk—”

  “I’m fine,” Kyle interrupted. He knew what she was attempting to do, but Kyle didn’t need to “talk” to anyone about anything. He’d adjusted just fine to civilian life. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  “Great. I also have a letter that Joe left for you. You were his only relative. He said that you’re in the Marines—”

  “I’m a veteran. Honorably discharged.”

  “Thank you for your service,” she said.

  Kyle felt his lips pressing together again. “You’re welcome.” Then, because he couldn’t stand the awkwardness any longer, he asked, “What’s Joe doing with the hockey rink?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” Natalie said in her gentle voice. She seemed excited. “Do you have an interest in it?”

  Did he? Hell, yeah. Shakily, he pushed himself out of his chair. Joe barring him from the rink had been the last straw—the big blowup that had led Kyle to leave town. His main hope for returning to Wallis Point had been to reclaim his rightful position and run that hockey rink as he’d been brought up to do. As he’d earned. Of course, the one bad decision Kyle had made, the winter of his senior year, had ended the original promise from Joe.

  But now was a fresh chance...

  Kyle thought of his prosthetic left foot. Did he dare attempt it?

  I have to. I can’t sit in this office and stare at this computer screen every day. This is not what I’m meant to do.

  “Yes. Yes, I absolutely have an interest,” he said firmly. He swallowed. “How soon until I can take it over?”

  Natalie laughed. “Excellent—I’m relieved to hear you speak so enthusiastically. From a strictly personal perspective, Bruce and I are glad you’re interested in keeping the facility open. But we’ll talk more about it on Monday, of course.”

  Real hope filled him, for the first time in a long time. He needed this competency. Needed to be good at something again.

  “That’s great,” he said softly. And oh, man, what he would do with the place. First thing, he’d track down some other wounded soldiers he knew. Some of them must have dispersed into Maine and New Hampshire. Maybe they could set up a wounded warrior hockey league. A similar program had been the main thing that had gotten him through the two years of rehab in Maryland after he’d been flown back from Germany—

  “Kyle,” Natalie said, interrupting his thoughts. “Jessica Hughes is invited to the will reading as well. Do you know her?”

  Kyle couldn’t speak. Slowly he sank back into his chair.

  “She didn’t go to high school with us,” Natalie said. “She was home-schooled while she trained in figure skating at Joe’s rink. Jessa Hughes, she was known as then.”

  Kyle wiped his hand over his face, trying to regain his composure. “Jessa is back in town?” he asked, as steadily as he could.

  “Yes, but she goes by Jessica now.”

  Didn’t matter what she called herself, she would always be the famous Jessa that everybody loved. The sweetheart of Wallis Point.

  The great ache of his teenage years.

  Kyle exhaled and stared at the ceiling. The last time he’d seen her, he’d inadvertently hurt her. Physically, but not emotionally—on the contrary, she’d had no problem breaking off all contact with him. And Joe’s decision to bar Kyle from the rink had been based on that one stupid mistake that he’d always regretted.

  In retrospect, Jessa—Jessica—was also a big part of the reason he’d left Wallis Point after high school to impulsively join the Marines.

  “Joe left her something, too?” Kyle asked. If Joe had, it would’ve been to rub it in Kyle’s face. That was the only reason he could think of.

  “She’s...my next call,” Natalie said. “Jessica works as a physical therapist at a clinic in town. Joe mentioned that she helped him after he went through knee surgery last year and needed rehabilitation.”

  Kyle caught himself shaking his head. There was so much irony in that job choice, both for her and for him.

  Don’t dwell on her. She has no use for you. Never really has.

  “So, I’ll see you Saturday, then?” Natalie asked.

  In practical matters, Kyle didn’t care what money or other physical property Joe had willed to Jessica. She could have everything else Joe owned and be welcome to it. All that Kyle cared about was getting his rink...and avoiding speaking to her at all.

  He stared at his foot again. Physical therapist, huh? No way would he be telling Jessa—Jessica—about his physical problems.

  “I’ll be there,” he said.

  * * *

  THREE DAYS LATER, Kyle was back in New Hampshire. Friday night, in the dark and cold.

  He was glad he’d practiced walking with his prosthetic leg so many times in the rehab center that it had become second nature to him. Because in mid-February, the sidewalk in Wallis Point was mounded on either side with snow and ice. The wind from the crashing ocean at high tide body slammed him and threatened to knock him off kilter.

  He’d forgotten his gloves, so he kept his fists balled inside his coat pockets. Hunched his shoulders in the thick navy wool coat.

  His boot slipped, and for a moment fear gripped him, but he stayed upright. Trained his gaze on the dark sidewalk, gritty from rock salt and sprinkled dirt.

  He was a tough New Englander born and bred. He could handle a bit of snow.

  With renewed determination, he headed back toward the one establishment open on the boardwalk. The Grand Beachfront Hotel, where he’d just finished checking in.

  Kyle had always liked the place. Had even worked a second job washing dishes at the hotel one summer, when he’d been sixteen and saving money for hockey camp.

  The turn-of-the-century hotel had been so busy and popular that an army of teen workers had been employed as valet-parking attendants, bellboys and lobby help. That was during the high season from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Now, in February, the arcades on the boardwalk were closed, the fried dough stands shuttered. In the dead of winter it was usually a ghost town.

  Not tonight, though. The hotel lobby had even been fairly busy. Kyle had left his truck idling out front while he’d checked in with his single suitcase. But when he’d gone back outside to park his truck, he’d discovered that the hotel parking lot was full and valet parking closed for the season. He’d been forced to squeeze his truck into a spot on the street about six blocks away.

  Maybe Wallis Point had become more popular since he left. As he approached the rear of the hotel beside the attached restaurant, he heard noise inside from a large crowd of patrons.

  He flinched, but he didn’t know whe
re else to go. He’d kept in touch with no one here. He’d blown out of town on a hot summer night, the week after high school graduation, and no one had come after him.

  Other than Joe, Kyle had no living relatives. Nobody he knew of, anyway. Kyle’s friends...old platoon mates...they were scattered over the country. He just wasn’t big on staying in contact with people.

  After he left the Marines Kyle hadn’t known what he was going to do, just that desk work wasn’t for him. He’d kill to be manager of a hockey rink, especially this one. Now, if he didn’t screw it up, he had his chance.

  Trudging along, slow and careful, he made it to the hotel entrance, opened the door to the lobby and went inside. The plan was to order takeout food from the restaurant and then hide out in his room for a quiet dinner. He needed to mentally prepare for the funeral tomorrow. Get his head together. Figure out how he was going to handle public perceptions of his below-the-knee left leg amputation.

  It still made Kyle sick to think about it. In the military world, with other wounded warriors, it was one thing. In the civilian world...frankly, the thought of their reactions terrified him.

  Kyle had never even told Joe what had happened to him.

  Swallowing, Kyle followed the familiar path past the concierge desk and down the hallway toward the restaurant. But within a hundred feet, he knew that the situation was worse than he’d realized.

  The place was packed. As in waiting-for-tables packed. The crowd was so thick in front of the bar that people could barely pass through to the hostess table.

  Kyle stood in the middle of it, overwhelmed. A harried waiter pushed past him, moving Kyle ever so slightly off balance. Kyle caught himself and widened his stance.

  Another guy brushed past carrying one of those black plastic squares that flashed red lights and sent off an alarm when the table was ready.

  Kyle moved carefully to a pillar and backed against it. This place was nuts.

  And then he noticed, really noticed his surroundings... Red heart-shaped balloons at the hostess station. Pink bunting edging the doorway leading into the dining room.

  It was Valentine’s Day.

  Kyle groaned. Just great. The biggest date night of the year.

  He stood pressed against the wall, painfully cognizant of his left foot beneath his pants leg and stiff new boot.

  Everyone was coupled up.

  He closed his eyes. He had not touched a woman since he’d left for his last tour in Afghanistan. He doubted he would touch one again.

  Frankly, like this, he didn’t want to.

  He edged away. His palms were itching. He had to get out of here. But instead of escaping, he heard the voice of the one woman he most wanted to avoid—Jessica Hughes.

  He’d been thinking about her since the lawyer had mentioned her, even though Kyle hadn’t wanted to remember. But the laughter and lightness in her voice as she spoke was so uniquely hers. She was conversing with someone in the crowd nearby, hidden from view by the coatrack. Judging by her tone, she seemed happy and hopeful, though he couldn’t catch what she was saying.

  He could have left right then without her seeing him, but curiosity got the better of him. Kyle edged closer.

  If he hadn’t heard her first, he would never have recognized her.

  She was...heavier than she’d been when he last saw her. She’d taken her coat off and was hanging it up, and he could see she was wearing leggings with a baggy tunic on top. Was she pregnant?

  She lifted her hand, and he could see she had a big, pink, glittery rock on her ring finger. His heart sank.

  Ridiculous, he told himself. Why shouldn’t Jessa—Jessica—be married? Or have kids? Or be happy?

  She’d never been his, not really. He’d never even kissed her.

  Still, his feet seemed rooted. She’d always had the most expressive brown eyes. A way of looking at people with her head tilted, as if she was really paying attention to them—really seeing them.

  He’d seen between the cracks, though. God, he’d ached for her. Disgusted with himself, he shook his head.

  He should leave. Make his retreat while he still could. Ultimately, he’d been the one responsible for injuring this girl—he’d flooded the ice with water when he’d been angry at Joe, and even though Kyle hadn’t personally seen it, as soon as his Zamboni had left the ice, she’d fallen, injuring her knee. He’d tried to talk to her about it afterward, but she was nowhere to be found.

  She hadn’t recovered in time to compete for a slot in the Olympic Games. The incident had gotten so much media attention that she’d gone underground. Kyle never talked to her again, had never known for sure if she blamed him, but Joe had. So, he was certain, had her mother.

  Damn—her mother. Kyle would probably bump into her, too, at Joe’s funeral tomorrow. It might be less painful to get an initial meeting with Jessica done and over with now.

  Girding himself, he stepped toward her...

  He knew the moment she sighted him. She gazed at him with confusion in her eyes, which slowly dawned into recognition.

  Yeah. He no longer looked like Kyle-the-high-school-hockey-star, either.

  He had a beard now, as well as a couple dozen extra pounds, which he liked to pride himself was all muscle.

  He didn’t get a smile from her.

  A man stood beside her, chatting with the hostess, oblivious to the fact that Kyle was staring at his date. What did Jessica see in this smooth-looking player of a guy wearing an expensive business suit and overcoat? Fancy-pants, even for a Valentine’s Day date.

  Or maybe Kyle was just jealous. But he couldn’t bug out now even if he wanted to. He was itching to reach down and adjust the sleeve that covered the top of his prosthetic leg, beneath his pants, but he couldn’t. No way. Not in front of Jessica.

  He walked over to her, as carefully and confidently as he could. As he approached her and her date, she placed a hand on the guy’s arm and he turned to her briefly, smiling at her before turning back to the hostess stand. Jessica gazed at the guy longingly, biting her lip before facing Kyle again.

  Kyle felt slayed. From the day she’d moved to Wallis Point when he’d been fourteen years old, he’d been drawn to this girl—now woman—and he thought she had been drawn to him, too. Until she just left.

  “Kyle Northrup?” she asked, squinting up at him.

  He nodded at her. Once. Sharply.

  She gave him a smile, but it seemed forced. Her hand stayed on her date, though he was still engaged in an earnest conversation with the hostess, and now, a server. Something about him wanting a booth in a quiet room by the window and that nothing else would do.

  “You’re...in town for Joe’s funeral?” Jessica asked Kyle in a low voice.

  She didn’t seem angry, just...reserved. Cautious, he nodded again. “Did the lawyer call you about the will reading?”

  “Yes.” She glanced down, licking her lips and looking guilty. “It’s nothing, really. While Joe was in for a therapy session, I made the mistake of complimenting his onyx ring. He said he would leave it to me in his will. I thought he was joking.”

  That onyx ring had been important to Joe. He’d never taken it off. “He didn’t joke,” Kyle said.

  “I’m not...horning in on anything that’s yours,” Jessica murmured, still not looking at him. “You’re his only living relative. I’ll give it to you if you want.”

  Strange, but she was the one who seemed guilty. “I don’t want it,” Kyle said, more sharply than he’d planned. But he didn’t care about the ring. He was here for the rink.

  The guy she had her hand latched onto turned back to her and winked. “You ready, babe? They’re setting up a table for us.”

  She smiled at him, looking relieved. “Sebastien, this is Kyle Northrup.”

  Sebastien? Kyle thought. Wha
t kind of name was that? They’d never had any Sebastiens in Wallis Point.

  Sebastien gave Kyle a questioning half smile, but made no move to shake his hand, and that was fine with Kyle.

  “Kyle is Joe Mansell’s stepson,” Jessica explained. “He’s here for the funeral.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Sebastien said, looking genuinely concerned.

  “Thanks,” Kyle conceded.

  Jessica turned to Kyle, smiling harder now. This was her “on” face, her way of smoothing social niceties. He remembered that about her.

  The last time he’d seen her she’d been seventeen. To the world, she always came off as poised, confident in her talent. She’d always been friendly and chatty toward other people and the media. She knew how to shine brightly, make everyone around her feel better.

  But Kyle had seen beneath the cracks in her facade. So often, she’d been in closed-rink sessions—he’d see her sometimes when she left, and she rarely looked happy. He’d privately thought her mother was a viper. Pressured her just as hard as Joe had pressured him. Jessa also had her hiding spots in the old rink. The ballet room in early mornings, for one. Kyle used to come in, catch her alone when he could, bring her coffee to cheer her up...

  He snapped back to reality. There’d been a long, pointedly awkward silence, and he needed to say something. But now sure wasn’t the time for an apology for ending her great career. Not with Sebastien looking on.

  Kyle stared at her glittery pink engagement ring. He felt her staring at him silently. Sebastien, too.

  Kyle’s gaze moved over to her stomach, beneath the baggy top. Back to her ring again.

  “Congratulations,” he muttered, nodding at the ring. Then he cleared his throat.

  Without looking at Jessica again, without trying to see or judge if there were still any more cracks beneath the facade or even feelings of commiseration with him, as in days of old, he turned and left. After the funeral and the will reading, he hoped he’d never see her again.

  * * *

  JESSICA TURNED TO SEBASTIEN. “I need to visit the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

  Without waiting for a response, she pushed into the bathroom before she lost it.